Patchwork Paradise(71)

I tried not to fidget, but my palms were damp and I felt a little claustrophobic.

Thomas must’ve noticed, because by the time I was unlocking my front door, he asked me again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I stepped aside and let him in, then turned on the hall light and took off my shoes. Thomas looked absolutely divine. He hadn’t had a lot of wine to drink during dinner, but what he’d had left a rosy blush on his cheeks. His thick hair was layered over the right side of his forehead, and his eyes sparkled, although he did look worried.

“I guess I’m nervous.” I laughed. He gazed at me intently, and I looked at my feet. “It’s been, you know . . .” I fluttered my hand and said nothing else.

Thomas stepped closer and pulled me into his arms. Without my shoes on, he was even taller, and I leaned against his chest. “Ollie, you know we don’t have to—”

“I know. And it’s not about having to. It’s been a while, and apart from Peter, there was only—”

“Don’t talk to me about Peter,” Thomas growled in my ear. I looked up at him, startled. “All I ever wanted was you, and then you went out with this stranger. Texting me you were going home with him. You were dating him. I was going out of my mind.”

I cupped his face. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know I was hurting you.”

He held my hands against his cheeks and smiled. “I know that. I’m not mad about it now. But at the time I was ready to yank my hair out.”

“You never said anything.”

“What was I meant to say?” He took off his coat, and I went a bit woozy seeing those thick biceps roll under his sweater. “‘Oh, by the way, Ollie, now that you’re single in the most horrific way, fancy giving me a go? I’ve been pining for you since the day we met.’”

I raised my eyebrow at him. “That was you pining? Going home with someone else every weekend?”

He laughed and put his hands on my shoulders. “Well, I could either pine and be miserable or live with it and have some fun. We were never meant to be. I knew that.”

“And yet here we are.”

He bit his lip, and his gaze zeroed in on my mouth.

“Here we are,” he whispered, and he used me for balance as he stepped out of his shoes, then drew me closer again and kissed me. I felt the bulge in his pants, but I also noticed the tremor in his hands.

“You’re nervous too,” I whispered.

“Of course I am. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. What if—what if—”

I pressed my mouth to his to silence him. “I know,” I said against his lips. “I know.”

We fumbled our way upstairs. I took off his sweater and floundered over the buttons of his shirt. His hands got stuck in both sleeves because I’d forgotten to take off his cuff links, so there was awkward bumping together halfway up the steps, trying to untangle him. When we reached the bedroom, he helped me undress, but I attempted to take off my socks before he pulled my pants down and ended up tripping over my own feet. I landed on the bed in an ungraceful heap and tried to laugh my way through it, but on the inside my heart hammered nervously.

Thomas kissed me, and caressed me, and did everything right. I loved the feel of his skin, the rise and fall of the landscape of his body, the scritch of his chest hairs against my palm. When I took his briefs off, his cock slapped against his belly, and I licked at the wet tip, just once. Thomas’s breath shuddered out of his mouth, and I reached for him, drew him down between my legs.

We kissed and held each other, and when he peeled off my underwear, I told myself I wanted this. And I did. I did. But my body felt like a live wire, and Thomas’s touch sparked me like static wherever he touched.

I could feel him tremble. We were too quiet. Our eyes were too wide when we dared to look at each other. When he reached for the lube, I made an involuntary noise, and he put the bottle away again.

He pulled me against him and hugged me tight. “Not like this,” he whispered in my ear. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

I nodded against his neck and tried not to cry.

We lay in silence like that for a long time, until eventually Thomas sighed and rolled onto his back. He covered his face with his elbow, but drew me close with the other arm so I didn’t feel like he’d shut me out.

I stroked his chest, slipped my fingers through the hairs, rubbed my thumb lightly over his nipple. “Are you okay?”

He let his arm fall away, turned his head, and smiled at me. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?”

I nodded.

“I think we worked ourselves up too much and our expectations were too high.”

“Yes, I think so too. But that’s okay, right? I mean, we have the whole weekend. It felt so weirdly . . . planned.”

“I think that’s how it goes when you have kids, but yeah. Usually by that time you’ve already had all sorts of sex together.” His deep laugh rumbled under my ear, and I smiled, pressing my cheek closer to his heart. It thumped evenly, and I closed my eyes.

I was almost dozing off when he said, “So you’re sure you’re okay with Milo and me living here with you?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind about having a baby and his dad messing up your house now that you’ve had some time to let it sink in.”