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Clara climbs over me, almost frantic. She plants her hands on either side of my head and her knees on either side of my hips, caging me like I caged her on her first night here. I could flip her off of me easily, but looking up into her doe eyes while she fights for breath and her cheeks flush with color…
This is nothing like how I imagined getting her into a bed would be. In my car, I’d thought kissing would be a waste of time and energy. I’d raced her to the end, aware of every passing second, no matter how much I was enjoying it. But now we have hours and hours until dawn. There are no more logical excuses for ignoring the intimacy of this- the tenderness I want to test on her.
If I wanted to taste every inch of her twice, I could.
I reach up, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumbs, framing her face with my hands. She melts, sinking down into me so I can take her lower lip between my teeth. The rest of her is stiff- she’s not sure how to lower herself onto me- but as I sink my fingers deeper and deeper into her hair and work her mouth open again, she slowly settles on top of me.
Her body is impossibly soft. I squeeze her hips, her ass, molding her tighter into me. She rocks, a little unsteadily at first, but then with greater determination as she feels my erection rub against her clit. She’s already wet, and I’m craving the inside of her, but she doesn’t want that yet.
First, she wants to dominate me.
Our kiss breaks with a gasp of air as Clara sits up. She plants her hands on my stomach, her back arched to push her chest forward. It’s almost endearing that she thinks she needs to try at being attractive when her beauty is so unmistakable. With a soft groan of effort, she begins running her clit back and forth over the length of my cock. I feel her thighs squeeze and flex around my hips, feel the tremble in her muscles at the unfamiliar movement, but her rhythm steadily improves. I don’t think she realizes how badly she’s teasing me every time my tip brushes the rim of her, but she’s definitely building herself into a frenzy.
When she finally, finally lifts her hips and drives me into her, I fill her pussy up so full and fast that we both shout. She forgets to keep rocking against me, but that’s fine. For a long moment, we both just… exist together, joined inexorably, panting as one.
Then she moves her hips, testing out the way she has to lift and lower her body, to roll her stomach, to move me inside her. I match her pace, rolling my own body up into hers to get my cock deeper, deeper. Her eye contact is deliberate, almost desperate. She’s ordering me not to be anywhere else but here in this moment with her.
I don’t understand how she thinks I’ve ever been anywhere else.
Slowly, in stops and starts, Clara teaches herself how to ride me. The pleasure she builds between us, that we are building together, is nothing like what’s come before. It’s raw and agonizing, and I’m half mad with the effort it takes to keep from thrusting up into her and breaking this careful rhythm.
I would do anything, anything for this woman. It’s a fresh revelation, but the feelings behind it have been building since I pulled her out of the fire. To preserve her selflessness, her bravery, I’d fight a hundred wars. To keep her here with me, I’ll do whatever needs to be done.
Clara’s grip shifts, her hands moving to grip my sides and give her better leverage. She drops herself down onto me with greater force, and I rise to meet her. Each impact of our bodies is an explosion of euphoria. Her legs spasm violently- her body is climaxing around me and she can’t keep thrusting while bliss crashes over her- and I take over for her, carrying us the rest of the way. Clara shrieks above me, and this time she doesn’t have to smother it. That sound, unbridled and alive, tips me over the edge. I slam into her one last time and spill myself inside her.
For a long time we stay just like that, panting and chasing the echoes of our pleasure. I reach up for her, planning to pull her down into my chest, to hold her close until I can breathe again. But then she speaks.
“See?” she asks, her voice hoarse with bliss. “I can be a good tool. Don’t stop using me.”
It’s like my veins have been submerged in ice. My hands stop halfway to her, then grab her by the waist and haul her off of me. The loss is shocking, and I have to sit up and turn away from her to hide it. Not enough. It’s not enough distance.
I stand and go to the bathroom to clean myself off and pull myself together. The water I splash over my face is too cold and not cold enough.
I can’t believe she said those words to me. I can’t believe that’s all she thinks just happened.
It should be, an insufferable part of me thinks. That’s all this should ever be.
I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles turn white. Minutes ago, I’d planned to fall asleep holding her. But when I return to the bedroom, Clara has tucked herself in with her back to me. There’s several inches between us when I finally, finally drift off.
CHAPTER 29
Clara
I take a long time waking up the next morning, and when I finally open my eyes, it’s to buttery sunlight streaming in through Thomas’s windows. Thomas’s, not mine. Because I slept in his bed last night.
I did so much more in his bed last night.
The dull, pleasant ache in my body makes me want to stay in bed for hours more. Maybe Thomas wouldn’t mind keeping me company…
But then I remember the war. I remember our argument from the night before, and how we never really found a solution. I remember that Thomas turned his back to me, and I turned my back to him, and we slept with space between us instead of soaked in each other’s body heat.
I roll over in bed, ready to try to bridge that gap, ready to try again to convince him of what needs to be done- but the other half of the bed is empty. Sitting up, I search the bedroom and listen for movement from the en suite or closet, but there’s nothing.
He probably just stepped out for some breakfast, I tell myself. He’ll be back in a minute.
My clothes are lying in a heap beside the bed from last night. I retrieve them and dress, then move to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth and run fingers through my tangled hair. Even after I finish my morning ablutions, there’s no sign of Thomas. Stomach clenching a little with nerves, I return to the bedroom to wander and wait.
It’s too difficult to resist snooping, at least a little. I examine his desk, which is, of course, immaculate, and run my fingers over the spines of the books on his bookshelves. When I get up the nerve to try one of the drawers on the desk, I find them locked, and I don’t try to force them open. His closet is filled with carefully pressed and sorted clothes, all of them business casual or fancier. I finger the fine cloth of his button-up shirts and think that this is almost as intimate as kissing him.
