Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Henry
Just when I think the worst thing to happen this summer is Summer bumping up against my hard-as-fuck cock—definitely not tickling her again. What the fuck was I thinking? We get another heatwave at the end of July.
Summer is slowly coming out of her shell and spending half her time on campus.
I pretend to be okay with that because she’ll be moving out in another month. This is temporary, I remind myself constantly. And that’s for the best.
Do not get attached.
Summer drifts downstairs more often now, even when I don’t need her help because the living room upstairs doesn’t have air conditioning. There’s only so long a teenage girl can spend in a bedroom, apparently.
On the hottest afternoon yet, when there aren’t enough iced coffees in the world to fight off the slow slide of sweat down my back, Summer is sitting in the barber chair, her head in the clouds.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask as I tidy up around her.
“Boys.” The guileless way she says it hits me straight in the chest. I don’t want her thinking about walking hormone machines.
She’s a walking hormone machine herself, though. It’s the age. I remember it well.
She’s looking at me like she can read my mind. “Is that what you were like when you wanted to date my mom?”
“Was I like what?”
“A. . .” she lowers her voice, mimicking me. “Walking hormone machine.”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“You muttered it under your breath.”
“I should have more self-control than that.”
“Do you?”
What kind of a question is that? A Summer kind of question. Raw, unvarnished, and dangerously curious. “I usually do.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which one?” I poke her in the side to lighten the mood. “You’re full of questions.”
“Were you a walking hormone machine when you dated my mom? Or after that, with anyone else?”
I shrug. “Sure. We’re all human.”
“When was the last time you had a crush on someone?”
Right fucking now, because I’m a pervert. Instead of that off-limits truth, I lie. It’s far too easy. “It’s been a while.”
“You said my mom wasn’t into you, but she told me you were the only man she ever trusted. I dunno, it sounds like she really liked you.”
That’s an old wound, well-healed over, so I shake my head. “Nope. I told you, we went out a few times. She didn’t even let me kiss her for real, just a few pecks. Which was more than fine—girls should call the shots about things like that.”
“Kissing?”
“Yep.”
“And other stuff?”
“I’m not talking to you about that.”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m a grown-up.”
Just fucking barely.
She unfolds from the chair and saunters to the stairs. “Are you going to be a while down here?”
Why? The question jumps into my throat, but I can’t ask it out loud. I don’t need to know why she wants privacy upstairs. I glance at the clock. “I’ve got paperwork to do. I probably won’t come up until at least seven.”
Her eyelashes sweep against her cheeks as she blinks slowly. “Wanna make dinner together when you come up?”
“Yep.”
“I’m going to lie down until then.”
I swallow thickly. “Good. Get some rest.”
As she disappears through the curtain and I hear her footsteps on the stairs, I imagine her stretching out on my bed—her bed, now—and sliding her fingers between her legs.
The opposite of rest.
Slow, rhythmic movements as she thinks about kissing and other stuff.
I give her a full hour to herself, then drag myself upstairs, already missing the air-conditioned splendor of the shop.
“I might head out to Walmart after we eat,” I tell Summer. “Get an air mattress.”
She gives me a confused look. “What’s wrong with the couch?”
“With this heat. . .”
Her eyes flare wide in alarm. “Oh, shit. No, Henry, you take the bed.”
“I’m not going to make you sweat all night.”
“Well, same right back at you.” She crosses her arms. “And how does an air mattress make the situation better?”
“I’ll sleep downstairs in the shop.”
Her mouth drops open, then snaps shut again as she shakes her head vigorously.
“No. Nope. Not going to happen. We can share the bed. It’s plenty big, and if you’re worried about me cuddling up against you in the night, we’ll make a pillow barrier between us.
” She exhales, a breathy, confident sound like she knows she’s won the argument.
“Besides, this way we can talk late into the night about girl things.”
I groan. “Stop.”
“Boy things?” She grins.
“We can talk about school stuff.”
She nods sagely. “Like chemistry. And biology.”
“Yep,” I agree, a beat too fast.
I realize that she’s being subtle, but not that subtle, and her eyes gleam like she’s planning something.
Am I really accepting the invitation back into her bed, my bed, to share a bed because it’s unusually hot in Oregon?
Or are we both using this as an excuse to poke that line and see what happens?
The answer comes sooner than I expect.
We take turns showering, then lie down next to each other in the cool darkness of the bedroom.
Her hand finds mine. “Henry?”
“Mmm.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
No is the only answer here. No, because I can’t be trusted. No, because she’s on a path moving away from me, and secrets could yank her off that journey. No, because I can’t be sure I’ll be a good enough man to only hold those secrets and not exploit them.
I don’t say no. I don’t say anything.
“Henry?”
“Your mother wants—”
“She’s not here. And I’m a grown-up with wants of my own.” She moves closer. “And I want you.”
I know.
I’ve known for weeks, probably, and yet hearing it sends a new kind of panic racing through my bloodstream. A dull roar fills my ears.
Her breath is warm and soft on my jaw. “Henry. . .”
“No.” I clear my throat. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” It’s a simple question with a very complicated answer.
“Because you’re young enough to be my daughter.”
“But I’m not your daughter.” She has an ethereal sweetness, an innocence that makes all the complicated layers fuzzy. “We’re friends. That’s what you said.”
We are friends. But it’s more than that. I feel a sense of responsibility for her well-being. I have money, and she doesn’t. I have world knowledge that she doesn’t have. “It’s a power imbalance,” I say gently. “I’m much older than you. I know things you don’t.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But you could teach me. Then I’ll know those things, too, and we’ll be on equal footing.”
I don’t push her away. My lack of a reply is enough. I’ve left an opening I should close firmly, but I can’t. I tried, and I failed.
Happiness radiates off her as she exhales, softening against me. I hold my breath as I listen to her fall asleep.
And then I lay there in the dark, thinking about how I might teach her about being a woman.
The next morning, I wake up to her wriggling her bum against my erection. One of my hands is inside her shirt, flat against her smooth, soft belly, and my other hand is tangled in her hair.
She’s holding her breath.
Slowly, I kiss the back of her neck, my pulse heavy. I feel drugged.
My cock is drooling to be inside her, or even just between her lush little thighs.
But this cannot be about me and my base desires.
I exhale roughly and roll away from her, ignoring her small protest.
“Coffee,” I mutter.
“So you’re not a morning sex person?” she calls after me.
“No sex!” I bark back, already halfway to the kitchen.
She giggles, and I hear her little footsteps following me.
She hops onto the counter, watching me. An eager shadow.
I remember how much it upset her when I didn’t give her attention first thing in the morning, so I stop in front of her and let her tug me into the vee of her legs. I press a kiss to her forehead.
The happy noise she makes when my lips hit her skin makes me want to fuck her into next week.
No sex.
I cup her face in my hands, holding her still. Making her look at me. “Summer, we can’t. . . there are lines we can’t cross.”
“But you want to.”
I groan. “Yes, damn it. I want to.”
“So why can’t we?”
“Because it would be wrong.”
“Sounds simplistic.”
“I’m a simple man.”
“Then what isn’t wrong?” Her sharp little eyes don’t leave my face. “Can we hug?”
An innocent question. But I know better now. Summer is far from innocent. She’s a fully formed woman with complicated wants and desires. I play her game, though. “Yes.”
“Can we kiss?” The yearning in her voice hits me square in the chest.
The need to taste her soft mouth is overwhelming. “Yes. Forehead kisses are definitely allowed.”
She rolls her eyes.”And what about my. . . cheek?”
“That’s fine, too.”
“And my mouth?”
“Summer. . .”
“For educational purposes only.”
Could I teach her how to kiss a man? I nod, feeling like the worst kind of animal. Not feeling bad enough to take it back, though. All of me is throbbing for her now.
Her whole face lights up. “There’s a lot we can do with hugging and kissing. I bet we can make that very filthy.”
“I have no doubt. But let’s do our best not to because we can’t go too far.”
She chews on the corner of her lip, a determined expression settling on her face. “What about. . . other kinds of education? Can you teach me—”
I press my finger to her mouth. “Let’s leave it at hugging and kissing.”
“Cuddling?” She glares at me. “We’re both grown-ups.”
“Barely.”
“I’d rather learn from you than some fumbling—”
“I don’t want those boys touching you, either.” I wipe my hand across my mouth. ”What exactly do you want me to teach you? I need you to be specific.”
She holds my gaze, steady and calm, as she ticks off a clearly thought-out list on her fingers. It starts sweet and goes to places that almost break my brain.
“I definitely want to learn how to kiss,” she says softly. One finger. “And how to give pleasure. How to turn a man on.” Another finger.
She gives me an angelic smile as she ticks the third finger in the air. “I want to know about sex, of course, but that’s off the table, so maybe. . . fingers? And, of course, orgasms. What it looks like when a man, you know.”
I’m speechless.
And fucking hard. Painfully swollen and ready to show her all of that. Starting with how men like it when innocent girls wrap their tiny fingers around dripping cocks and make them spray come all over sweet little mouths.
The coffee maker beeps.
She brushes her lips at the corner of my mouth and pushes me away from her counter perch. “Time to get caffeinated.”