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“Not mine. Enjoy the trailer. Eat whatever you want. I’ll be back in the morning.”
∞∞∞
Sarah lies on her stomach across the bed, her crossed knees swinging. She wears an oversized T-shirt and nothing else.
“How many disguises do you have?” she asks, frowning.
Pride fills me. This week, it’s fake glasses and a mustache. “I stumbled into a costume shop and cleaned them out. It’s funny, right?”
“It’s really not,” she says, but her lips turn into a lazy half-smile, and a quiet snort escapes.
“There’s something else for you,” I tell her.
It’s a surprise for her, and a gift for me.
18-Jake
I lay the t-shirt across her book, covering the pages so she’s forced to see it. “Wear this.”
Sarah arches a brow, moving it off her book. “What is it?”
“Mine.”
Intrigued, she unfolds the material and gives me an amused grin. “It’s your shirt from Richmond last week.”
“And I want to see it on you.”
She stands and puts the t-shirt on for me. One shoulder droops, baring skin. The hem sits where her thighs start.
I sit on the room’s only chair and pull her between my legs.
“How do I look?”
We’ve managed to spend several nights together every week, and it’s still not enough. We hide in hotel rooms like teenagers after curfew, or I sneak her into my house because no one in her life knows where it is.
“Like you belong to me.”
A streak of impatience courses through me. Earlier, Bert cautioned me on the importance of going slow and recognizing when you’re in a marathon. It seemed sensible then, but now I’m not so sure.
I stroke her thighs, letting my fingers graze her soft skin, moving until they reach the wisp of cotton underneath. The feeling inside me darkens, and I pull until she wears nothing underneath my shirt.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her, and she does. I part the soft curls to reach the even softer skin between her legs and stroke. “You’re soaking wet,” I say. My voice is hoarse and sounds strangely far away to my ears.
For once, Sarah stays quiet, content to study me and wonder what I might do next. Her eyes remain rooted on my face, her expression curious. Most nights, she teases me, either pretending to misunderstand or feigning disinterest. All of it comes with a laugh until her arms wrap around my neck, and she demands another kiss.
I reach behind to pull my shirt off and toss it on the floor. My belt is next, and then, at last, my shorts.
Sarah begins to pull the shirt off, so I gently grab her wrist first. “Leave it on for me.”
I draw my hips slightly forward, and she picks up my intent. “There isn’t enough room for both of us.”
It’s wing-tipped, with a high back. “Get on.” After a moment’s hesitation, she does. “Look at that. We fit together perfectly.” My voice grows even rougher. I put her hands on my shoulders for support.
It’s cramped, with her on me and my thighs supported by the soft cotton beneath us. Our position constrains her ability to move, and I don’t care.
Our cheeks touch, and I whisper, “Hold on to me, and I’ll do the rest.”
Sarah’s body relaxes, and her head lolls back, so I kiss her exposed neck.
