Page 8 of When We Are Old

“Now, porno Matthew would never—”

His lips crashed into mine again. No teasing, no playfulness. Hard and relentless. His hands smoothed along my skin, everywhere all at once against my frayed nerve endings.

The Matthew I found under his clothes carved the perfect specimen of man, so far from the boy I used to know. His jumper and jeans joined mine on the floor, and we both gasped as our bare skin touched. His arms came up around my back, rocking me close to his body and he rolled us over, somehow not knocking us out of the small bed.

On top, I squeezed my knees into his sides, leaning down to brush a kiss on his mouth. He unclasped my bra, chucking it to one side and then returning to brush butterfly soft caresses over my exposed skin.

Beneath me, his hard-on pulsed and I rocked back and forth, the natural lilt of the train easing me into a steady rhythm.

He groaned, his fingers pulling at the edge of my knickers. I lifted so he could push them down and then I settled back, a lick of scorching heat in the pit of my stomach.

“Have you got a condom?” I leant down close and closed my lips over his, trying to ignore the still of his hands which had been blissfully running up and down my back.

“I’m officially fifteen.” He sighed and closed his eyes.

I snorted and pecked kisses along his jaw. Each one an imprint of my feelings. Kiss—I love you. Kiss—I love you. Kiss—I love you. My kisses gave me time to think. Leaning back, I met his dark gaze. “Well, I’m good, if you’re good.”

With one hand he cradled my jaw and we watched one another for a long moment. “I feel like as the adult in the room, this is your choice. But please note from this point on I’ll be walking around with a bumper pack of Durex just on the off chance.” His brow furrowed and he groaned into my neck. “It’s like waiting for a guillotine to land on my knob.”

This wasn’t the first time we’d done this. Just days ago in his kitchen, before I’d left him and then chased after him, we’d given in to the moment without a thought.

I shuddered as I reached down and fit us together. Two pieces of the same tree, no other sensation in the world could compare.

I sighed so deep my bones ached.

“Fuck, Ronnie. I’m retracting my fifteen minutes and going with three.”

My laugh rocked us together. Everything in the moment seemed utterly perfect. Perfection. Matthew and me.

“Three would be unsatisfactory.” I rotated my hips, pushing him in deeper, taking more and more of him.

He screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

With the barest of movements, he pulled out and rotated us, flipping me over, his knee pushing my legs apart.

Peppering kisses down my spine, he held both my hips in his grasp, lifting me up from the mattress.

“Ooh.” That’s all I had. And another, “Oooh.”

Matthew skimmed his lips across my core, flicking his tongue, testing and tasting. The bed sheets came apart with my grasp as he lifted me higher and delved deeper.

Matthew had party tricks I hadn’t even contemplated.

“Nope.” I shoved my face into the mattress to stop from whimpering between each word. “One minute.” Another thrust of his tongue and I pitched forwards. “Thirty seconds.”

He had me over and on my back and had buried himself deep inside me before I had a chance to give in to the dizzying high he'd dragged me to.

I shuddered back down and then his deep push took me straight back up again. His fingers lifted my chin, making me meet his gaze as his hips pushed slow and steady, then a bit quicker, and then quicker still. My heart raced with the wheels of the train. My toes pointed, while deep inside me, Matthew scored his initials under my skin.

Scots

Ronnie

“You know.” I stood against the purple of his front door pretty damn close to licking the paint now that I knew he’d chosen the colour scheme of his house based on a dress I'd worn way back when the world was younger in 2004.

Just the same as he'd done a few days ago, he bent over and picked up two pints of milk and handed them to me.

Never had someone handing glass bottles over been more satisfactory. It needed to become a new sport in the Olympics—who could look sexy while picking up bottles of milk?