The Flatshare(95)

She reaches to loosen my tie and shrug off my jacket. Unbuttons my shirt slowly, kissing me as her fingers move. There’s still air between us now, like we’re keeping a respectful distance, despite the kissing.

Tiffy turns, holding her hair out of the way so I can unzip her dress. I take her hair into my hands instead, pulling a little as I twist the bunch around my wrist, and she moans. Can’t handle that sound. Close that space between us, kissing along her shoulders, up her neck to where her hair meets her skin, pressing as close as I can until she shifts to loosen her own zip.

Tiffy: Leon. Focus. Dress.

I take the zip from between her fingers and pull it down slowly, slower than she wants. She wriggles, impatient. Backs up into me until my legs hit the bed and we’re pressed close again, bare skin and silk.

Eventually the dress falls to the floor. It’s almost cinematic – a shimmer of silk, then she’s there, black underwear and nothing else. She turns in my arms, her eyes still fiery, and I hold her away to look at her.

Tiffy, smiling: You always do that.

Me: Do what?

Tiffy: Look at me like that. When I . . . take something off.

Me: Want to see everything. It’s too important for rushing.

Tiffy quirks an eyebrow, unbearably sexy.

Tiffy: No rushing?

She traces her fingers along the top of my boxers. Dips her hand below it, a hair’s breadth from where I want her.

Tiffy: You’re going to regret saying that, Leon.

I’m already regretting, as soon as she says my name. Her fingers trace across my lower belly, and then, painfully slowly, reach for the buckle of my belt. After she’s eased the zip down I step out of my suit trousers and kick off my socks, conscious of how her eyes follow me like a cat’s. When I move to pull her close to me again she puts a firm hand on my chest.

Tiffy, throatily: Bed.

That air between us is back for an instant; we move automatically to our old sides of the bed. She’s left, I’m right. We watch each other as we slide under the covers.

I lie sideways, looking at her. Her hair spreads across the pillow, and though she’s under the duvet I can sense how bare she is, how much of her there is to touch. I place my hand in the space between us. She takes it, bridging the line we’d drawn back in February, and kisses my fingers, then slides them between her lips, and suddenly that space is gone and she’s pressed up against me where she should be, skin on skin, not a fraction of an inch between us.





69


Tiffy

‘You’ve seen me naked now. You’ve had your wicked way with me. And you’re still looking at me like that.’

His smile drops into that gorgeous lopsided thing, the smile that got me all those weeks ago in Brighton.

‘Tiffany Moore,’ he says, ‘I have every intention of continuing to look at you in this fashion for many moons to come.’

‘Many moons!’

He nods solemnly.

‘How very charming and ingeniously non-specific of you.’

‘Well, something told me a suggestion of long-term commitment might have you running for the hills.’

I think about it, resettling my head against his chest. ‘I see your point, but actually, it seems to have just made me feel curiously warm and fuzzy.’

He doesn’t say anything, he just kisses the top of my head.

‘Also I would not be capable of running non-stop to the nearest hill.’

‘Herne Hill, maybe? You could take Herne Hill.’

‘Well,’ I say, turning on to my front and propping myself up on my elbows, ‘I have no interest in running to Herne Hill. I like the many-moons plan. I think it’s . . . hey, are you even listening to me?’

‘Yes?’ Leon tries, lifting his gaze. He smiles. ‘Sorry. You have managed to distract me even from yourself.’

‘And there was me thinking you were un-distractible.’

He kisses me, his hand moving to stroke rough circles on my breast. ‘Sure. Un-distractible,’ he says. ‘And you are . . .’

I already can’t think straight. ‘Putty in your hands?’

‘I was going to say, “excellently easy to distract”.’

‘I’m playing hard to get this time.’

He does something with his hand that nobody has ever done before. I have no idea what’s happening but it seems to involve his thumb, my nipple, and about five thousand prickly hot licks of sensation.

‘I’m reminding you of that in ten minutes’ time,’ Leon says, kissing his way down my neck.

‘You’re smug.’

‘I’m happy.’

I pull away to look at him. I realise that my cheeks are starting to hurt, and I think it’s genuinely from all the smiling. When I tell Rachel that, I know exactly what she’ll do: stick her finger in her mouth and gag. But it’s true – despite everything that’s happened today, I am sickeningly, dizzyingly happy.

He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘No witty comeback?’

I gasp as his fingers shift across my skin, tracing patterns I can’t follow.

‘I’m just working on one . . . Just give me . . . a minute . . .’

*

While Leon is in the shower, I write our to-do list for the next day and stick it to the fridge. It reads as follows.