Page 93 of Find Me in California

“Don’t think.”Just kiss me.She wants this. Him, his touch. To feel and to forget. To just be, and not be alone. It’s been so long since a man has touched her. So long since she’s felt any desire. An eternity since she’s acted so selfishly.

“Don’t think,” he repeats. A breath. Then another.

Then he yanks her to him and his mouth lands on hers.

His kiss is hard and aggressive, filled with longing and pain. And she matches him. Her fingers tug at his hair, pull at his shirt. He drags the cotton over his head, and then he’s grappling at her clothing as he spins her around and lifts her onto the kitchen table.

The old, rickety table that wobbles under a short stack of books.

“Not here,” she says, dragging off her tunic. She drops it on the floor along with her bra.

Matt flicks off her Crocs and pulls off her socks, taking a hungry look at her breasts. “Where?”

“Out there.” She points toward the front room.

Matt lifts her up as if she’s weightless. She wraps her legs around his waist and draws her arms around his neck, feasting on his mouth as he walks them toward the couch.

“Not there either.” The couch has no support. She won’t have any leverage.

A low rumble in his chest. “I don’t think I’ll last long enough to make it upstairs,” he says, tightly, and she can hear how turned on he is. She can feel his hardness against her core, and warmth floods her lower belly. She doubts she’ll last long either.

“Here.” She slides down him, drawing him to the floor with her between a bookcase and the coffee table. The woven throw rug is rough with age and will likely chafe her flesh, but she’ll worry about thattomorrow. Right now she needs his skin rubbing against hers and the weight of him on her.

And thank God they’re in tune and he’s just as frantic to be with her.

They are a frenzy of limbs and lips as the rest of their clothes come off. In between gasps and sighs, strokes and caresses, Matt locks eyes with her. He cups her cheek and kneads her breasts, mumbling incoherently how beautiful she is. How good she’s been to him. How much he desires her. And how incredible and extraordinary it is that they had the chance to meet.

When Julia stretches on her back and Matt settles between her thighs, she grabs his face in frustration. “That’s great and I’m happy you feel that way. I totally feel the same. But would you just shut up and fuck me?”

Matt’s expression sobers for one second, then another. Then his face cracks into a huge grin and he drops his head onto her chest and laughs. His whole body rumbles.

“Matt!”

“I’m here. I got you.” He lifts his head and kisses her senselessly, slowly undoing her, and the entire mood shifts. “I got you,” he whispers, breaking their kiss, slowing their tempo. He locks eyes with her again and arches his hips, pushes inside. And all Julia can do is watch him, feel him, breathe with him. “I got you,” he whispers again, thrusting.

He rests a forearm alongside her head. His other hand cradles her cheek, his thumb drifting tenderly along her bottom lip. She feels the caress down to her toes. And what he is doing inside her ... She feels that everywhere. She’s buzzing, tightening, rising.

“Matt.” She groans his name and fits her hands to his cheeks, holding his head, her eyes searching for confirmation that he’s right there with her. Then he smiles. Just a little one that almost passes as a grimace. But it’s enough. He’s there.

He presses his forehead to hers as the motion of their hips becomes more erratic, their breathing more ragged, and then she’s bursting, spiraling, unraveling into a trillion pieces as she falls back to earth.

Matt comes with a grunt and several deep thrusts, his arms squeezing her tight. Then he stops.

Then he rolls off her and takes long strides to the bathroom.

She immediately feels cold at his abrupt departure and pulls a throw blanket from the couch to cover herself. She waits to hear the water run, thinking he’s getting a cloth for her. But she hears nothing. And several long, awkward minutes later, Matt is still in the bathroom.

She stands, wrapping the blanket over her shoulders, and pads to the bathroom. She lightly taps on the door. “Matt?”

He doesn’t immediately answer, but after a few seconds, the knob turns. He opens the door and steps out. “Sorry.”

Her eyes coast over his face. She can’t read his expression. He’s completely closed off.

Her heart does a little jerk. “Everything okay?”

He pushes back his hair. “I had an overwhelming urge to talk about my mom, which is wrong,” he says with a bland smile. “You don’t talk about your parents after what we just did. I shouldn’t even be thinking about them.”

“I like what we just did.”

---