Plans. If only he knew. The sheets had been washed. Every square inch of my place was immaculate. I was not only wearing really nice underwear, it was a matching set. “I’m not dumb, you know.”
“Wasn’t saying you are. I didn’t want to take off your clothes and have you tell me you got tickets to seeHamilton.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s still impossible to get tickets.”
He smiled wide and uncoiled the scarf. “Funny. You’re funny.” He unzipped his jacket. My breaths got shallower with every tiny stretch of his skin. He looked skinny, and that made me want to feed him, but dammit, I had to focus. All the while, he didn't take his gray eyes off me. He wrapped one arm around my waist, dug the opposite hand into my hair, and nearly made me collapse on the floor with a whisper of a kiss on the corner of my mouth. There was tongue—the sweetest amount, except there was nothing sweet about it. The subtext was nothing but hot sex.
“I don't even get a hello?” I wanted to continue to be amusing or at least get my bearings before this happened. Why couldn't I shut up already and rip off his clothes?
“Thisismy hello.” He reached down and grabbed my ass, pulling my hips into his.
I smiled as our lips drifted closer together. “I like your hello. I like it a lot.”
“My hello misses you.” Skipping a real kiss, his mouth roamed to my neck. I closed my eyes and gave into his apparent need to torture me. Every inch of Eamon was meant for making me feel good. He was going to remind me of it. With meticulous detail.
“Good. I missed your hello.”
He sucked in a breath through his nose. It was the sound of a desperate man. “I missed everything about you, Kat.” He kissed my cheek, my temple, my forehead. “Your hair. The way you smell. Your smile. Your glorious neck.”
My heart nearly melted. He always knew the perfect thing to say. I smoothed my hands around his waist and tugged up his flannel shirt, exploring his back, every muscle and channel familiar. “I missed everything about you, too.” I could've produced a complete inventory in no time of the many, many things I had missed about Eamon.
His mouth finally landed on mine and I went blind. I knew exactly what it felt like to kiss him, but somehow there was an element of surprise. How could anything feel so good? I was sinking and floating at the same time. The kiss made the last one we shared look like a first date. Gone was the backwards tug of war. We knew how to do this to each other. We knew exactly how our bodies fit together.
My hands fumbled with the front of his shirt. The desperation and anticipation of the last few weeks—hell, the last decade—burned through me like a spark zips along a fuse. I was a botched up mess with his buttons, like my hands couldn't remember how to work, but multitasking with Eamon—kissing and undressing him—was no small feat. I was on sensory overload.
I forced the final button through the hole and pushed the shirt past his shoulders. He caught it in one hand and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. When he curled his fingers under the hem of my sweater and lifted it over my head, everything went from being familiar to new. And back again. The excitement, the tunnel vision, the way the rest of the world disappeared when I was with him came roaring back like it had been waiting in the deepest corners of my mind. Waiting for its chance. Any doubts I'd had about recapturing what we'd once had were gone. It was still there. It was right here. All around us.
He pulled me closer, our bare stomachs touching as we stumbled across the room. “I don't know where I’m going.” His voice came out as a burst between kisses. “Show me.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I took his hand and tugged him down the hall, past Amy's empty bedroom, and the bathroom, to my room.
He smiled when we stepped inside. “Much better.” He perched on the edge of the bed and reached down to untie his boots. He was watching me while he plucked at the laces, but I was watching him, too.
The sun streamed in through the window, catching threads of silver in his hair. His boots and socks were gone now and I stepped between his knees, slipping my fingers through his long, somewhat tangled locks. “You've got some salt and pepper in here now.”
“Mostly salt in some spots. That's what eleven years will get ya.” The rumble in his voice was back, working its way into me. It was like my own personal dog whistle. It shook me awake every time he spoke.
“I like it. It's sexy.”
“You fancy the old man with the long hair?” He peppered my belly with kisses while he unhooked my bra and pulled it down my arms.
I laughed and sank down to my knees, resting my arms on his thighs. “I do. He's ridiculously hot.”
He leaned closer and kissed me, squeezing my ribcage with his legs and cupping my breasts with his hands. How was it possible that all these years later, the calluses on his hands would feel the same way, perfectly hard and rough against my nipples? A sharp gasp left my lips.
“I love it when you make that noise,” he mumbled against my lips.
“You're torturing me.”
“No, darling. I just want you to feel good.”
As if I could feel anything less right now.
He threaded his arms under mine and hoisted me back onto the bed, on top of him, my legs twisted between his. He groaned as I let my full body weight rest on his, and he wrapped his leg around me and flipped me to my back. He stretched out alongside me. His warm lips found my breast, sucking on my nipple, flicking at it with his tongue. Oblivion was already in my sights.
I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He did the rest of the job for me, pushing them and his boxers past his hips and onto the floor. I rolled him to his back and kneeled between his legs.
“Don't start this while you're still wearing clothes, Katherine. You're going to frustrate the hell out of me.”
