Ella Harper - The Years of Loving You

‘Art. I want to be an artist. A great, great artist.’ Molly ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. ‘Now I sound arrogant. But anyway. Uni is the plan. Lincoln,maybe.’

‘No way!’ Ed grinned. ‘That’s where I want to go. We could end up at the same uni! Imagine.’

‘Gosh. We might have to talk to one another every day.’

Molly smiled again and Ed felt something expand in his chest. And in his groin. Shit. Could he be any more uncool? He just hoped he was hiding his ardour. Being on his front might start feeling uncomfortable soon.

‘Tell me about your art,’ he said, desperately trying to quell his urges.

Molly hadn’t noticed his ‘urges’. If she had, she might have felt better about what happened later. Instead, she obliged. She waxed lyrical about art for a long time and he managed to join in, despite not knowing an awful lot about the subject. But he liked hearing Molly talk about it – she was passionate, enthused. And that made him want to talk about it as well. After a while, they moved on to novels. They talked about childhood books, about classic literature and about their favourite writers. They discussed Oscar Wilde (consensus: ‘nothing short of a fucking genius’), Shakespeare (‘I call him Willy Shakes,’ Ed told Molly. ‘It’s affectionate.’ ‘It’s rude ,’ she retorted, but she laughed accordingly) and they dissected the works of Thomas Hardy (reaching a mutual agreement of ‘turgid’). They talked about universities, about friends, about life and about love. They talked a lot about love – what they thought it was, what it should be, if they had experienced it (Molly, yes – Ed, no) and how long it lasted in general. They talked and talked and talked. For six hours straight.

‘We’ve talked for six hours straight,’ Ed commented, glancing at his watch. ‘I am covered in sand; it’s in my hair and everything. And instead of stars providing light and brilliance, we are clothed in early morning sunshine.’

‘“Instead of the stars providing light and brilliance”. Oh, I like that.’ Molly sat up and yawned. ‘Six hours? I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone for six hours in my life.’

In fact she knew she hadn’t. And they had barely paused for breath. It was astonishing. She hadn’t noticed the time and if she had, she might not have cared, even though she was due home and her parents were probably worried sick. Even though she had never done anything like this in her life before. Molly shook sand from her curls.

‘I am a bit special,’ Ed answered. Molly had sand in her hair and goose-bumps all over her arms. And she looked stunning. Just beautiful.

‘Special needs more like,’ Molly chided. ‘Christ. I’ve caught your crap joke disease. Hey, what’s Ed short for? Edmund … Edward …?’

He frowned. He was rarely asked that question. ‘It’s just Ed.’

‘What, you came out and your mother said “That baby looks jus t like an Ed.”’

‘She did, actually.’

‘Liar.’

‘For fuck’s sakes.’ Ed gave Molly a sheepish smile. ‘Ok then. Ed is short for Edison. Go on. Laugh yourself silly.’

She considered him. ‘Edison. That’s not so bad. Original at least.’

‘Yeah. Original is right. Downright mortifying is the other way to look at it.’

She grinned. ‘You can carry it off. You’re cool enough.’

‘Oooh. Careful, Molly. That right there was a compliment.’

‘Goddammit. You’re right. Forgive me, Edison. Won’t happen again.’

Ed could practically hear the barely contained chuckle she was withholding and for some reason, it made him want to gather her up and do … something. She had her knees drawn to her chest, her arms clasping them, her chin resting atop her arms. It was a wistful pose. Appealing. Everything about her was appealing.

She turned as though feeling his eyes on her. His glorious mouth tilted into a smile. Molly realised she wanted to know everything about Edison. Everything. She knew an awful lot after their in-depth chat, but she had this strange feeling that however much she found out, she might never be able to find out enough.

‘Are you a romantic, Ed?’

‘A what?’

‘A romantic. Are you one of those types?’

‘I’m what I call a dirty romantic. Does that count?’ He laughed self-consciously. ‘Might sound a bit rude. I just mean I’m a romantic, but I try not to be too flowery about it, you know? So I do love romantic novels and all that. If I’m being honest, and I am, Romeo and Juliet is my favourite play by Willy Shakes. And I found E.M. Forster’s A Room with a View achingly romantic,’ he added earnestly. ‘But don’t tell anyone. Dirty, but yes. Romantic. I suppose I am.’

‘Ok, so a dirty romantic then. Oh, I like that. I like that a lot, Edison. You are full of surprises.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I like being surprised.’

So did Ed. And he liked her calling him Edison. For no real reason other than that it was her doing it. Without another coherent thought, Ed took the back of her neck in his hand and drew her in. Within seconds his mouth had met hers. Gently. God. Her lips were exquisite, soft and full. They met his willingly. Ed experienced sensory overload; the scent of her hair, the perfume wafting from her neck, the taste of the fruity cocktail she’d been drinking hours ago, her mouth, her ripe, but somehow delicate mouth.

Molly put her hands on his face and Ed felt a shiver. He felt her rings, cold against his skin, but her palms were warm and soft. She kissed him more ardently, her tongue searching his out. A bolt of lust shot through Ed and he fought to restrain himself from hurling her to the sand and taking her.

Control yourself, Edison, he berated himself. He had kissed countless girls. Countless. But Molly was rocking his world and he had no idea how or why. Yes, her hands were delving into his hair. Yes, her fingertips were stroking his scalp. Yes, it was exquisite. More exquisite than he could articulate. That was the thing; he simply couldn’t pinpoint what it was she was doing that made this all so incredible. It was everything put together.

Molly kissed him again. Yep. There it was. A shot of something bouncing all around her body, pinging off of every angle. Tingles, bursts, sparks. What the hell was happening to her? She was in danger of doing something really foolish in a second. She wanted to do other things , things she normally stopped herself doing to boys. Things she didn’t normally think about when she kissed boys, but that she knew might be expected.

And though Molly was a ‘good girl’, she had kissed rather a lot of boys. Often in place of sleeping with them. Which made her an aficionado in some ways. And Ed was a good kisser. A very good kisser. The kind that made Molly want to lose control of herself.

Ed luxuriated in the feel of those lips on his skin. It was romantic, yet erotic. Her hands were sliding under his shirt and he could barely stand it. He rolled on top of her, needing to regain control. His arms were around her and he could feel the warmth of her skin through her clothes. He smoothed her hair away from her face, gazing into her eyes. They were alert but slightly glazed.

Molly met Ed’s eyes. Was her lust for him obvious? She wasn’t sure she could do anything to control the emotions and desires being reflected in her eyes.

Ed fell headlong into them. Headlong. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her again, groping for the feeling it gave him. Yes. There it was again; he wasn’t mistaken. It was like coming home. A comfortable newness. No. That made it sound too cosy. It wasn’t. It was an excitement that felt so right, it was bloody mind-blowing. Ed owned that feeling. He wanted her. Badly.