Page 27 of The Meet Queue-t

I can’t stop laughing.

“That,” he says, still holding himself above me, “wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

I reach up to curl my hand around his neck. “I don’t know—there are some advantages to this position.”

His knee comes to rest between my thighs. “Perhaps,” he allows. “But there’s not a lot of room here.”

“We can make it work.” My voice is breathy, the laughter exchanged for something more heated. “You can’t have everything.”

“No,” he says, husky and thick as honey. “But it turns out you can have some things.”

I arch my back into him as he kisses the side of my neck. His weight is pressing me into the sofa cushions of the sofa, but I push back, wanting the contact, the friction. We’re wearing too many clothes, but the position we’re in makes it difficult to remove any. I slide one hand into his soft hair while the other grabs his jumper and holds on. I’ve done that so many times since we’ve met, and I’ve only realised now it’s because I don’t want him to leave.

His teeth scrape against my neck. I groan. He groans. His hips shift against mine, and a delightful tingle of awareness mixed with heat runs through me at the feel of his erection.

Oliver wants me.Dr Oliver Murphywants me.

“I love your hair,” he mumbles against my skin. I smile up at the ceiling.

“You told me you thought it was nice.”

He nips my ear in retaliation. “I thought it was beautiful, but you can’t say that to a stranger.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

He pauses, leaning back and taking my cheeks in his hands, palms hot against my face, his eyes staring solemnly down into mine. “I think you’re stunning, Tess.”

I keep wondering if I’m hallucinating this, if a day is long enough to fall for someone, but when he’s looking at me like that, I have my answer—yes. Yes, a day, eighteen hours, however long we’ve been in the queue and after, is enough for me to want this man. Not just now, pinning me underneath him, but tomorrow. The next day.

He brushes my hair back from my face tenderly. “We don’t have to rush things if you don’t want to.”

“Are you kidding? Iwantto rush things.” I grip his hips with my knees, and his eyes go dark. “I don’t want to waste a single second I’m here with you.”

Oliver’s serious expression splits into a smile that makes my heart melt. “Okay,” he says. That’s all he says, but when he slides his arms underneath my back andflips me up so he’s sitting and I’m straddling his lap, I know he means business.

Maybe we can get it on right here. What are the chances he’d have condoms stashed away somewhere in here? As my knees press into the cushions, and I steady my hands on his shoulders, I give the room another sweep. Bookshelves on both walls of the living room space, all filled with what look like Very Serious Books shelved right alongside a variety of weighty fantasy tomes.

My gut is saying a no to the condoms.

But then he kisses me again, and I don’t have enough space in my brain for other thoughts about where we should be. Just here is right—just here isperfect. I’ll stay here forever so long as he keeps kissing me. His fingers slide underneath my hoodie, toying with the sensitive skin around my hips, the small of my back. I shiver, and his lips curve against mine. Heat swells in me. Answering the slight tug of his hands, I rock against him, pressing against the part that wants this as much as I do. His breath shudders.

I don’t know how much time passes. It could be seconds. All I know is his mouth—when it leaves mine, even for a second, I chase it—and his hands. I memorise every part of him.

“I’ve never done this before,” I say breathlessly as I break away from him to strip away my hoodie. Then my top. He sits back and watches me, cheeks flushed and eyes dark behind his glasses, as I unhook the back of my bra and toss it aside.

“What? Sex?” He looks slightly panicked.

“No.” I laugh. “This. Go to someone’s house and hook up with them. Just like that.”

“Is this just a hookup to you?”

“No,” I say.

“Good. Me neither.” His fingers flex on my hips. “Can I touch you?”

“I didn’t take my top off so you can just look.”

He laughs, then cups my breasts. I’ve always been a little bottom heavy—all hips, no boobs to speak of. But he makes me feel as though I have a handful for him to play with, and when he slides his thumb over my nipple, I shudder with the sudden rush of sensation.

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