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And it makes him loud in the otherwise total silence of the hallway, his voice reverberating off the walls. I immediately panic that it’ll wake the others and hiss, ‘Keep it down!’
It’s obviously not what he was hoping to hear because Lloyd’s face crumples. He steps even closer, coming right into my personal space; I move back instinctively, bumping into the wall.
‘Tell me,’ he insists again, voice rough and heated. ‘And I’ll go. I’ll let it go, and we’ll just keep thingsprofessional around the office, and we can pretend none of it ever happened. That first night, the kiss earlier … That’s what you want, isn’t it?’
Yes, that’s what I want. That’s exactly why I spent this whole week before the party avoiding you, pushing you away, and …
And how can I tell him it didn’t mean anything?
If that was truly the case, things wouldn’t have gotten so messy. I would’ve been able to stay away, tuck the memory of that first night into a distant corner of my mind and not let it bother me when I saw him around the office. If it didn’t mean anything, we might’ve even become good friends this summer, late-night cake and coffees a regular occurrence.
How can I tell him that it meant …everything?
I hold Lloyd’s gaze and swallow the lump in my throat. His eyes burn, jaw tightening – although he seems apprehensive more than anything else, now, and when my lips part, I hear him catch his breath.
Words fail me though, and I can only shake my head.
Slowly, he lifts his hand to cup my cheek, his touch searing into my skin and making me lean into him until my chest brushes against his; he’s close enough that I feel the length of his erection pressing into my hip, and heat rushes to the pit of my stomach. Thethumb he drags over my lower lip sends a shiver through me. I’m alive and dreaming all at once: brought to life by his touch, made so delirious by it that it surely can’t be real.
Finally, I manage to say something.
‘Please,’ I whisper, desperate for him to touch me – kiss me. Formore.
Lloyd lowers his head to kiss the sensitive skin of my throat, just below my ear, that light touch alone electric enough to pull a small, needy sound from me, make my back arch in an attempt to get even closer to him.
‘What about your date?’ he murmurs at my ear – and I remember his bizarre ramblings on the phone, pushing him away slightly.
‘What date? What are youtalkingabout?’
‘With Monty. I saw the two of you together, at the party. He invited you to dinner.’
Oh my God. I’d laugh, if every nerve ending in my body weren’t on edge, willing Lloyd to kiss me again. ‘Weallwent to dinner. That wasn’t a date. He was just – being a friend. Making sure I was okay.’
Lloyd’s eyes glaze over as he realizes he completely misread the situation. I can’t even find it in me to tease him for being jealous. No wonder he was so upset, or really believed our kiss meant so little to me.
There’s a beat, and I find my hands fisting tightly in Lloyd’s T-shirt like I can anchor him here, suddenly worried that he’ll leave.
But then his lips crash down on mine, demanding and relentless, and I moan into his mouth, something taut unspooling in the pit of my chest. Lloyd presses his hips hard against mine, sending a thrill of want through me. My hands move from his T-shirt to cord through his hair, grasp his shoulders, follow the planes of them and travel down his back. Lloyd’s hand, which had been at my waist, travels underneath the hem of my T-shirt, stroking up past the waistband of my pyjama shorts to settle at my ribs, hesitating as if waiting for permission to go two inches higher to my bare breast.
When I slept with my ex-boyfriend, there was a clumsy sort of restraint to it, awkward exchanged looks as we each worried we weren’t doing it right, somehow, or that it wasn’t good enough. And itwasgood enough, I always thought.
It pales in comparison to what I feel with Lloyd right now, even with both of us fully clothed. This burns through me, ignites every nerve in my body. I’m hyper-aware of everywhere he’s touching me and everywhere he’s not yet, but that I want him to. I don’t worry about where to put my hands or what my tongue is doing as we kiss, and it doesn’t feel awkwardto whisper, ‘Let’s go inside.’ And it feels so completely natural to unlock the door, to take his hand, and lead him quietly inside, to my bedroom.
Lloyd takes a seat on the bed, and I look at the small, gentle tilt of his smile as he reaches out to draw me nearer, the earnest openness in his eyes as they glow almost cat-like in the darkness of my room, and I know that whatever this is, he feels it too. It means something to him, the way it does to me.
So I let him take my arms and pull me in to stand between his legs, relaxing at the feel of his hands firm on my hips, the gentle arc his thumb traces on one side. He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then tugs me a little closer, making me stumble and catch his shoulders for balance. A quiet laugh rumbles through him, but I don’t feel embarrassed.
It’s impossible to be embarrassed with Lloyd. It feels like he already knows the best and worst of me.
I want to know all of him.
I start to use my hold on his shoulders to make him lean back, so I can get on the bed with him, kiss him again, take it further than we could outside in the hallway. Lloyd resists though, glancing up to give me a cheeky attempt at a reproachful look, one that makes my heart skitter and pulse pick up, and curious enough to wait to see whathewants to do.
Lloyd starts with my T-shirt, finding his way underneath it once more – with both hands, this time, pushing it up and letting me pull it over my head. I drop it to the floor, my breathing shallow as his fingers trace a path over my stomach and up to my breasts, his mouth following with soft, open-mouthed kisses. I arch into his touch, and gasp when his tongue flicks over my nipple. My eyes flutter shut and I lean more heavily on him, losing myself in the sensation.
His hands skim lower, thumbs hooking my pyjama shorts and underwear before he takes them off me, too. He draws back slightly to look, to pay attention as his hands roam along my thighs, my arse, my hips, with a reverence that feels like worship.
And somehow, it’s still not enough.
