The Glass House by Suki Fleet Page B

deep and low inside me. Yeah, I was that turned on too. How could something that ached so bad feel so fucking good?
    “Well, we hold off and hold off, then maybe get off by just rubbing against one another.”
    We paused for a bit on the stairs, neither of us looking at each other.
    “I have a fantasy too,” Thomas said tentatively.
    I wanted to say oh God, anything , even though I wasn’t sure I could mean it. Sparkles of light were flicking up my spine at Thomas playing my game. I waited.
    He ran the fingers of his free hand against the colored concrete wall and stared at the smooth steps.
    “We’re not always completely undressed or anything, and we don’t always, you know, go further , but when I’m on my own, I can come from just thinking about it. So I guess it counts as a fantasy, yeah?”
    I smiled, curious. It sounded like a fantasy.
    “We can be anywhere but mostly it’s either your room or mine, and we’re sat so close I can feel the way your body hums like an overhead wire.” It does? I smiled. “You look at me like… like there is no one else, and I kiss you….” Thomas took a deep breath. “That’s it.” He rolled his eyes a little as if he was embarrassed. “I fantasize about kissing you. I know it’s probably pretty lame as far as fantasies go.”
    I bit my lip, swooning a little at the sweetness of it. Kissing was really intimate. I’d thought about it a lot. I could see why it turned him on.
    “I don’t know if you’d want to, though…. I mean, I’d understand if you didn’t….”
    The uncertainty in his voice was like feathers on my skin. My heart was beating way too fast now.
    “Yeah, kissing would be okay,” I said. More than okay. After nearly a week of thinking about the first time I’d kissed him, I really wanted to do it again. But I had to keep it light, I had to dissipate the tension—too much feeling and I would be lost. “You do mean my mouth, right?”
    Thomas gave me a scandalized look. And I laughed on and off until we made it to the flat and his fantasy played out in the slick heat of our lost breath. Thomas seemed to be okay with this sort of breathlessness. I leaned against my closed bedroom door, my hands resting above my head, slowly giving myself over to him, breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat.
    Thomas’s fantasy was one we vanished into. It was a billion times better than anything I’d imagined. I came like a star shooting into the dark when he gripped me in his fist. My trousers weren’t even undone. Nakedness could wait. I was baring my fucking soul here.
     
     
    S ATURDAY WE were in Thomas’s room. His gran was downstairs getting some paper cuts ready for a party she’d been commissioned to decorate, so we were doing something to take our mind off the fact we couldn’t do what we wanted to do—which was spend all our time lying in Thomas’s bed and making out. Thomas had no lock on his door, so whatever we did when his gran was at home was quick and risky and fully clothed. I could admit that had its charms, though.
    “Okay, now close your eyes,” Thomas said gently as he closed his.
    I didn’t.
    We were sitting cross-legged on his carpet, our knees touching.
    Thomas looked like he was peacefully meditating, but the hard, fast beat that was making his speakers shake was also making me feel faintly unnerved and on edge.
    I tried to focus on the warmth radiating into me from where we were touching.
    “What do you see?” he asked.
    You , I thought as I stared at him, at his eyelashes—thick as the tips of the paint brushes we’d used for oil work in art, and so dark as they lay against his flushed cheeks—at his mouth that I knew tasted somewhere between peppermint tea and chocolate. I felt myself growing hard again—even though we’d just spent the last fifteen minutes in a sweet, sticky haze of kissing and stroking, and when I’d come it had felt so fucking intense and endless I thought I might have snapped something