Page 58 of The Mismatch

‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s OK.’

She wasn’t quite sure if they were in fact OK, but the look of hope on his face made her heart beat out of time, and suddenly she wanted so desperately for it all to blow over, so she said it anyway.

‘So, we’re friends again?’

She nodded. ‘Sure.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You really sure? You can have a go at me some more if you like? I deserve it.’

She shook her head. ‘If anything like that happens again, just give me a heads-up, that’s all I wanted.’ The words feltforeign in her mouth, like she was asking a great deal of this man, even though she knew she wasn’t. She wasn’t sure if she should still be trying to play it cool, almost worried that she was coming across too invested in whatever it was they were, but she didn’t have time to overthink it because he smiled softly at her, and caught her hand in both of his.

‘I promise.’

**

That evening they engaged in an activity that proved them to be more than friends.

His hand was around her waist. He drew it lower to the bottom of her stomach. Her pouch. Her smile faltered and she put her hands over his and lifted it higher to her waist.

‘I don’t like my stomach,’ Soraya told him.

‘Well, I do,’ he said, and pushed the duvet away, crawled down the bed and kissed her lower stomach. She squirmed.

His hand was on her inner thigh, which stopped her short. She suddenly felt very, very warm. A chuckle escaped her lips; she was light and giddy. A stark contrast from the way she’d felt in the morning. ‘Every time you say you don’t like something about yourself, I’m going to kiss it, to make you accept that you’re perfect.’

Soraya let out a snort.

‘What if it’s my personality? You can’t kiss a personality,’ she said, between gasps as his fingers seemed to trail higher.

‘Yeah, you can.’ His lips pressed down on hers, gently opening them, and when their tongues met she knew what he meant.

She somehow ended up on top of him, his hardness pressing against her. In moments like these she felt confident, conscious of the way her long curly hair tumbled down her back. He kissed her sides.

‘Do you feel how hard I am for you?’ he whispered, in a low voice.

His words sent shivers through her. She said nothing. His hand cupped her chin, making her look at him.

Being forced to really look at him, she was reminded of how different he was from all the other men in her life. He was both strong and soft. His pale skin, his lightly haired body, his freckles … it was all alien to her. In some ways she was made uncomfortable by how attracted she was to him. She knew there were countless articles written about dating white guys, and white saviour complexes, but she didn’t care in that moment. She couldn’t deny the way her body reacted to his despite him being so completely opposite to her.

It made her realise how much she’d missed him when she thought they were over, and that was dangerous. More so, how easily she could forgive him after he ignored her for days, and how her mind was desperately trying to push that fact from her mind.

‘You’re always hard,’ she joked.

‘That’s because you’re so fucking sexy.’ He grabbed her bum, and she blushed.

‘Says you. You’re the hot one,’ she replied quietly.

‘What was that?’ he said, relishing this conversation.

‘I said, you’re hot, Magnus.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Please tell me more …’

Soraya got off him and lay down beside him. Mimicking him, she began kissing his body.

She kissed his bicep, then his six pack, trailing kisses lower and lower until she felt embarrassed. And completely clueless.

He saved the situation by swooping her up so she was straddling him again. He gripped her underwear with both hands and pulled at the lace of her pants with his fingers.