Come on,” Matthew said, letting me go at last.
Once again, my body decided that the best place for me was in a wobbly heap on the ground, but he grabbed my hand just in time. And pulled me, along with my case, toward the exit. Into the waiting—oh f**k—limo.
And onto his lap.
Where we kissed again. Again. And. Again.
As the streets of London unraveled around us in ribbons of gold.
Finally, we stopped. Mainly, I think, for breathing purposes, rather than any particular desire to separate our mouths.
“I’m going to put a collar round your neck,” Matthew murmured, “and chain you to my bed.”
Thankfully I knew how to interpret this. “I missed you too.”
I thought he might laugh. But, instead, he pulled me against him so tightly that I flailed and squeaked like a squeezy toy. “Oh Niel.”
“I
