Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(103)

       
         
       
        

"You feel amazing," I said, honest in my mindlessness.

The answering tremor in his body told me he liked my words.

The tension at my core built once more. I pushed my fingers into his hair and he answered with an agonized growl. Suddenly, his thrusts became harder, longer, less fluid, and I marveled as his control slipped and then snapped.

A thrill of wonder twisted in my lower belly, spreading to my heart and tightening my throat with emotion as he came, chanting, "I love you."





25





Smart Tissue Autonomous Robot (STAR)

A robotic arm with an articulated suturing tool and a force sensor to detect the tension in the surgical thread during operation. The arm is equipped with cameras that create a three-dimensional image, to guide the robot as it deploys the tool, and also a thermal-imaging device to help distinguish between similar-looking tissues. The robotic arm is controlled by a computer program with a repertoire of stitches, knots and maneuvers that permits the arm to plan and carry out a procedure, known as anastomosis, which involves sewing together two parts of a bodily tube.

Source: Children's National Health System



Matt collapsed on me, yet he still had the mindfulness to support himself on his elbows, depressing the cushion on either side of my face.

But our bodies were pressed together. That was the crucial point.

Meanwhile, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his narrow hips, encouraging him to give me more of his weight.

His labored breathing at my neck sent sparks along my skin, reigniting the embers still so close to the surface.

He loved me.

He loves you.

 …

 …

 …

God, universe, if there's anyone out there, please don't let me fuck this up.

It wasn't that I considered myself a fuck-up. It's just that I wanted this, him, us, so badly. I wanted him to be my person, because he felt so right. He didn't feel perfect, but that just made him feel even more right.

I squeezed him tighter, not wanting the moment to end. I was equal parts thrilled and terrified by the possibility of what would happen next.

"Marie," he whispered against my hair.

"Yes?" I closed my eyes, bracing.

"You're holding me too tight."

"Oh, sorry." I loosened my arms, having to use a mental crowbar in the process.

Taking a deep breath, Matt lifted his head and immediately kissed my mouth, encouraging me to lift my torso so he could slide his arms beneath me.

We kissed. For a long time. We kissed for so long, I became aware of our surroundings again. The dark room, the velvet couch, the still-sparkling glasses of champagne, the glass wall overlooking the dance floor, and the sounds of Cyndi Lauper over the speakers telling me that girls just want to have fun. 

I must've been mad. Just a glass wall separated us from hundreds of people, a mere four-digit code separated us from Kerry and Marcus. But I couldn't bring myself to care. Because he was still kissing me, and he loved me, and everything about him felt like the perfect combination of heavenly and sinful.

When he pulled away, his gaze lowered to my mouth, and the look in his eyes was decidedly smug. With impressive fluidness, he lifted himself and turned to the side. Immediately, I felt the loss of his body. I mourned it even though my muscles, especially in my legs and hips, were beginning to cramp.

"Your lips are swollen," he said, discarding the condom, then returning to lie next to me on his side. Matt smoothed his palm from my thigh, over my hip to my chest. Pausing in its upward trajectory, he fondled my breast. His eyes watched his hand, and the possessiveness in his gaze felt more intoxicating than the four cocktails with dinner. "That's why I stopped kissing you," he muttered.

"What?"

"I stopped kissing you because your lips are swollen. They must hurt."

I breathed out an incredulous breath. "Who are you?"

His eyes cut to mine. "You know me."

"Do I? Because, I have to be honest, I wasn't expecting . . . that."

"What were you expecting?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know. But the dirty talk was a surprise," I admitted, tracing his collarbone with my finger, deciding I'd start with the dirty talk rather than jumping straight to, YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH ME????

Since when?

Tell me everything.

Leave nothing out.

The side of his mouth hitched, again smugly, and his eyes returned to his hand on my breast. "You said yourself, I'm full of surprises."

"Yes, you are."

"You didn't seem to mind." More smugness.