Was she rushing things? First the bowl, and now making love. But it had been so, so long, she thought, in her silent agony. Matthew had simply shut off where activity between them was concerned, telling her once, several months ago, that he could not concentrate on lovemaking, not even their particular style of it, until things were working again and his plan was firmly on track. Still, they were so close, just hours away from tomorrow's big event and the unquestionably victorious outcome that was rightfully theirs.
Just a kiss. Was that asking too much?
She gently nuzzled his neck and throat, which showed minimally through the pajama top, tracing her long and delicately gloved hand, the part of her body to which he had once been most attracted, most submissive, along his upper body.
He sighed through his nostrils and closed his eyes.
Was he responding? Perhaps he too felt that he deserved to reward himself a day early, she thought with a private cheer. She inhaled deeply and pressed his shoulder with her left hand, careful to keep the sight of it from his peripheral vision. Her other hand strayed along his biceps. Raising her face, she closed her eyes and moved her lips to his.
He sniffed, and she opened her eyes just in time to see him turn his agonized face toward the window. He sneezed, twice, and she flinched with each burst, but was at the same time enormously relieved too. For an instant she had had the impression that the face he'd made had been in response to her. But it was only a sneeze. Two sneezes. Nothing at all to do with her, and so silly for her to have thought otherwise.
Or was it. There he was, gazing out the window again, as if he were counting the individual lights in the valley. She scolded herself for not having pulled the shade.
"Matthew," she said softly, meaning to apologize or assure him or -
"Good night," he said.
Or nothing.