Page 139 of Carry Me Home

‘Still fast,’ she says.

‘Still you.’

Her fingers curl into my shirt. She looks up at me and her face is open in a way I’ve never seen it – not performing, not deflecting, not making a joke to diffuse the tension. Just Nina, stripped of every defence, standing in front of me with nothing between us except the air and the question of what happens next.

‘Tom.’ Her voice is quiet. ‘Before we – I need you to know⁠—’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know how to do this. With you. With anyone I actually—’ She stops. Starts again. ‘Everyone before you was easy because it didn’t matter enough to be terrifying. This matters. You matter. And I’m scared I’m going to get it wrong.’

I take her face in my hands. Tilt it up so she has to look at me.

‘You’re not going to get it wrong.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I know you.’ I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. Feel her lean into it. ‘I’ve known you for eleven years. You could get everything wrong and I’d still be standing here.’

‘That’s a lot of pressure.’

‘That’s a lot of love. They feel similar.’

She laughs – shaky, wet, real – and then she’s kissing me again, and her hands are pulling at my shirt, and I stop thinking about anything except this woman in my arms, in her flat, in the life I’ve been imagining since I was sixteen years old.

I take my time. After eleven years, I refuse to rush this. I know where her bedroom is, and I back her towards the door, not once breaking my mouth from hers.

This kiss is everything. It rewrites the stars themselves.

‘Fuck,’ she groans as the door shuts, leaving us in the dark of the bedroom, and I push her up against the closed door.

‘Okay?’ I kiss back against the curve of her lips.

‘Fuck.’

I chuckle softly, and then fall to my knees. The only place I want to be with her. Worshipping the very ground she walks on.

‘Tom?’ She’s nervous, even her words are shaking. Her legs are shaking. She’s shaking. I run a hand up her leg, smooth and warm. I may come in my pants before I touch her.

I smile to myself as she leans back against the door. Taking my time, I run my fingers back down and then back up, pressing a kiss to the side of her knee which trembles at the lightest of my touches. Rising higher on my knees, I kiss my way up her thigh, hand creeping around to cup that perfect arse I’ve spent far far too long admiring. She smells amazing, floral and sweet, like the finest dessert you aren’t meant to eat with a spoon.

‘Tom,’ she whispers.

‘Shh, just let me adore you.’

She groans a little and this time the tremble of her knees is more of a slip slide as she pushes her thighs together. My fingers trail again, just gently, lightly, up and down, up and down.

Another press of her thighs and I’m biting down on my smile. A kiss to her knee, a kiss an inch higher, another inch, until I’m at the frilly edge of her floral knickers. I press a kiss to the place where her thighs meet, the apex of everything I’ve imagined, from when I was a hormonal teenage boy to now, when I’m a grown man.

‘Oh, God. Tom.’ My name on her mouth is a sin and I want to hear it over and over again. I brush my thumb across the front of her knickers and she shudders slightly. Another press, another shudder. My middle finger slips back, still over cotton, only to find it damp and clinging to her core. It’s only a split second until I’m under the edge of the elastic, sliding my fingers through her, her desire and heat guiding the way.

Heaven.

It’s actual heaven.

She shudders again, weight leaning back against the door, knees now bent so she can push her hips forward. There’s my girl, the one I knew was always there, waiting just for me. I press a kiss to the front of her cotton knickers, inhaling the intoxicating scent.

‘This feels too good,’ she whispers. ‘Is it bad it feels too good?’