For two people whose entire relationship up to now has been word-based, we seem to be down to the bare minimum.
We somewhat awkwardly maneuver through the door, still locked together.
“Where?” His breath ghosts over my lips.
“Anywhere.”
By silent agreement, we immediately start shedding our layers. George’s coat, my coat and the suit jacket I’m stillwearing underneath it. We hit a minor hiccup when George’s glasses snag on his/my sweater as he pulls it over his head. I set them back on his face, then tug his t-shirt up and off, careful to avoid the frames.
Under his clothes, he’s lean, fit, not that it matters; I am utterly drunk with wanting him. His body is just a bonus.
There’s just a sprinkling of hair on his chest, and I run a thumb over a nipple, then bend to lick the other one. He emits a very satisfying groan of frustration, and I smile against his skin.
We seem to have made it to the bottom of the spiral staircase somewhere along the way, not that either of us seems anxious to stop this long enough to climb the stairs. Instead, George pushes me so my back is up against the railing, then reaches up to start undressing me. This, unfortunately, is way more complicated than it was with him, given that I’m still half in formalwear. But any annoyance I feel immediately dissolves when I get to experience the sexy slide of George Knight slowly loosening my(/his) tie.
He starts on my buttons, and I slide my hands down the warm, smooth skin on his sides, dragging one hand around to palm him through his pants. He sucks in a breath.
“Fuck”
“Maybe later.” I grin.
He groans but with unmistakable fondness, and then we’re back on each other.
My shirt goes, then my t-shirt, and we’re skin on skin.
There’s more tussling and reaching and grabbing and touching, and now we’ve both got our pants undone. George starts kissing a trail down my chest, sliding my jeans lower as he goes. Then his hands are on me, his breath. My own breathing stutters, but I pull him up to me.
“I need you here.” We’ve spent too much of our time at a distance, right now, for this, I need him right here with me, as close as he can be.
He leans his face against mine, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, so close he’s all blurry, but he looks at me anyway, and he seems to understand. To agree. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
I tilt my head and brush my lips gently across his. He opens for me, and we’re kissing again, and everything is right.
Well, not everything.
I pull back, just an inch or two, and hold up my hand. “Lick, please.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but then he turns and drags his tongue in a broad stripe up my palm.
I reached down, shuffling with his waistband. Then I wrap my hand around both of us. He leans up and takes my mouth again, tangling our tongues while I stroke us both together, finding a rhythm.
It doesn’t take much.
I glide a thumb across his tip. He shudders, then topples over the edge. And then it’s my turn. My release hits me so hard, my knees start to buckle. He grabs me, pulls me against him. We stay like that, both panting to catch our breath. We are both a mess. Neither of us seems to mind. I bend down and rest my forehead against his shoulder, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. He whispers, his words tickling my ear, “Nice to finally officially meet you.”
I laugh. And then he laughs. I pull back, dragging my hands up to hold either side of his face and just look at him. He’s here. He’s real. He’s… everything.
“Likewise.”
I bend to kiss him, and the sound of a phone buzzing with a text comes from somewhere on the floor in the vicinity of George’s coat. We look over in unison, then turn back to eachother. “Ignore it.” He leans up. His lips are just brushing mine when it buzzes again. And again.
“Some kind of publishing emergency?”
George sighs, snatching his t-shirt from the ground and giving his front a hasty wipe before handing it to me. He shuffles his pants back on as he goes over to his coat and pulls the phone from the pocket. “Either that or—” He looks at the screen before holding it up to me.
“Zoe,” we say in unison.
He looks like he’s contemplating whether or not to write back when the phone actually starts ringing. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, then looks at me with a question.
