If We Were Young: A Romance

by Bloom, Anna

  “Uh huh.” His lips alone would finish me. Every path they skimmed burned me in their wake. I shivered and heated all at once.

  “We fit together perfectly, and the theory is right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Perfect is a lot of pressure.”

  He grinned, hiking me up in his arms, burying his face in my hair. “It’s workable.”

  I didn’t say anything else. His lips devoured and destroyed, claiming every kiss I could give him back. The delicate touch, the cradling holds became a thing of the past. His hands were on my neck, my shoulders, hard and determined, pushing me, pressing me. I whimpered as he broke our mouths apart to lift my top over my head, and then sighed as he leant back in and claimed me in a breathless kiss again.

  My skin rushed as the cold air flourished around me and as if sensing my shiver before I could express it, he lowered me down onto the white bedding; pulling it out from underneath me and then hooking it over us like canvas under stars.

  “This is better. It’s full on daylight out there.”

  Who’d have known that when this day finally happened, it would be at eight in the morning.

  In a way it was better. There was no alcohol to blame. No drunken mistake at the end of an evening. It was just us and the broad light of day. Well daylight that included ominous snow clouds.

  His fingers reached for the waistband of my jeans. He slowed the pace, no longer rushing as his hands danced across my belly, skimming the rounded curves, his palm flattening and pressing until his fingers reached the buttons to unhook them, pushing them through the tight gap. I got hotter and hotter, lifting my hips off the bed so he would pull them down quicker.

  Under the duvet, our breaths bloomed like clouds on a sunny day. The small tent became a greenhouse of desire.

  He smiled when he finally tugged at my jeans, pulling them away from my legs and making me sigh with relief. Once they were free from my ankles he sat back up, the duvet resting on his head. It would have been comical if I weren’t mesmerised by the blue of his eyes. His pupils dilated, his eyes a midnight wish. His long lashes lowered and rested on his cheekbones as he picked up one of my bare legs and skimmed his lips against my ankle.

  Oh, good God. I had no idea ankles were sexy. His nose trailed up my calf, his strong fingers smoothing into the flesh in a painfully delightful way. “You have possibly the sexiest arse and legs I’ve ever known.” He kissed the underside of my calf and I stretched my toes.

  “You have the sexiest bloody everything I’ve ever seen.” I gasped and pointed my toes like a ballerina as he dotted a kiss on the back of my knee.

  He chuckled and pulled me down the bed. I wrapped my legs around his hips, the black lace of my underwear rubbing against the denim of his jeans.

  Sweet shit. The pressure from the hardness under his jeans shot like a bolt of electricity. It rocketed through me. I swirled my hips against him, not even attempting to hide my attempt at self-gratification.

  Ignoring my rotating hips, he picked up my wrist and kissed the sensitive skin, brushing across the veins and then running up the crease of my arm. I lifted my arms above my head in our little cotton cave and his hand ran along my tummy.

  “Shit, Ronnie.” He groaned, his lips landing on mine; hard for a moment, all toying playfulness forgotten.

  “You need to take some clothes off.”

  “I will. But hang on.” He sighed almost reverently as he dipped his head from my shoulder and trailed a path of minuscule kisses down my chest into the valley of all the good stuff. The warmth of his lips seeped into me, spreading gentle little heart shapes of heat everywhere he pushed them. In the middle of my bra he paused and ran a thumb under the bone of the lace. A deep ache scorched between my legs. I wanted his hands on me, in me, everywhere. I reached to grasp his face so I could land a kiss, but he stayed intent on kissing down my stomach.

  The heat in my core burned even wilder.

  When his mouth danced around the edge of my knickers I held in a cry. A real cry. His fingers slipped up my thigh and swept over the lace. His breath burned hot, his tongue teasing the elastic band.

  So glad I packed decent underwear. So, so, so glad.

  Straightening back up, he turned me like I was nothing more than a feather. Then once I was on my stomach, he did it all again, from my ankles all the way up and back down again. Not an inch of skin without a kiss.

  My nerves frazzled at the edges. Every time he moved close to a hyper-sensitive area caged by black lace, I sensed the familiar tingle build inside me. And he wasn’t even touching me properly yet.

  He’d put one finger on me, and I’d blow like a volcano.

  He unclipped my bra and smoothed the straps away, his fingers dancing over my spine like I was a piano and he knew my tune.

  I whimpered my moans into the mattress, cussing every so often as his touch teased me to within an inch of my sanity.

  When he tugged at my knickers, I held my breath.

  Naked with Matthew.

  His hands skimmed over the domes of my arse and then settled on my hips, turning me back around to face him.

  His gaze shadowed darker than midnight as it drifted over every inch of me. Not quick, or shy. It almost ate me up as it slowly slipped across the surface of my skin.

  For a moment he stared at me and I knew the expression he had on his face. It was the one I always had; the ‘I’m lost for words’.

  Silently, I held my hand out for him and he submitted, bending forward so I could pull off his jumper. The space in the cotton cave wasn’t big and we now lay in a tangle of clothes, but I didn’t care. Once I’d revealed the pale perfection of his skin, like moon rays, and the perfectly scoped muscles it covered, I tried to reach for his jeans. I couldn’t quite stretch that far, so he did it for me and then moved to the side so he could shimmy them off.

  Everything came off, underwear and all, leaving me looking at Matthew. Really looking at him.

  The morning tent didn’t do him justice. “Yikes.” I gasped, squeezing my legs together.

  I reached my fingers for him, drawing them lazily up his smooth hard-on, turning my hands into a circle and then pushing back down.

  The fire between my legs flamed with eye-watering intensity.

  He was big; I guessed that’s what you got for being six foot four. My hand couldn’t hold him in his entirety. My legs became numb at the prospect of him being inside me.

  “I’m worried about the theory. There’s a chance you might not fit.” I laughed but pitched a notch out of tune.

  “I’ll fit.” He rolled onto his knees, settling between my legs. I tried to keep them shut but his wide and powerful hands could easily push my knees apart. His gaze closed with an impenetrable snap. What he thought as he gazed at me that way, I’d probably never know.

  Greedily, I absorbed the sight of him settled between my legs; staring at him, at his perfect form, the vast pole poised upright in front of me. There could never be a view quite so sensational.

  He ducked his head out from under the edge and the unmistakable sound of a drawer opening filled the air. He came back, foil packet in hand, and I licked my lips as he pulled it open and then rolled the condom down his dick.

  This was happening. Matthew Carling had a condom on and watched me with a desperate hunger in his eyes. I swallowed hard, pushing down my insecurities and waited for him to break from his mesmerised trance.

  Reaching for me with an almost careless caress of his hand, he brushed one of my nipples; the creamy flesh surrounding it puckered at the light touch. He brushed again and then captured a handful, cupping it in his palm, bending to suck on the hardened pebble. I groaned loudly, unable to tame it.

  With another deep suck, he pulled my left leg up his chest and over his shoulder, his free hand smoothing up my calf and thigh, massaging deep so I suspended between the pleasure of my nipple in his mouth and the pain of his fingers gripping my sensitive flesh.

  For one painf
ul moment I thought about him doing this with her, loving her in this way; but then I pushed it far away.

  I needed to stay focused on the now. The now was him reaching for my other nipple, leaning down and sucking it in, swirling it like candy with his tongue. All the while his other hand kneaded my thigh, edging down further. I automatically lifted up to meet him, and his thumb rotated on the prize. My clit pulsed painfully and I squirmed my hips, begging him to go faster. The more I writhed, the slower and more determined he grew.

  Holding my leg tight to his chest, my foot resting barely above his shoulder, he leant down very close and kissed me on the mouth. Sweet and so beautiful, it completely distracted from the inching build of him pushing inside me. He swiped his tongue around my mouth and then sucked on my bottom lip as he pushed further still. Heat rushed around me, through me, everywhere.

  I was going to pass out.

  Another kiss, his tongue slow and sensuous. Another inch. Two. Maybe a hundred, until I brimmed with him, unable to move. With the hand not holding his weight he reached to the side and grabbed my other leg, tucking that one up alongside the other one on his chest.

  I nearly died at the first rotation of his hips. It was deep and intense, and honestly, he’d found a space of no man’s land in there I didn’t know existed. Everything about it brought toe pointing and breath gasping.

  He pushed a little quicker, sharper, one long arm reaching down and his fingers smoothing my face.

  I gasped as his deep and relentless stroke pushed against a sensitive spot I thought was a myth. “Oh.” It was nothing more than a pathetic whimper. And then another. “Oh.”

  His lips curled at the edges and our gazes held.

  I had so much in my head. Intense and bubbling pleasure, it bashed at me from every angle, dragging me backwards and forward. I wanted to stay focused on the moment, to remember every sensation, but I couldn’t because every thrust of his hips brought me higher and closer to exploding. He must have known my ‘oh’s’ weren’t from pain, and satisfied I could take it, he dropped my legs, although I still hooked us together as I crossed my feet behind his back. No longer holding back, his rhythm stretched out: long push, slow stroke, quick thrust. They all had my head thrashing from one side to another. Long push, slow stroke, quick thrust. And again and again. I dragged the duvet off of our heads, desperate for the cold air to stop the rising tingle that ran up my legs.

  I reached for his face, my thumb smoothing across his cheekbone. My fingers grasping tight at his dark hair. I prayed with every whimper I made that he understood the way he made me feel. The crazy intensity, the desperate longing; they balanced themselves with every roll of his hips. I tried to show him with a kiss. Our bodies glided together, slicker and faster.

  “Ronnie?” He dropped his head and looked at me with a questioning glance. The muscles in his neck stood out, his shoulders bunched as he bent over me, curling deeper into me still.

  I nodded and slung my arms around his neck, dragging him down to my level as his strong thrusts in and out made the bed slam against the wall. I clawed against him, desperate to have every piece of him. His hands gripped my thighs, pulling them higher so he could get even further under my skin.

  “Oh.” That blue gaze of heaven and slate landed on mine and his expression of sheer awe thrown with careless abandon took me over the edge. I scrunched my eyes, clinging on to a life raft as he pumped into me and then shuddered, his own arms finding purchase and clutching me tight.

  My head rolled back, my eyes unfocused.

  I couldn’t even.

  My legs didn’t belong to me. The ceiling span and I still pulsed around him like a disco ball.

  He lifted his head from my shoulder and dropped his forehead onto mine, nose to nose, his gaze intense. “And the theory?” I bloomed with pride as he panted as breathless as me. “I mean, obviously I’ve got more foreplay in my repertoire, but it felt kind of urgent.”

  “Matthew.” I pushed my hands against his face, breathing in his air like a precious life force. For a moment I couldn’t talk. My brain reeled too fast. My body still hummed from being connected to his. “Perfect.”

  He sighed and pulled out, lying down next to me on the mattress and wrapping me up tight in his arms. “It’s as I’ve always thought.”

  An aching echo of sadness washed over me. What did I do to us by not saying yes that day? What did he do to us by being angry about something I hadn’t done?

  “I think we need to do it again to make sure.” I lifted my head and arched an eyebrow. I think my eyebrow might be the only part of me working.

  He kissed the top of my head. “Possibly. I need to sleep for ten minutes though.”

  “Are you that tired?” Surprised, I glanced at him. His muscles were immense and that was no exaggeration.

  “Yes. I watched you sleep all night.”

  I melted to goo, warm and oozing.

  Leaning over, I kissed his jaw. “Now it’s my turn to watch you.”

  Tea

  His nose curved a perfect slope with the slightest little upturn at the end. Above, his brows were dark and powerful. Was there such a thing as powerful brows? I realised as I stared at every pore on his face I might be drunk on lust and desire.

  As I watched his chest rise up and down, my head resting and listening to the deep beat of his heart, life started to make more sense.

  What was once nice had become something so intense, so achingly real, that it hurt to think about it.

  Sex. Matthew and me. I’d never experienced anything like it. It seemed like we’d been carved from the same felled tree and now we were together the essence of that timeless substance could rekindle and reconnect.

  With Paul… I clutched Matthew a little tighter and nibbled on my lip as I contemplated it. It was never like that. He never shook me down to my bones, rinsing himself into my blood until we were nothing but a simple moment together.

  The weight of guilt that tightened my chest when I thought about it hurt enough that I didn’t want to breathe.

  It was me.

  Holding back, never giving and now that I was here, I knew why. Even when I didn’t know Matthew like this, skin on skin, body to body, I still knew him.

  I’d never not known the theory.

  Turning a fraction, I lifted my hand and stared at my wedding ring.

  I’d been wearing it for so damn long, never realising that it’d never served a purpose.

  The harsh and soul-destroying fact ate away at me.

  My heart had never been mine to give. I should never have sat in that pub that day and told Paul about Matthew. I should’ve fought harder, should have found him, battled to the death to call him mine. Instead I’d sulked and licked my wounds.

  I stared at Matthew again, my heart quickening in my chest. With a quick press of my lips to his jaw I untangled myself, leaving him to snooze. Silently, I pulled on my jumper and then grabbed a pair of soft grey tracksuit bottoms from a chair by the wall. I had to bend and roll up three times at the ankle to make them fit. Softly I left the room and pulled the door shut behind me.

  My feet sank into the deep carpet as I padded along. The other bedroom doors I hadn’t even noticed as we swept up the stairs like a tornado earlier were ajar. I popped my head in and found a colourful boy’s room. The older room had been toned down, the green and brown of camouflage. The smaller one sang with bright blues and reds. Apparently, they were the only rooms not flavoured with the subtle tone of lavender.

  Back down the stairs I made my way to the kitchen and leant against the AGA. The room was a little warmer now and I guessed the boiler had begun to work and heat the old house; either that or my blood still boiled from Matthew sex. Reaching over, I flicked the kettle on and then searched for mugs.

  I discovered a lot of healthy food. Seeds, nuts, crackers that looked like cardboard. I’d found at least a partial answer for the washboard stomach.

  I was all for the gym and working out, even more so the la
st five years, but I couldn’t resist a bowl of pasta. Ma said it was the only part of my Italian heritage I’d ever truly embraced. She wasn’t wrong.

  Once I’d opened every cupboard in the place and found the makings of tea and while I waited for the kettle to boil, I looked at some framed photographs on the wall. The frames were all black, and the photos seemed to date right back. Matthew with his boys, none of their mother. It gave me a little pang in my chest. Not of guilt, or relief even. More the fact that it was heart-breaking that the beautiful man upstairs didn’t want to keep a record of his marriage in his new house. It showed a bitterness that I wouldn’t have expected from Matthew. I chuckled to myself and shook my head. He was angry at you for fifteen years and you didn’t do anything wrong.

  I’d have to ask him about it.

  I wanted to know everything about him.

  What made the boy with the pencil behind his ear and the paint-soaked fingers grow a bitter edge like that?

  I moved to the next frame where Matthew smiled alongside an older couple. It must be his parents, I guessed. He had their looks. His dad’s smile and defined cheekbones, his mother’s dark hair.

  The next frame was a younger Matthew still. He was loitering outside a shop. His dad was laughing and had a broom in his hand. Matthew was not laughing. Tall and skinny, his dark hair was standing on end. He was the Matthew I met my first day at university, staring at me out of the picture like he lounged against that dorm doorframe all those years ago.

  I should have told you how I felt the moment I met you.

  I huffed out a breath and for a long intense moment, breathing became painfully impossible. My chest so tight, my heart thudding uncontrollably, my legs numb and heavy.

  I stared at that face, smooth and achingly handsome. He should have had all the girls all over him on campus, but he never did. It was always just the two of us; holding hands as easy as it was to laugh and talk.

  I stepped closer to the picture looking at all the details, memorising it. I didn’t see it at first. So focused on the tall and gangly boy with the folded arms, I didn’t look at the bigger picture, but then something made me look over his head. The shop sign was bright green. Carling Supersavers. I looked closer and tried to get it to make sense. The name can’t change.