25. Claire
25
CLAIRE
S omething has shifted in the air. I can’t pinpoint what it is exactly. All I know is that I can feel Keller’s proximity. Every spot where my arm touches his is oversensitive, making my awareness of him overwhelming.
He’s going to touch me, I tell myself. But that’s not quite right. I don’t know he will for sure. The true revelation is that he should be touching me. It would be right. The fact that he isn’t yet is confusing.
I don’t like it.
Touch me.
Touch me, please .
The door opens onto his floor.
He moves to hold it. “After you.”
The apartment is dark, until I step inside and his lighting kicks in, illuminating the gorgeous space.
Touch. Me.
In front of my door, I clear my throat. “About what you said earlier. The…agreement. You said you’d do that to me twice a day,” I remind him.
Keller turns an amused grin on me. “You’re eighteen, Claire. You can say fuck. It’s allowed.”
“Right.” I swallow. “You said you’d fuck me twice a day.”
“I said you’d let me come inside you, when I want, where I want. Think of the two times as an upper guideline. I like to quantify and qualify expectations for any deal.”
Oh. That makes sense. “So, you’re not really going to do it every day?”
“Probably not, no.”
My heart sinks.
Fuck. Why am I disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me? I should be thrilled. Ecstatic. I should be throwing a fucking parade. It’s like having an eight-hour shift, only to be told, hey, you don’t need to show up, you’ll still get paid. It’s like when we get three feet of snow in a day, the school is closed and we get to stay home while the snow plows clear the road. A free pass.
Except it feels like I was denied chocolate mousse and raspberry.
Saturday, I blamed my promiscuity on vodka and champagne. Yesterday, I blamed it all on him. It was his fault. But while there was wine at dinner, I didn’t drink any. I stuck to water. And yet I am positively dejected about the fact that I’m not going to get…fucked.
I expected it. That’s why. It must be why.
“Good night, then.”
“Your things have been moved during dinner,” he tells me as I walk to my room, across the hall. “I think the staff already put them away.”
“Thank you.”
“You should text Lily. She had questions, and the house staff didn’t answer any.”
I wince.
There are a fair few people I need to speak to, and I’ve avoided it for too long. Lily’s at the bottom of that list.
I flee inside my room, my heart racing.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I take a long shower.
Keller wasn’t kidding: my clothes are hung, folded—and unless I’m mistaken, ironed —in the walk-in closet. It’s small, but even so, it’s rather empty. I find a pair of PJ shorts and a tank top, before finally making myself face my demons.
With the three-hour gap, it’s almost two in the morning in Michigan, so I don’t call, but I run through all the messages, properly reading those I just scanned from yesterday.
Grandma: Oh, darling you wouldn’t believe how blessed I am today!
Grandma: Why aren’t you answering your phone? Beatrice says that young people “lie in” in the morning, but really, it must be ten already in California. Don’t be lazy, young lady.
Grandma: I tried to call again. I am worried, Claire. Call me back.
There’s a total of twelve missed call from her, between yesterday and today. Really! We talked Saturday.
Grandma: I assume that your first day was busy. What I meant to tell you is that I was chosen by an anonymous benefactor who is paying for my surgery, and the follow-up rehabilitation appointments, in full. I told you being GOOD was rewarded by GOD. This is proof. I was BLESSED. I do hope that you take note, Claire. Be virtuous, and good things happen to you.
I laugh out loud. Yeah, right. Your surgery is getting paid because I let a stranger finger me in public, Grandma. A giddy, wild, and frankly unkind part of me wishes I could tell her just that. But she’d die on the spot.
Grandma: Well, it’s not very smart to lose your charger like that. Be more careful with your belongings.
Grandma: Why aren’t you answering?
Ugh. I need another excuse. I decide to stick to the truth, as much as possible.
Me: Sorry, Grandma! Today was a bit full. There was a housing mix-up I had to figure out. I found a place to stay in one of the private houses on campus. They’re sort of like sorority houses. I moved in, and then had dinner with my new housemates. We just finished, and it’s too late to call. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. I found a potential part-time job, so I don’t know exactly what time, but I’ll call as soon as I’m free.
And I really should call her tomorrow.
Next, it’s truly painful, but I made myself run through Noah’s messages, guilt twisting my insides. Just because I decided what we had was finished on Sunday doesn’t mean I don’t owe him a reply. It’s not over for him until we’ve discussed it.
But the thing is, everything about my childish, never physical, always present relationship with my childhood friend died when I learned what it felt like to be touched, to want, to crave, and need. I’ve never had anything close to that with Noah. The thought of letting him touch me that way is laughable, and slightly disgusting.
He doesn’t know that, though.
Noah called thirty-two times in the last two days. A good twenty are today. There are a lot of texts. I only make myself read those that are longer than two words.
Noah: Claire, your grandma can’t get hold of you? What’s going on?
Noah: Wow, first weekend and that’s how it is, huh?
Noah: Jesus Claire, what’s wrong with you? Unless you’ve lost your phone ANSWER ME.
Noah: Lost your charger? Then just go buy one, don’t make people wait for DAYS.
Noah: You’re still not answering.
Noah: Wow, Claire. Wow.
My lips pinched, I copy and paste most of my answer to my grandmother, sticking to the facts, without a promise to call.
I know I’m handling this badly, but there’s no fixing it at this time of the night on a Monday.
Lisa offered me coffee at four the next day, and I quickly accept. Next, there’s a text from Lily, just a line full of question marks.
Rather than try to text her, I call. Somehow, I don’t think she’s the kind of girl who goes to bed at ten thirty.
“Oh my god, Claire, tell me you’re staying in the Vesper House!” she practically screams, picking up on third ring.
I chuckle. “I’m staying in the Vesper House.”
“Girl, Tell me everything .”
I hesitate, because wasn’t I just punished, in a legendary, memorable fashion for saying too much?
I’m wondering what I can and can’t say, when my door slides open.
Keller walks in, like this morning, dressed in nothing but a towel. Before I can say a word, he brings his finger to his lips, gesturing me to shush, and winks.
I assume he means, don’t tell her he’s here. My eyes following his approach, I clear my throat.
“Well, I went to the Vesper House to ask Keller if he could help with my situation.”
The man in question has just reached the foot of my bed. My throat dries up on the spot as he climbs on, keeping his eyes on me. His mouth drops to my feet, lips barely touching my ankle. It’s featherlight, teasing, but I feel it rippling everywhere, to the tips of my nipples, and the nub of nerves burning between my legs.
Oh, god.
“Huuh, Keller said…” Keller’s mouth slides up my leg, to my shin. I clear my throat. “He said he couldn’t—” The back of my knee.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“That he couldn’t let me stay in the dorm. The board said no. Student privacy and all that.”
He slides my leg over his shoulder, mouth on my thigh.
“Assholes. I mean, I know they’re super strict over what can and cannot be shared about the school, but that’s a bit much. I heard what you said to the cops. It wasn’t that bad. And you didn’t go back.”
I would probably be far more invested in the conversation if Keller hadn’t reached the hem of my shorts, casually pushing them aside to bring his mouth to my folds.
“Yeah. Hm, yeah.”
“So, he’s letting you stay in the Vesper House instead,” she guesses.
Casually, leisurely, Keller’s running his tongue around my clit. I force my mouth to remain clamped shut to avoid screaming into the phone.
“What is it like? I’ve never been, but it looks even fancier than the rest of the street.”
“It’s nice,” I breathe, panting as silently as I can.
His fingers have joined the party. Two of them: the index and middle finger, curving, expanding, teasing, sliding in and out.
“ Very nice. You should come.”
I’m going to come.
“Visit. Soon. I think it’s allowed?”
I’m not entirely sure.
Keller nods.
“Oh, wow. I’m so glad we were roommates, even if it was only for a few days. So. You’ll notice I have avoiding addressing the elephant in the room for as long as possible, but really. I have to ask. Are you with Keller? You said you had a boyfriend, but there was a vibe between you the other night. And then he gets you back in the school. Not to mention the strange, and strangely domestic lunch. And now, you live with him.”
I let her talk, grateful for the tirade, because I couldn’t manage anything other than a scream, or a moan, while Keller sucks on my pussy, fingering it. I’m drenching his mouth and hand, my insides tensing, heating, rushing towards an increasingly familiar rush.
I’m going to come, soon, on the phone with Lily at the end of the line. Then, she’ll have a fair few questions.
“Yeah, my boyfriend,” I repeat.
Keller’s cold blue eyes catch mine, and he doesn’t stop.
“He’s not—” Fuck! I bite my lip. “Happy with me at the moment. I’m avoiding that.”
“You’re going to break up with him,” Lily says.
It’s not really a question. I’m guessing everyone knows it at this point.
“Yes.”
“And you’re going out with fucking Keller. The Keller. Wow.”
I can’t talk about it while he’s attempting to drive me insane with his mouth. In fact, I can’t talk about anything at all, so I turn it back on her.
“How about you and Cross?”
Keller sits up, lifting my legs, and sliding both my shorts and panties down my thighs. He unties the towel at his waist, revealing his hard cock, pointing right at me.
“Keep talking,” he mouths, slowly, taking his time, to slide it, first, right at my entrance, but he only teases it, coating his tip with my wetness.
“It’s not like you and Keller,” Lily says. “It’s not serious. Basically, last year, Olivia had to tutor one of his terrible hockey player friends, and they started to make fun of her.”
Keller presses the head of his cock against my ass. It’s not like last night. He hasn’t entered it with various large objects, preparing it for the intrusion. It’s not glistening with lube to ease it. It’s hard and huge and doesn’t feel like it could possibly fit.
“—not fair. She’s so shy. I certainly wouldn’t take that, so I fired back.”
Seeing his expression as he presses in, I understand that he likes this. He likes that it’s too tight, protesting against the pressure.
“—not so bad, really. Once they’re dealing with girls who can give as much as they take, the teasing is fun. But for Liv, it was more like bullying.”
“Not cool.”
It’s uncomfortable. Until it isn’t. I can’t explain how or why, but all of a sudden, my ring of muscles just abandons the fight, letting him in. He still enters me slowly, letting me feel every inch, every curve.
“—then, they saw me come back from Comic-Con, and they just have not let up since. Apparently, there’s something about seeing a chick in a Catwoman outfit that makes guys lose brain cells.”
His thumb presses hard on my clit, and my pussy clenches with need. I was so, so close to coming when he stopped to start fucking my ass. It feels betrayed.
“—anyway, yes. He likes to tease me. But he’s never made a move on me. Not a real one, you know?”
“Mmhmm.”
My hips hike up, seeking more contact with his thumb, and Keller shifts, grinding into the space between my legs.
“—not his type.”
I very much doubt that, but I also don’t care much right this second. He’s sliding in and out of my ass, a little faster at each thrust, and two fingers return to my needy pussy. They fuck me in tandem with his cock at first, and then, he changes the rhythm, entering me with his fingers when his cock’s almost completely out of my ass, the discordance ensuring I’m always so, so full.
It’s almost too much and yet at the same time, I need more. I should be fuller. My pussy craves more than fingers. My hips move to meet his, and I’m starting to think there’s no way Lily can’t hear my breathing, the slaps of his skin against mine as his pelvis hits my ass. But she keeps chatting away.
“—that kiss, from Saturday, you know. He basically gave me a peck, and then removed the stupid fake video. He just likes riling me up.”
“Good.”
So, so, so good.
Keller leans forward, his large frame looming over me, the angle changing, as he lowers the top of my tank with his teeth and proceeds to kiss every accessible inch of my chest. The hand not holding my phone moves to lower the cup of my bra, so he can bring his lips to my nipple. Then, instinctively, I slide my fingers over his soft dark blond hair.
Oh, fuck, fuck, that’s it. I’m going to come and there’s no way I can stay silent. I can’t. Desperately, I move my thumb over the screen, reaching the mute button just in time, as I throw my head back and scream, feeling hot, thick liquid slide out of me, onto his fingers again. He doesn’t stop moving, my walls squeezing his fingers, his cock.
Keller grunts, fingers digging into my ass as he pounds it.
Lily keeps talking but I can no longer hear a word over my moans.
“You’re so perfect,” he whispers at my tits. “Such an eager cum dumpster. You’re milking my cock so hard, Claire.”
He’s insulting and derogative and I don’t care as long as he keeps going. Given the fact that I just lost it, I should be completely sated, but he kept going, and I always want more, more, more !
“Claire, Claire?” I hear, faintly. “I think the line went out. Anyway, chat tomorrow, yeah? So glad it’s all sorted for you.”
Almost. So close.
Keller’s mouth moves to my throat, my neck, and then, he’s kissing me.
It’s not the first time. He kissed me Saturday. He’s even kissed me while fingering me. But there’s something different to being kissed with a cock drilling my ass, his naked body flush against my mostly bare skin. It’s hot, lewd, and if it never stopped, I’d die happy.
“Please,” I beg him.
I know what I want. I distinctly visualize what I am dying for. His cock filling my pussy, pounding it just like this. But how could I say that? How could I want that? It makes no sense.
“ Please ,” I sob, begging him to understand.
If he does, he doesn’t act on it. He continues thrusting in my ass, and finally, with one last push forward, floods it with warmth.
I cry.
“You’re so very close,” he assures me. “I should have brought your toys here. You like your wand, don’t you? You want it right here.” He presses my clit.
He’s wrong. It’s not the wand I need.
He sits back on his heels, lifting my hips almost to his face level, my ass in the air.
“I think you need another finger in here. But I could damage that precious hymen you’re saving for what’s-his-face if I filled you more.”
I want to tell him I didn’t save my hymen for anyone or anything. Noah thinks sex is something that happens between a man and wife. My grandmother wholeheartedly agrees. My mother’s name is often muttered as the example of what happens to people who go against that sacred edict. And I was given no reason to want sex before him.
I want it now, though.
I don’t necessarily agree with everything my grandmother preaches. It’s like her certainty that she got that free surgery by being pious, when in actual fact, I got it for her, by being positively scandalous. I just smile and nod to what she says to keep the peace.
If I’d wanted to have sex with Noah, I would have acted differently. I’m too shy to just point-blank tell him, but I would have alluded, seduced, cajoled.
I would have said please.
“The finger. Add a finger,” I tell him.
Tear the damn barrier so we can stop talking about it already.
He tsks . “I don’t think so, darling. That cunt isn’t mine. I don’t break other people’s toys.”
I think I hate him.
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind playing with it a little. So long as I give it back intact.”
He covers me with his whole mouth, and feasts.