Page 66 of Power Moves
I can’t believe how well we do this. We are so attuned to this cat-and-mouse game that our bodies are perfectly in sync. When he shifts, I slide; when he dips, I rise. We are Olympians, Archie and I. We are at the top of our game.
My nipples pinch as I arch into his chest and I’m suddenly very aware that I am one hundred per cent braless right now. As though the thought has floated from my brain into his, his hands slide up my T-shirt.
‘Millsy,’ he murmurs.
I grunt something incomprehensible. We should not be talking. The Olympic judges would deduct points for talking. We can communicate via kissing.
On cue, his mouth finds mine again. I grind my hips against his.
Actually, Idoreally want to talk to him—to discuss the parameters of what we’re doing: is it still a game? Are there rules? Is there a time limit? Is this a grace period?—but more desperately than that, I want to dig into him. Feel everything. My fingers dip into the waistband of his pants and my heart flutters triumphantly when I hear him moan.
I’m being outrageously unsubtle but not a flicker of embarrassment crosses my mind. I am a woman possessed by a feverish, raging want.
We’re lying on our sides, pressed against each other but it’s still not enough. Archie’s muscly thigh levers over me and my mouth responds with a message:more. I need to feel his whole weight. Obligingly, with one deft flick of his arm, he flips me onto my back.
‘Yessss,’ I breathe in sweet relief.That’swhat I wanted.
I feel the crease of Archie’s smile against my shoulder and I grin back through the shadows. Inexplicably, I want to cackle. This isFUN.
As our mouths meet again, I have the same thought I had that day in Fatima’s storeroom.This is more than kissing. This is foreshadowing something. If two people can kiss this well, imagine what else their bodies can do together. Another thought bulldozes in:Why the hell am I still clothed?
Archie’s words are muffled against my skin. ‘Millsy, are we doing this?’
I’m not sure what the rules are, but I am very clear on what’s next on the flowchart. I press him back slightly to give myself some space, grip the hem of my borrowed hoodie andT-shirt and pull them off over my head. I nod once, smiling. ‘You and me, Archie.’
I have possibly never said anything more outrageous in my life. I almost laugh.
Archie grins, sliding his fingers down my bare sides. ‘That is such good news.’
He sits back for a moment, his eyes tracing a reverent path over my body. His breathing is low and heavy. Mine is nonexistent. I wish he would come closer. I want to feel the solidity of him on top of me, against me, inside me, but for a moment he’s immobile.
It takes too long—in a similar timeframe, I could probably write four press releases, the foreword for the annual NAPLAN compendium and squeeze in a viral TikTok moment—but finally,finally, he pulls off his T-shirt.
He lowers himself to kiss me gently on the lips.
I feel giddy with lust. Drunk, almost. My fingers grab at the fabric of his pants and he lets me peel them off so I can run my hands over all his skin. I kick off my own pants and when I’m done, he rolls me on top of him. His hands move firmly up my thighs to my waist and I squirm in pleasure. Then suddenly, his grip releases. He’s still touching me, but his fingertips are light, almost floating, as if there’s a forcefield between his skin and mine.
He’s teasing me and I can’t stand it. I want to be grabbed, taken. I want him to want me like I want him. He’s fire and I’m ice; I’m melting, he’s winning. I tug him close and sink my mouth onto his.
‘Archie,’ I moan between kisses. ‘You need to open up your toiletries bag now.’
‘You went through my stuff?’ He’s breathless.
‘You knew I would.’
‘I did.’
His hand reaches blindly in the dark for his bag and while I’m impressed by his commitment to multitasking, it’s ruining our momentum. I grab my phone and turn on the light.
In a matter of seconds, I hear the rip of foil and I pray to god it’s not a packet of Earl Grey tea. I kill the light. He’s above me again. I can feel every part of him; he’s so close, he’s almost there, and my tiny mind can’t stand the wait.
‘We’re doing this,’ Archie says. It’s half-statement, half-question.
‘I know,’ I exhale, levering myself towards him. My skin hums a symphony, my brain is a supernova, my mind is spinning into a parallel universe, leaving trails of glitter and stars, but my body is nowhere but here: in this tent with Archie, surrounded by mud and other tents and legions of people as busy and exhausted and proud and blissful as we are.
When he moves inside me, he’s slow—he’s gentle. He’s so,sogentle, and I feel every inch of him. A tiny moan escapes from my lips. I hadn’t expected it to feel so tender. It feels like satisfaction, it feels like relief, it feels likeliving.
Archie moves his hips slowly, his eyes locked on mine. The intensity of his gaze makes another unexpected pleasure ripple through my chest. ‘Archie,’ I gasp, as I angle my body against his. ‘This really raises the stakes.’
