Late Valentine Ch. 02

It seeps into every part of my body, this wonderful feeling, so deep I can hardly remember being anywhere else but here. In this moment. With this man. Rob Montague. Who I've known less than four days but feel more comfortable with than anyone else in a very, very long time. The part of my brain that demands rational answers has simply shut down, defeated by the strength of this feeling. By the measure of security all around me. Us. He must be feeling it also. The rise of his chest under my cheek is deep and regular. A metronome in the room.

I raise my head to look at him. Is he sleeping?

'What is it, 'Lisbeth?' His voice gruff; 'you're ok?'

'I was checking to see if you'd fallen asleep.'

His fingers twitch and flex on my back. 'Mm, not really. Dreaming, but not asleep.'

'Oh?'

The glint is back. 'I'm wondering if what the saleswoman said about this bed is true or not.'

'And what would that be?'

'That it's unbreakable.'

'Seriously?' I laugh.

'Yes. Want to give it another test?'

He rolls us before I can choke out a reply, trapping me under him, pushing his thigh against me, except the dress is in the way. Too tight. He makes a noise of frustration into my mouth, his eyes full of laughter. Amused at our state. Horny, making out still fully clothed, like teens. I press myself up against him, sharing his frustration but unwilling to loosen my hold on him quite yet. Not while he's kissing me like this. Lightly, delicately, then deeply, searching for me. Maddening and wonderful. I tug his hair a little, and his eyes pop open. I smile into his kiss, letting him know that's what I wanted. The force of those blue eyes pouring into me.

When he eases off, giving us both the opportunity to breathe, I can't resist teasing him. 'I'm still not quite sure how you think we're going to go about testing the strength of your bed.'

'God, my skills must be more tragic than I feared,' he intones, slapping a hand to his forehead in an overdramatic fashion that makes me giggle.

'You make me laugh like a teenager.'

'That's good, isn't it?' he asks, his eyes lit up.

'Yes, I'm pretty sure it is,' landing a kiss on the end of his nose.

His eyes seem to open up as if the cover's come off of a deep well. I breathe in, drinking him in. Enchanted.

'We found each other,' he says, his expression full of wonder and tenderness and things that are going to make my heart burst, his fingers running lightly over my face and down my neck, forcing a shiver of pleasure.

'We did,' is all I can reply.

He blinks, pulls me in for a kiss. We kiss and kiss until we're too tangled up in our clothing. He levers himself up, a wide smile on his face, his pure white shirt swinging open as he climbs off the bed and something about that scene captivates me, and I know it'll be one of those moments my brain will recall in detail weeks, if not years, from now. The dark of his hair and suit pants contrasted with his shirt in the low light of his bedroom is as if the scene's been shot in black and white. I hold onto the image, even as he begins stripping off, hoping that one day, when we act out a similar scene, I'll be able to tell him I love him, when it won't feel so ridiculously premature.

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She winces, an almost imperceptible tensing of her thigh muscles. I release the pressure, forcing my fingers to be still.

'Sore?'

It takes a couple of seconds for her to reply, as if she's battling with misplaced politeness, before offering a wry smile. 'A little,' she concedes. 'Sorry.'

'Don't be sorry, Lisbeth. Never be sorry about that,' I try to reassure her.

She hums a noise that could be embarrassment.

I lie back, relinquishing her, but she follows me, apparently not wanting to let go, so I stroke her with the lightest touches I can manage, and am thoroughly rewarded by one of her lovely throaty sounds.

'Good?' I murmur, feeling her body follow the movement of my hand.

'Yes,' in a firm voice.

I try to reign in my own lustful needs, not wanting to lose my concentration on her, not wanting to hurt her. And then I have an idea. I run my hand out from between her thighs to circle it over her hip.

'Sit up,' I ask her.

And as she does, I coax her into kneeling over me, pulling at the backs of her thighs until it dawns on her what I want her to do. A blush blooms dark and wide over her upper body.

'Please, Elizabeth. This way you can control it and I won't be able to push too hard and make you any more tender than you already are,' I explain with difficulty, since the vision of her suspended over me is perfection.

'On my God,' she whispers, staring down at me with her beautiful brown eyes, lips parted in the very definition of sex, continuing to mutter the words over and over as she shifts and adjusts herself before finally sinking her hips down to my greedy face.

She lurches at my first few touches, then settles into a pattern of tilts and lifts, gasps and more curses, grabbing the headboard for balance. It's beyond heavenly to take her to this place, to hear and feel her reactions, the swell and pulse of her, her increasing slipperiness, until she's gripping me so tightly between her thighs I lose the ability to hear her at all. Only feel and taste are left to me, and it's glorious. A glory I want to repeat over and over and over. She comes slowly and surely and long, moving against my mouth and tongue until I think I might run out of air, before she finally, abruptly, sits up, legs trembling hard.

I slide my hands up her thighs to offer some support and, after a few seconds, to help her lie down next to me. She surprises me by pulling me towards her, hands on either side of my head, landing a sloppy kiss on my mouth.

'Oh god, oh my god, that was awesome, Rob. You're awesome,' her words bubbling up uneven and heartfelt.

I kiss her back, because what else is there, except for this beautiful woman?

'We found each other,' I murmur, knowing I'm repeating myself but not caring, letting myself get lost in her sweet affection.

She rolls closer until she's pressing my aching cock up against the gentle rise of her belly and, god help me, my hips push and thrust at her with instinctive desperation. She hums and sighs, the sounds catching deliciously in her throat.

'Hmm, so nice. So hard,' as she moves her body to match mine.

I groan, already coming undone. Scraps of the evening flit messily through my mind. Elizabeth and Lizzie sharing secret smiles across the table. Holding Grace in my arms. John's mild blue eyes, wide and happier than I can remember. Elizabeth's intake of breath at the view from Primrose Hill. Something tight shifts and loosens in my chest but the imminent flood dams and my eyes spring open at the sound of Elizabeth's tentative voice.

'Would you, uh, do something for me?'

'Of course. What is it?'

She looks flushed, chewing at her lip. 'Would you touch yourself?'

It takes a few seconds to understand what she means. And when I get it, I can't stop myself from a short laugh. 'You want to watch me wank?' I clarify and rather enjoy the sound of her expelling air.

But then she moves against me in a way that's almost blinding it's so good. 'Christ, woman, I'll do whatever you want if you do that again.'

Her quiet laugh is a gift. She picks up my hand that's been brushing circles over her hip and pushes it between our bodies.

'I'd like to see you,' she adds softly.

I close my eyes for a few moments. When was the last time I did this in front of a woman? Before Ginny, I know that much. Perhaps that's why I'm oddly nervous. I sit up and, by degrees, we organise ourselves until I'm resting my back against the headboard and she's sitting across my thighs, an excited gleam in her eyes.

'Is this what you want?' I ask, my voice sounding rougher than usual.

'God, yes,' she breathes, gaze glued to my hand as I take a hold of myself.

Even my touch feels different in these circumstances. I use a tighter grasp to begin with, to stave off a premature release, but when her fingers lightly brush my crown I have to squeeze harder.

'Wow, you look...' and she drifts off.

I open my eyes again to find her looking straight at me. I grin a little. 'It's been a long time since I've done this with an audience.'

Her body ripples with laughter and delight. 'I'm honoured, Robbie' she teases.

'Hmm. You like calling me that?' I ask, needing the distraction.

'I guess I do. Do you mind?'

I shake my head, blood surging, balls tightening, almost at the point of no return. Her soft lips on my mouth are a surprise, which means I must have unconsciously closed my eyes again. It's just a chaste, sweet kiss but it feels so much more. I lean in for more and more, but she denies me, a curl of mischief making dimples in her cheeks.

'Will you come for me? Get us messy?'

'Fuck, Elizabeth,' I mutter, bracing myself for the onslaught, her invitation just too much for my over stimulated brain.

She leans in, this time whispering words into my ear, calling me beautiful, encouraging me, urging me on. 'That's it, Robbie, come on me.'

Everything seizes, hovers, tightened and on the edge. I breathe, forcing a pause. She brushes a hand through my hair and around the back of neck in such a loving gesture it brings heat to my face. I watch her mouth form my name which is when it rolls over me in a powerful, soul-battering wave, an unstoppable rush of blood and love. The first release is a gut punch, followed by several more that threaten to ruin me, until I'm pulling and twisting at my cock to wring out every last drop. Stunned, my head drops back to the headboard as I try to regain my breath and my equilibrium.

'Is this what you like to see?'

I fight to focus on her in my reduced state. She's sitting back a little, running her fingers through the mess I've made of her chest and belly. I swear, unable not to at such a sight, letting my own fingers join in, smearing it, savouring it as if it's the most rare of substances.

'You know it is,' I finally succeed in replying, and pull her towards me, rather roughly although she doesn't seem to mind, and hold her as close as I can, feeling the way her body fits so wonderfully to mine. And I don't relinquish her. Can't.

'We have a plan to see each other, remember? Just two weeks,' her words worm into my consciousness and I grip her more, nodding into the crook of her neck. 'A little less than that, actually,' she continues and I still hold her tight, needing the closeness.

She presses a kiss to the side of my head. 'Thank you,' and sits up.

I blink, taken aback at the strength of my feelings.

'I've never asked anyone to do that before,' she offers, perhaps thinking my quiet is a demand for an explanation. 'It was totally worth it,' with that delightful smile.

'I'm glad,' I reply in my driest of voices.

'Will you do it again? I mean, not now,' she adds quickly when I pull my eyebrows up, ' but another time?'

'I don't think I can say no to you, Elizabeth.'

We sit with those words for some time, as if we're having to work hard to absorb what's happening between us. Or that might be just me, getting too far ahead of reality, my romantic self making a fool of me again. But I hope not. Fervently not. Because surviving Ginny was one thing. Elizabeth -- well, now -- she's turning out to be altogether something else and I hope I've got the strength to survive whatever our future might turn out to be.

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Airports are terrible places. So generic it's difficult to recall exactly where one is in the world, all check-in desks, security lines and business lounges inseparable in their bland anonymity. I roll my case along the concourse, eyes already dry and sore, but from a night of almost no sleep rather than the arid, air-conditioned environment of Heathrow. As I jab at the check-in kiosk, flipping my passport onto the reader, memories of Rob fill my heart and mind. I'd told him not to come to the airport. For one thing, I hate goodbyes, and for another, I felt I couldn't spend another minute with him without my bigass mouth blurting out exactly how I feel about him. And it's just way too soon for that. Complete insanity.

It's not until I'm in my seat, a glass of sparkling water on the table next to me that I pull out my phone to review my list. Moving to London -- it's hardly credible. A message pops up from Margo suggesting she may already have someone interested in my flat and affirming her plan to come pick me up from O'Hare.

'Need to know what's going on with you,' she's typed.

I try and fail to think of how I'm going to sum up these last few days, not least because they feel more like a lifetime.

As the pilot guides the plane up and up into the low clouds over west London, I smile to myself and wonder if Rob's stripped his bed yet and discovered my camisole where I left it for him, folded under his pillow. Still rumpled and stained from our first night with each other. His eyes, soft and heavy as he'd first seen it -- I swallow the memory and, for the first time, wonder if I can survive the next two weeks without him. And, while the steward positions the meal in front of me, fussing with the tiny salt and pepper set, setting down the napkin with a flourish, I finally begin to consider what it'll be like when Rob comes to stay with me in Chicago. What will he discover of my complicated family and life?

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