“I need you to know you’re in control. That whatever happens now, happens because you want it to,” I say.
“No, I can’t be in control. I . . . Nothing more than kissing will happen if I’m in control,” he says. He’s still locking fingers with me.
“Do you want anything more to happen?” I’m rock hard, and Mathias’s flimsy shorts leave little to the imagination. His erection presses against my hip. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though. Dicks don’t always behave the way we want them to.
He lets go of my hand, and it feels cold, bereft. He shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay.” My insides do a painful jolt. Am I forcing him to do something he’s not comfortable with? “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” There’s no hesitation in his voice and I relax a little. “I want you to stay here until eleven thirty.”
“Eleven thirty? What, kick-out time?”
He gives a nervous laugh. “Yes. I know that’s selfish, but I like that I don’t have to share you.”
Holy shit. My eyes close involuntarily, and I moan into his mouth as I bring our lips together again. After a few moments, I pull back. “Kick-out’s at one a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, though.”
Mathias smiles. I feel the stretch of his lips against mine, his cheeks bulging. “Then stay until one. I haveNew MoonandEclipseandBreaking Dawnparts one and two if we run out of entertainment.”
We kiss until the kids on the telly are playing baseball. It’s tender, with slow, gentle strokes and butterfly brushes, and then fierce and urgent, panting and hands against chests and grabbing hair. Occasionally Mathias’s fingers fumble at my belt buckle, but he never tries to undo it.
And then suddenly Mathias stops and sits bolt upright on the couch. He cradles his forehead in his hand and lets out a shaky breath.
“Everything okay?” I’m dreading his answer.
Here’s where he tells me what a stupid idea it was to make out with an old has-been like me.
“I need some water,” he says, and without any further words he heads into the kitchen.
The tap is running, which is weird because he has a filter jug. I recognise that I’ve overstepped his boundaries and hobble to the porch, trainers in hand.
“Are you leaving?” Mathias walks through the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea. The tags hang out over the lip. “I’m sorry, I just had . . . a moment. I’m good now. Please stay. Unless . . . you don’t wanna.” He closes his eyes in a slow blink and shakes his head a little, like he’s internally reprimanding himself.
“Do you want me to stay?”
He nods, and I kick my shoes off again.
“We can just watch the movies together if you’d prefer?” I suggest.
“I would really like that,” he says.
I accept my cup of tea and we move back to the living room.
“Do you . . .” I laugh. Can’t seem to finish my question. “Do you like cuddling?”
He laughs too. “Um, not usually, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
“I’m pretty big on cuddles,” I tell him as I place my mug on the table and sit back down on the couch.
Mathias snuggles up to my side, a hand on my chest resting right where my heart is. I drape my arm over his shoulder.
We last six minutes before he pushes himself off me. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and moves to the other end of the couch. He brings his legs up and tucks his feet under my ass. “Is this okay, though?”
“Yes.” It’s perfect.
It’s gone two a.m. whenNew Moonfinishes. I’ve fallen asleep with my feet up on the coffee table and my head against the back of the sofa. I was probably snoring, but Mathias never once disturbed me, except to tell me the second movie was over.
“Goodnight, then,” I tell him. Frigid night air licks through the weave of my jumper as I open his front door and step outside.
