It’s not like holding hands. We’re not holding hands. It’s like we both want, we bothneedto touch each other and this is as far as we will let ourselves go.
I don’t look at him. And he doesn’t look at me.
We keep walking.
‘What’s happening, McDermott?’ he says softly.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. But I still don’t draw away. I want him to keep touching my hand. I want him to keep touching me.
But now we’re approaching my front door. There’s no light shining in the hall, which means Roo must be still out at her work dinner thing.
‘This is my house.’ I stop and turn to face him. He’s still touching me. I don’t pull away.
‘Oh right,’ he says.
‘Thanks for walking me home.’ I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s looking straight back at me. The yellow glow of the streetlight accentuates the shadows under his eyes, under his cheekbones.
‘No problem,’ he says. ‘It’s not far out of my way.’
‘Great,’ I say.
‘And we haven’t stayed out too late,’ says Art. ‘We’ll be fine for work tomorrow.’
He still hasn’t let go of my hand. Or I haven’t let go of his. We haven’t let go of each other. I’m not really taking in a word he says. I’m just looking at his mouth moving, but he could be saying anything. I don’t think he’s really listening to what he’s saying either.
‘Well, goodnight,’ I say.
I finally release his hand. But then Art lifts it to my face and softly, barely touching me, draws the back of his index finger across my lips. Without thinking about what I’m doing I open my mouth and, for a split second, I bite down, very gently, on his knuckle.
What have I done?Jesus, he was right that first day when hethought I was going to bite. Maybe I am just an animal. My face grows hot with embarrassment as I turn away, grab my keys out of my pocket and open the door.
‘So I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say.
‘McDermott,’ says Art. I turn back to face him as the door swings open.
And that’s when he kisses me.
Suddenly the languid tentativeness of the handholding has gone and something frantic and almost feral takes its place. I back into the hall of the house, pulling Art inside by the front of his jacket, and he kicks the door shut behind him as he pulls me closer to him, kissing me harder. His hands are on me and mine are on him and right now I don’t care how annoying and snobby he can be, right now I don’t care how jealous I am of his confidence and ease, all I care about is how much I want him to fuck me right now, in this hall, against the wall, on the stairs, on the floor, I don’t care. I justwanthim.
And he wants me too, because, still kissing me, he’s guiding me through the open door to the sitting room until we’re both on the couch, until I’m lying back on the cushions and he’s on top of me. Now I’m helping him draw my top over my head, now I’m unbuttoning his shirt as he pushes up my skirt and runs his hands along the inside of my thighs, now I’m raising my hips so he can pull down my underwear. As he touches me he says, in a tone I’ve never heard him use before, ‘Should I stop?’
‘Don’t stop.’ I meet his gaze, his pupils huge against the blue of his irises. ‘Don’t stop.Please.’
He lets out a short breath and starts to move his fingers against me, sliding up and down and round and round, and I feel my back arch and my hips rise to meet his touch as he teases me, as hestrokes me faster and lighter and then harder again, as he pushes my hair back from my face and kisses my mouth, my throat, my breasts.
He does what I asked: he doesn’t stop.
Art Sullivan doesn’t stop until he makes me come with such intensity, I swear to God, I think I literally see stars.
When I float back to earth, when my breathing returns to something closer to normal, I open my eyes and see Art looking at me in a way that could almost be read as smug. It could also be read as happy. And to be honest, if it is smug, it’s entirely deserved.
‘Do you need a rest?’ he says. ‘Or do you want to keep going?’
In the past, when I’ve come like that, I’ve been so spent afterwards that I’ve wanted,neededa rest, just for a moment. But now, I realise I don’t want that at all. I don’t want to break whatever weird spell has been cast here.
I don’t want to stop either.
I don’t say anything. I reach up, draw him towards me and kiss him again. He stops kissing me for a moment and says, ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’