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He lifted me onto the counter, and caught up in the moment, I hooked my legs around his waist. But then I realised that we were making out in my kitchen, where I cooked my meals.
‘What am I doing?’ I said aloud as Thomas proceeded to unbutton my shirt. He pulled the cup of my bra down to gently suck on an exposed nipple.
‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. ‘But I don’t think you should stop.’
***
Thomas seemed content to continue in the kitchen, but I suggested we move things to my bedroom. Since I’d changed the sheets, vacuumed, and dusted every single inch of it (even the top of the wardrobe and skirting boards) while waiting for him to come over, it seemed a waste not to.
Not that he cared about dusty architraves. The only cobwebs he seemed interested in clearing away were mine.
After a similar interaction to last night’s (except that Thomas nimbly used his fingers instead of a vibrator), again, I willingly succumbed to his expert touch. I was surprised that I felt so comfortable with him, or maybe it was because I knew I couldn’t get hurt. My heart belonged to someone else. Even if he could manipulate my body in pleasurable ways, love was always going to be off-limits.
After pulling on his boxer briefs and using the bathroom, Thomas walked around my bedroom, looking at things, while I lay in bed with the sheet pulled over me. I watched him trace the titles on the bookshelf, finger the midnight-blue silk runner with silver stars covering the dresser, and pick up my cat ornament and peer closely at it. I twitched a little, not used to having someone inspect my personal stuff. Eventually, he sat on the side of the bed. I wondered if I should provide tea, coffee, or juice now the deed was done.
‘Do you live alone?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How come?’
‘I prefer it. Do you?’ I hadn’t thought to ask him before.
‘No, I have a flatmate.’
‘Oh. Guy or girl?’
‘Guy. I don’t see him much. He usually stays at his girlfriend’s place.’
‘Ah.’
He looked at me and chewed his bottom lip. ‘Should I go? I mean, I don’t want to. But if I’m in the way ...’
I hitched the sheet higher. ‘You don’t have to go. We can chat as well as ... the other, surely.’
‘True. Fancy a cuppa? I’ll make it.’
‘OK, yes, thanks.’
‘How do you have it? Let me guess—white, no sugar.’
‘Actually, white with half a sugar.’
He snapped his fingers. ‘I’ll have to remember that.’
I wondered how many cups of tea he was planning on making for me during our short acquaintance.
Lying there listening to the sound of him humming in the kitchen as he sorted the tea was quite soothing. I thought I should probably get dressed or at least put my knickers on, but I couldn’t be bothered. My limbs and other bits felt lovely and relaxed after his attention.
Thomas brought in two mugs of steaming tea and went to place mine on top of Mercy’s memoir, which was on my bedside table.
‘Don’t put it on there!’ I screeched, flinging out an arm to stop him.
‘Wow, OK.’ Thomas stood there holding the tea, looking startled.
I snatched the green book up from the table and held it to my chest. ‘Sorry, it’s just really old, from an archive. A hot mug of tea on the binding would be extremely damaging. You need to put on white gloves to even read it.’
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. ‘If it’s so old, why have you got it here in the first place? Shouldn’t it be at your office?’
