The Flatshare(67)

He breathes in sharply, and as I lean back in to kiss him again, he stops me, hands on my upper arms, eyes on my body. I’m wearing a thin chemise under the top, its neckline following the line of my bra, dipping to a low V.

‘God,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘Look at you.’

‘Nothing you’ve not seen before,’ I remind him, already ducking in impatiently to get another kiss. He holds me back again, still staring. I let out a little frustrated noise, but then he moves to press his lips against my collarbone, then lower, kissing across the top of my breasts, and I stop objecting.

It’s becoming impossible to form thoughts for longer than about two seconds. They just evaporate. I can feel great sections of my brain rededicating themselves to thinking about sex. The part of my brain that deals with pain, for instance, has entirely forgotten about my ankle and is now much more interested in what exactly Leon’s lips are doing as his kisses dip lower and lower to the edge of my bra. The section that usually busies itself wondering if I look fat in things seems to have died off altogether. I’ve resorted to moaning because my brain’s speech centre is clearly out of action too.

Leon’s hands dip under the waistline of my skirt, touching the silk of my underwear. I wore nice underwear, obviously. I may not have planned for this, but I hadn’t not planned for it.

I pull away and yank off the chemise – it’s only getting in the way now. I’m going to have to stop straddling him in order for either of us to remove any more clothes, but I really don’t want to. My brain makes a real effort at some long-term thinking, but that’s no use, obviously, so I abandon the problem and hope Leon has some sort of solution.

‘Bed?’ Leon says, his lips back up on my neck.

I nod, but when he shifts underneath me I mumble an objection, dipping my head to kiss him again. I can feel his smile against my lips.

‘Can’t get to bed without you moving,’ he reminds me, trying to shift again.

I make another incoherent objection. He chuckles, lips still pressed against mine.

‘Sofa?’ he suggests instead.

Better. I knew Leon would have a solution. Reluctant, I slide off his lap so he can move. His hands tug at the fabric of my skirt, fingers searching for a zip or button.

‘It’s got a hidden zip,’ I say, twisting to find the zip tucked in the seam along my hip.

‘Devilish women clothes,’ Leon declares, helping me pull the skirt off once it’s undone. Like before, I move to press myself against him again, but he stops me so he can look at me properly. The look in his eyes makes my cheeks glow. I undo his belt and he breathes in sharply, his gaze back on my face as I unbutton his jeans.

‘A little help?’ I say, eyebrow raised, as I fumble around with the buttons.

‘Leaving that part to you,’ he says. ‘Take as long as you need.’

I grin, and he tugs off his jeans, then pulls me to lie down beside him on the sofa. We’re a mess of limbs and cushions and skin. We completely don’t fit. There’s no space. We’re laughing now, but only in between kisses, and wherever his body touches mine it’s like someone’s reprogrammed my nerves to feel five times as much as usual.

‘Whose idea was the sofa?’ Leon asks. His head is level with my chest; he kisses his way along the bottom of my bra now, and I moan. I’m incredibly uncomfortable, but discomfort is a small price to pay, as far as I’m concerned.

It’s only when he elbows me in the stomach in an effort to sit up enough to kiss me that I call time. ‘Bed,’ I say firmly.

‘Sensible woman.’

It takes us another ten minutes or so actually to get moving. He gets up first, then, as I shift to stand, bends to pick me up again and carry me.

‘I can walk fine,’ I protest.

‘It’s our thing. Plus, it’s faster.’ He’s right – he’s laid me out on the bed in seconds, and then he’s on top of me, his lips hot on mine, his hand on my breast. No laughing now. I can hardly breathe, I’m so turned on. It’s absurd. I can’t possibly wait any longer.

And then the doorbell rings.





48


Leon

We both freeze. I lift my head to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed red, her lips swollen from kissing, and her hair lies in a tangle of orange against the white pillows. Impossibly sexy.

Me: For you?

Tiffy: What? No!

Me: But nobody I know thinks I’m here at weekends!

Tiffy groans.

Tiffy: Don’t ask me complicated questions. I can’t . . . do thinking right now.

I press my lips against hers again, but the doorbell rings for a second time. Curse. Roll to side; try to calm down.

Tiffy rolls with me so she’s on top of me.

Tiffy: They’ll go away.

This suddenly seems like by far the best suggestion. Her body is incredible. Can’t stop myself from touching – I know I’m being way too scattergun, hands all over her, but don’t want to miss anything. I should have at least ten more hands, ideally.

Doorbell rings again. And again. Five-second intervals. Tiffy throws herself back to her side of the bed with a growl.

Tiffy: Who the fuck is it?

Me: We should answer.

She reaches out and runs a finger from my bellybutton to my boxers. Mind goes entirely blank. Want her. Want her. Want her. Want— Doorbell doorbell doorbell doorbell.