Don't Look Back

by Graham, Nicola

  “I do love to make you blush, Kate.” He smiles and places an innocent kiss on the tip of my nose.

  I scout the area and realize no one is paying us any attention; Matthew’s assault on me has gone unnoticed. I grab the magazine from the seat pocket and start flipping through the pages, redirecting my thoughts, attempting to calm myself, trying to block out the man next to me who is driving me insane. Matthew extends his legs and continues to stare at me, a playful smile dancing across his lips. He looks very much like a man with a plan.

  Dinner is served as soon as we reach our cruising altitude of 33,000 feet, followed by drink service. Then the cabin is cleared, the lights are dimmed, and most of the passengers settle down to watch movies. My eyes are growing heavy, a combination of four days of travel, very little sleep, and physical exertion. I rest my head against Matthew’s shoulder, pulling myself in as close as possible, my only obstruction the small table that divides our seats. Reclining my seat, I pull up my legs, tuck a thick purple blanket around me, and absorb the smell of him and the feel of the warmth radiating from his skin.

  I open my eyes some time later to find Matthew working on his iPad, the overhead light shining down on him like a spotlight from heaven. I am surprised to see glasses resting gently on the end of his nose, making him look mature and sophisticated. He rolls his index finger along the screen, obviously focused, deep in concentration. He appears to be working on a design of some kind, drawing with his fingertip. I watch quietly, fascinated, not wishing to disturb him.

  Somehow sensing that I am awake, Matthew turns toward me. He removes his glasses and sets them on his tray table in a fluid motion. His lips come toward me, covering mine softly in greeting as I hear his iPad case flip closed.

  “You’re awake,” he mutters against my lips, turning his body toward me.

  “Yes, Mr. Sullivan. You somehow have the ability to make me fall asleep in your presence.” I rest my head against the soft leather of the seat, admiring his beautiful face a few inches from mine.

  “And you have the ability to turn me on in your presence,” he replies unabashedly, waking the sleeping butterflies in my stomach.

  Chills roll over my skin, and I pull the blanket tighter around me, knowing full well I am not cold. The aircraft is dark and quiet, with only the hum of the engines and the occasional sound of whispered conversation. A few overhead lights illuminate the ceiling like scattered stars. TV screens glow softly, like moonlight, through the cabin.

  Matthew pulls himself closer, and leaning over the small table between us, he slips his hand under my blanket. His hand skims over my hip and down my thigh as his lips tenderly seek out mine in the dark. He tastes like wine as I slowly open my lips and our tongues welcome each other, joining in an unhurried game of seduction.

  My body burns with desire for him, longing for him to touch me; his hands continue roaming my hips and thighs. I pull myself up slightly, trying to get closer to him, but we are separated by the table. I reach toward him to touch his chest and belly, longing for more. I dip my hand toward his hip, playing with the waistline of his jeans. His tray table is conveniently shadowing his lap, so I drop my hand farther, to his hip, along his thigh, and back up, deliberately brushing the firm swelling in his jeans. Matthew’s hand envelops mine, and at first my heart leaps as I think he is going to lead me to him, guide me to touch him. Instead, he secures it beneath his on the table. Frustrated, I settle back down and return my concentration to his kiss. I surrender to the pleasure of his magical tongue as he continues his leisurely expedition.

  After some time, his kiss becomes lighter, his tongue less persistent. His lips graze mine with soft, tender pecks, trailing across my cheeks to my neck and ear.

  “Slide down your jeans and panties,” he whispers in my ear as his tongue plunges deep into the crevice.

  Untamed throbbing pulsates between my thighs as my heart leaps and my face burns like the sun. Matthew’s free hand sinks into my hair as his tongue urges deeper. The sound of his words echo in my head, the smell of him overpowers my senses, and the feel of his hand tugging at my jeans forces me to execute his every command.

  Sliding my legs off the seat, I roll onto my back, lifting my hips slightly, and unbutton my jeans. I skim them and my thong down slowly, without making too much movement. Matthew is rearranging his tray table, setting his iPad between us, plugging in some ear buds, and spreading a blanket over himself. To any onlookers it would appear that he is preparing for a nap, his demeanor calm and unrushed. I am so hot and turned on I feel like I might slide off my seat. My mind struggles desperately in anticipation of what he is about to do to me. The electrified area between my thighs quivers as I recall his words in my ear.

  Relaxing back into his seat, Matthew extends his legs in front of himself, resting them slightly apart, his feet disappearing underneath the seat in front of him. He reaches for my left leg, which is closest to him, and casually drapes it over his knee. We both lie back in our reclined seats, appearing to be tranquil and calm.

  Matthew’s right hand disappears below the blankets and slides up my thighs, dipping between my open legs, finding me deliciously hot and wet. He runs his middle finger down the center of my inner lips, applying flawless pressure to my sensitive core. His pace is meticulous, painstaking, as he moves up and down, taking his time. I work hard to keep my breathing calm and even, fighting every nerve within to remain still and relaxed. I roll my head toward him; I want to watch him as he touches me. His head is resting against the headrest, his profile shadowed in the dull lighting. His eyes are closed. Always so beautiful, I think as I engrave his image into my memory, never wanting to forget his face. I swallow hard as the burning deep within me radiates in my belly, the pressure starting to grow between my hips.

  Sensing my arousal, Matthew abruptly sits up, takes an ear bud from his iPad, and slides it into my left ear, then does the same to his right. He taps the tablet, and the soft light of it awakening illuminates his face. He touches the screen, and a second later, I hear the sweet sound of a violin in my ear. He leans over and kisses me tenderly as the song begins to play, filling my ear, invading the silence. His finger masterfully returns to its rhythm, and I listen as a cello blends in beautifully with the harmony playing in my head. The song sounds familiar, but I am finding it difficult to concentrate as Matthew thrusts his tongue deep into me and slips his finger inside my warm, welcoming core.

  A woman’s voice starts to sing, and I recognize the song as a cover of The Cure’s “Lovesong.” Her vocals melt in perfect unison with the accompanying strings, her voice hauntingly melancholy. The lyrics seem to be saying everything Matthew needs to say to me. His kiss is deliberate and steady, yet passionate. His touch matches the slow tempo of the song, masterfully playing me like the instruments resonating in my head.

  The darkness starts to close in and stars flicker behind my eyelids as I feel the intense, impending eruption reach its climax. I breathe in deeply, gasping, as I feel my body tense up and explode around his hand. Matthew’s mouth covers mine, silencing my soft cries, his arm encircling me, holding me still until my body relaxes. His mouth moves away from mine slowly as the music fades out, the song coming to a close. He gently tugs the ear buds, and they fall from our ears, landing on the table between us.

  He caresses my thighs and places my leg back on my seat. I lift my hips as he helps me slide my clothes back up. We lock eyes in an intense stare, and slipping his hand out from beneath the blanket, he seductively raises his fingertips to his lips, tasting me shamelessly. He leans over, smirking, bringing his lips to mine, making sure I taste myself on his tongue.

  “I love making you blush,” he whispers against my lips. He smiles, trailing his thumb along my swollen lower lip. “I love you, Kate.” His eyes blaze into mine. “Always have, always will.” He tenderly kisses me one final time before relaxing back into his seat, holding my hand possessively in his.

  I sit watching him sleep for some time, mesmerized by his
magnificence. I now understand why he was so content doing the same to me on that first night in Harptree after Diana’s party. I can study him, explore every exposed part of him silently with my eyes, undisturbed. With each passing second, we travel closer to our destination. The grains of sand slip uncontrollably through the hourglass of our time together.

  CHAPTER 21

  Don’t Look Back

  We have already passed the halfway point in the flight when Matthew awakens from his siesta. We spend the remaining hours of the flight in quiet conversation, catching up on the lost years, recounting stories and experiences, trying to share as much of ourselves as possible in such a short time. Matthew’s attention never strays from mine; his body is in constant contact with mine in one way or another. His lips graze my forehead, or his thumb caresses my cheek. His hand wraps around mine like a blanket, and he occasionally brings it to his lips to place soft kisses on my skin.

  Sometimes he surprises me with a deep, passionate kiss, then goes back to his seat just as quickly, his eyes soft, his lips upturned in half a smile. As I listen to his various tales, I can easily envision the life we could have had together. I realize that even as a young girl I was right about him; we have always been made for each other. We are two apples from the same tree, two halves of the same mold, blending seamlessly together. In any other time or place, we could have had it all. My heart aches with joy and pain. Joy because I finally know what I have been missing my whole life—it is Matthew, my one true love. Pain because I realize we are not meant to be in this lifetime, that we must let each other go once more. True love does exist, and “soulmate” is now a term I fully respect and understand.

  As we make our descent into Los Angeles, I start to feel nausea; the butterflies flutter inside me, but this time for a different reason. The fear of our impending goodbye rises within me, terror at the thought of never seeing him again. The only hope I have is the thought of Allie, so I try my best to focus on her and how she needs me more than I need Matthew.

  We sit motionless in our seats, Matthew’s arm around me, my head resting against his chest, in a world of our own as passengers hastily file past us making their exit. Several people offer to let us step into the aisle, but each time Matthew politely declines. As the final guests exit, we remorsefully gather our belongings and step into the narrow aisle, finally exiting the plane to the farewells of the eight or so flight attendants who are patiently waiting for our departure.

  We walk up the jet bridge and out into the corridor that leads toward immigration and passport control. The sun is bright, and Matthew and I unlink our hands for a moment, fumbling in our bags for sunglasses and passports. I grab my phone and turn it on, sliding it into my back pocket. I feel it come to life with vibration as the notifications go off—my real life catching up with the four days it has been turned off. I try to ignore it as we reconnect our fingers and continue on in silence.

  The passport control area is busy, and since we are considered different nationalities, we are forced to separate into opposite lines.

  “I’ll meet you on the other side,” he says, placing a kiss on my lips, his hand cupping my cheek, sunglasses propped on his head to hold back his untamed hair.

  “Okay,” is all I can manage. My emotions are starting to get the best of me, as I know that Dave and Allie are waiting for me.

  As we split up into our slow-moving lanes, the separation already feels painful. My skin aches to be close to him, my body already sensing his void. I pull out my phone as a distraction and scroll through emails, deleting the trash and checking anything that looks important. I have a couple of texts, but nothing important, and so far nothing from Dave. I discreetly type a message to him as I shuffle forward in the line, popping my head up every few seconds to see a reassuring glimpse of Matthew’s dark hair. He towers above most of the people in line.

  I type: Landed—immigration swamped, might be a while. Katie

  I hit send and tuck the phone back into my pocket, hoping the text will buy me a few extra minutes with Matthew without arousing any suspicion. I feel it buzz with a return text.

  Parking, we’ll grab coffee and wait.

  Good! I feel relief knowing they will be waiting at the far end of the arrivals area. Dave is usually sitting on a barstool enjoying a coffee when Allie and I arrive. Why would this time be any different? He is not the kind to fight the crowds at the arrivals exit, where the passengers stream out, pushing their luggage carts, eagerly seeking their loved ones for a joyous reunion.

  Matthew's line is moving faster than mine, for some reason the U.S. Citizens line always seems to move slower. I see him move toward the front of his, and I estimate I still have about twenty people ahead of me. He glances over and smiles, and then pokes his tongue at me playfully; I stick mine out at him, and I can’t help but think about how magical his tongue is. He elegantly walks to the next available immigration officer, who happens to be a woman. I see her making conversation with him, a faint smile on her lips; she seems unusually friendly for an immigration officer. His body language is relaxed, and he smiles as he answers her questions, showing her his documentation, and probably charming her with his smile. Within a minute, he is through to the other side and heading toward baggage claim.

  I struggle to keep my eye on him, feeling slightly panicked at our separation as I creep toward the front of the line for what feels like an eternity. Finally it’s my turn, and within a few minutes, I am reunited with Matthew as he waits on the far side of the baggage claim, holding both our suitcases, which he has retrieved from the luggage carousel. We hesitantly join the next line for customs, this time standing together. I wrap my arms around his waist under his jacket, resting my head against his chest, listening to his heart beating. We shuffle together in silence as the line makes its way back and forth toward the exit.

  As we get to the front of the line, Matthew ushers me forward to go first, and I hesitantly hand my passport and customs form to the officer, who does not look friendly.

  “Hello,” he says, gaining my attention.

  “Hello.” I smile nervously, briefly peeking behind me to see if Matthew has been called forward yet.

  “Where are you coming from today, ma’am?” he inquires.

  “London.” I bring my attention back to the young man sitting before me in his uniform as I spy Matthew moving to another officer three cubicles down.

  I watch as the officer looks me over suspiciously, his eyes sizing up my luggage and the bags that I am carrying. His lips are turned downward, and I pity the tourists who have this welcome as their first impression of California. Not very hospitable at all.

  “Okay, have a safe journey home.” He stamps my form, slides it back into my passport, and hands the documents back to me, yelling “Next!” to the person waiting in line behind me.

  I take a few steps forward as Matthew emerges from his line, and we find ourselves at the beginning of the end. The ramp that lies before us leads up to the arrivals area. Halfway up, it turns to the left, and from that point on, smiling faces will be able to see us as we walk the final incline to the upper floor. Dave will be waiting with Allie to the right; Matthew will need to turn left toward connecting flights. Loitering is strictly prohibited, so we have no choice other than to keep moving. I pretend to dig through my bag, stalling for a moment, trying to do anything to postpone the inevitable. My heart is pounding, and I can feel the tears burning in my eyes.

  “Hey, come on now.” Matthew spots my tears. “No regrets, remember?”

  I smile sadly at him; I am desperately trying to be brave.

  “Dave is waiting up there.” I point to the ramp, “and Allie.” A sob escapes me, and he pulls me into his chest.

  “Shush.” He calms me, his hand stroking my hair. “Listen.” He cradles my chin in his palm, tipping my head toward him, placing a soft, tender kiss on my lips. “You’re going to go first, and I’ll be a few steps behind.” Matthew’s voice is smooth and calm. “You’re going
to put on a brave face and be so happy to see your daughter in a few minutes. I want you to remember that I will always love you, Kate. When you think about me, know that I am thinking of you. If you dream about me, know that I am dreaming of you. Take every memory that we’ve made and cherish it; hold it deep inside you forever. But promise me, Kate, when you walk up that ramp, you won’t look back. I beg of you, Kate. Please don’t look back.” His voice falters on his final words.

  I nod my head, trying to convince myself, even though the voice inside me screams, NO! He straightens me up, pulls my sunglasses from my head, and slides them onto my nose, covering my swollen, red eyes.

  “There. Much better,” he says. He drops a solo kiss onto my forehead, holding his lips there for what seems like an eternity, pressing them against my hairline as if he is trying to imprint them into my skin forever.

  “I love you, Kate. Always have, always will,” he desperately whispers against my skin one last time.

  “I love you too, Matthew. Have a safe journey home to your girls,” I manage, my voice shaking and breaking as sobs rock my lungs.

  Unable to postpone the inevitable a moment longer, he locks his finger into mine tightly as we slowly walk toward the halfway point of the ramp, pulling our suitcases in silence. Before turning the corner, where we’ll be visible to the prying eyes of the outside world, Matthew claims my lips one final time. Our kiss is desperate and raw as we silently say goodbye. His hands touch my face in his reluctance to let me go.

  I breathe deeply as I inch higher with each step I take. Slowly, people’s faces appear before me, then their bodies, and eventually I see the entire room. I somehow can sense Matthew right behind me. Every impulse within begs me to turn around, but I fight the urge, knowing that Allie and Dave have probably already spotted me.