Page 183 of Lovers' Dance

Did he think I was weird? I felt fine today. I was over it, over yesterday. He would think I was a weirdo. I put paste on my brush and scrubbed my teeth clean. It was going to be weird. It was going to be awkward. I was going to have my first dose of awkward sex. What was the protocol?

“Poppet?” Matt knocked on the door.

“Coming, Matt,” I replied. But would I be? Coming, that is. What if Matt didn’t climax? What if—

“What’s taking you so long?” he asked as the door handle turned. I rinsed my mouth and put my toothbrush away. The door swung open, and Matt’s piercing gaze settled on my face.

“All done,” I said brightly, reaching for the face towel to wipe the moisture off my mouth.

“Come on then,” he ordered, beckoning me over. Slowly I made my way towards him. I should have brushed my hair. Matt turned the lights off in the ensuite and led me towards the bed. It seemed bigger all of a sudden. Like a stage. A huge stage where all your flaws would be under the spotlight for everyone to see.

“Matt.” I turned, and his lips crashed into mine. Passionate, almost desperate, it was. I returned his kiss with matched ardour, wanting to drown myself in the sensations of his mouth moving over mine. Tongues duelling, the air between us exchanged from my gasps to his. Matt tipped us onto the bed, eating at my lips as if I was some delicacy he needed to gorge himself on. It was a struggle to pull my pants down with him lying half on top of me. Matt grabbed the waist of my pants and tugged them down as I wriggled them off my legs. He whipped his pants off, all the while keeping his mouth pressed to mine. He slid his hand over my panty-covered heat and groaned at the back of his throat. I arched my lower body into his touch, opened my legs that much wider. Matt rubbed me through the sheer material of the silk undies and my stomach clenched tightly with desire. He bunched the material together between his fingers, from top to crotch, grazing my quivering flesh in the process and yanked. My eyes—they had slid shut during our kiss-fest—flew open. He yanked harder, and I felt a second of tension biting into my hips before an almost inaudible snap and my torn panties went flying over his shoulder. I thought you could only do that with flimsy thongs, not top of the line silk undies. For the price tag, I would’ve expected a bit more sturdiness from them. My brain stuttered as he took advantage of the free access to my nether regions with his fingers. We were kissing, and I swear I was fast losing my mind from the deluge of sensations. His tongue stroking mine, his finger stroking my intimate flesh, the weight of his chest against mine. And then he got down to business. Matt guided himself into my pulsating flesh, easing in bit by bit, until he was deep enough to—

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” I shouted after wrenching my mouth from his. Matt held himself still, fully sheathed inside me.

“Okay?” he asked, face flushed red and beaded with sweat. He was breathing heavily, as was I.

I nodded and he gripped my legs, pulling them over his hips before beginning to move inside me. A low moan of pleasure fell from my throbbing lips. Matt echoed it seconds later.

“Made for me,” he muttered, eyes locked on my mouth. “You were made for me, poppet. Your body was made for mine.”

“Yes,” I cried out. “Oh, God, yes.” I squeezed my legs tighter around him as he continued with his determined strokes. Matt made love the way he lived life; with complete surety, complete confidence in himself and an animal magnetism that made people love him even though they harboured envious thoughts at his intrinsic brilliance. Matt was the epitome of an alpha male, and said alpha male was about to make me come.

“Matt.” I could feel my body’s response, quivering on that knife’s edge of intense pleasure laced with strangely sweet pain. “Wait—too soon—ahhh —can’t stop it—wait.”

He dropped his head into the crook of my neck. “Come for me, poppet,” he ordered in a gruff voice. “I want to feel you coming around me.”

That was all it took. I orgasmed, wildly thrashing about beneath him as my inner walls spasm violently from release. Matt let out a hoarse shout of pleasure, shuddering over me as he spilled himself deep inside my body. He slumped against me, squishing what little air I had left in my lungs out. But I didn’t care. My arms went around him, stroking his back, running through his hair, smacking his ass.

“Ow,” he mumbled, raising his head from where it nestled against my neck. Locks of his hair were plastered across his forehead, stuck down by sex sweat. Yeah, I called it sex sweat. A totally different kind of sweat in my mind, much sweeter than normal sweat. Sex sweat was good. You never minded it dripping from your limbs.Hail to the sex sweat.

“What was that for?” he murmured, leaning down to run his tongue over my lips.

“Squishing,” I managed to say. “Me.”

Matt raised up on his arms, peering down at me. I smiled and brushed the hair off his face. He didn’t smile back.

“I’m going to clean up,” he said. “Unless you want to go first.”

I shook my head, immediately noticing the change in him. Matt gave me a brief kiss—I wouldn’t call it a kiss—a light brushing of lips. He eased himself off me, eyes closing for a second at the sensation of pulling out my still quivering flesh, before getting up and heading for the ensuite.

I laid there, blinking up at the ceiling and thinking: What the fuck? We always cuddled afterwards. He never had an issue with after-sex sticky messiness. I mean he had even gone down on me after sex a few times, which was a shock to my system. The first time he tried that, I had yelled in surprise and accidentally kicked him in the stomach. It freaked me out. He had laughed at me when I said it was gross, saying in his no-nonsense voice, “It’s my come inside you, poppet. What’s the issue?’ But he relented when he saw my face and used the sheets to get me relatively clean before diving in. He called it double standards, seeing as I didn’t have a problem doing it to him right after.

This hadn’t been awkward sex. This was awkward-after-sex. I wasn’t prepared for this.

“All yours, Madi,” Matt said, strolling back in. I sat up and got off the bed, doing that fast mincing walk with legs pressed close together, the ‘prevent the jizz from dripping on the floor’ walk. Normally Matt would laugh when I did that; there was no laughter.

That was all the confirmation I needed. My status had been dropped. I had been relegated to the crazy girlfriend box. Not quite bunny boiler, but one episode shy of it.

Behind the closed door of the ensuite, I sat on the toilet chewing my lips and fighting the tears.What did I expect?Not acting right in front of him. Of course, he would be different with me. But I was fine now. I was living again. Functioning again.

I chewed my lips as the minutes ticked by, and I remembered someone once telling me you could get haemorrhoids from sitting too long on the toilet. Damn, didn’t want to add that to my list of problems. I cleaned off, flushed, washed my hands, then paced quietly. I was fine.

“Madison?” Muffled from the other side of the door.

I stared at the wooden barrier between us. “Yes?”

“Are you okay in there? Was it too rough? Did I hurt you?”

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