Clementine
Dear diary,
I finally got what I’ve been dreaming of—and it was just as perfect as I imagined.
God, this hurts.
* * *
Meg and I have shared a room at college for three years now. By rights, by her final year, she should have a cool apartment somewhere off campus, with her own room and a double bed and a kitchen and all that. With all her lifeguard shifts at the pool, she can definitely afford it.
But I can’t pay that rent, and my scholarship only covers a shared room in the shitty campus dorms. I’ve told her a million times to go ahead and find something better, but Meg refuses to leave me. Refuses to find another roommate.
She’s loyal. The best friend I’ve ever had.
But the point is: we’re used to creeping around each other in the dead of night.
So many times, she’s stumbled into our bedroom way after midnight, her spiky hair sticking up in the darkness. Meg has blundered into her desk so often while drunk, I baby-proofed the corners in second year as a joke.
It never bothered me. I may be a bookish little homebody, but Meg’s a wild child. She’s always heading out to one party or another, covered in neon paint or glitter or a cowboy hat, and I love that about her.
So long as she doesn’t drag me with her, it’s all good.
But somehow I don’t think she’d approve of my sneaking around tonight. Tip-toeing past her closed door, I swallow hard. Soft light glows around the edges, and I guess she’s still awake, but I don’t stop.
I need to risk it.
Duke’s house is dark and quiet, shadows gathering in the corners of empty rooms. The furniture in the living room looks bigger than normal as I creep past, the armchairs rising out of the gloom like mountain ridges. The moon stares at me through the open drapes.
I duck my head, creeping faster.
Duke’s bedroom is upstairs. Will he still be awake? The floorboards creak as I push on. A clock ticks further down the hallway, and it’s so late it’s nearly early.
Our kisses on the boat were hours ago, but I can’t settle. There’s an electric current humming through my veins, and I’m jittery with pent-up energy. If I go back to my own room right now, I’ll tear out all my hair by sunrise.
When we came back earlier, both red-faced and guilty, we sat through a zombie movie with Meg and dodged her questions about dinner. She squinted at us both, like she could tell something was off, but she didn’t push, drawn away by the groaning zombies.
Never been so grateful for a horde of mindless cannibals. I didn’t even wince at the gory bits, because there was a whole different movie reel playing in my mind’s eye.
The way Duke looked at me on the boat—like he was a starving man, and I was a juicy summer peach, ripe for plucking.
The way his body pressed against mine, flattening me to the rail.
The way his groans vibrated right down to my marrow.
“You’re brave tonight,” Meg said to me, poking my knee as the zombies tore another victim apart.
Lord. She has no idea.
And if I’m lucky she never will, because while I was tossing and turning in my bed back there, skin hot and too sensitive beneath my sleep shirt, I realized: it’s still the same night.
This is still technically our not-date. If Duke and I keep going for a few more hours, this is all the same lapse. Right?
Tomorrow, we’ll be better. Tomorrow, we’ll draw those lines again, and we won’t cross ‘em.
But tonight…
If Duke doesn’t kiss me again tonight, I’m going to explode.
* * *
His door is shut. Obviously. My knuckles rap softly against the wood, and I lean my head close, straining to listen. There’s the rustle of sheets; my own shaky breaths. The whump whump whump of my heartbeat in my ears.
What if he’s asleep? What do I do then?
“Clem?” Duke says, so quiet I nearly miss it through the door, and my throat is tight as I turn the handle. The door sighs open.
I step into Duke’s bedroom.
It’s dark, lit only by a shaft of moonlight spilling through the open drapes, but my eyes have adjusted on my journey through the silent house and I can make out some things: the dark floorboards, the sturdy furniture.
Duke’s bed is huge—a big bed for a big man—and he’s sitting upright, the white sheets slithering down to his waist.
Bare chest, as big as a barrel, and dusted with dark hair that trails down, down, down over the curve of his strong belly.
Duke stares at me.
I stare back.
“Close the door,” he says at last, deep voice rasping through the quiet, and I fumble to do it. There’s a soft thunk, then we’re shut in together.
My breaths come quicker. Duke peels back the sheet with one arm. “Get over here.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. My feet fly across the room, barely touching the cool floorboards, then my knees sink into the mattress, and he’s here. Hotter than a furnace, surrounding me with his warmth.
Duke smells like soap and toothpaste and faintly of that river-green musk from earlier. I press my face against his throat, breathing deep.
Lord. My racing heart settles, just a tiny bit.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
Despite his words, my best friend’s dad flips me like a pancake. He bears me down onto the mattress; shoves my legs apart, my yellow sleep shirt tangling around my waist. The sheets are kicked down by our ankles.
And maybe it would be alarming if it was someone else, but when Duke lowers his bulk on top of me, his thick bulge covered only by black cotton boxers, I moan and squirm like a wild thing.
“Quiet,” he says gruffly, then softens his tone. His hands are gentle in my hair. “Quiet, baby. Meg can’t know, remember? This has to be our little secret.”
Yes. Yeah. Our little secret.
I bite my lip hard enough to bruise, rocking my hips up against his.
No idea what I’m doing. I mean—not the mechanics. Whatever, I get that. I listened in sex ed, and it’s hardly advanced algebra.
But I don’t know how to make this good. How to make Duke remember this encounter fondly. Because, let’s face it, whatever this man does to me, I’ll remember it for the rest of my lonely life, and I want to have that effect too. Not to be selfish, just…
I want this to matter. To him.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Duke says again, laying all the way on top of me and rocking his forehead against mine, side to side. “You were sent to test me, Clementine, and I’m failing badly.”
If he’s failing, so am I. F minus over here.
“Can you breathe?” Duke asks, then takes more of his weight on his elbows. I suck in a long breath, still squirming like an eel under him. “Sorry, baby. Got carried away, but I didn’t mean to squish you.”
“I liked it,” I whisper, then he kisses me.
Oh, he kisses me.
Duke kisses me so long and hard and deep, my hair crackles with static from rubbing against his pillow. I suck on his tongue, swallowing up his groan before it can drift away from the bed and tell on us.
And I could die happy like this: with his weight pressing me into the mattress and his lips on mine. I swear, every time Duke gets too into it and forgets himself, grinding his thick body harder against mine, my back cracks into alignment. It’s like the world’s best spa treatment.
But then he shifts slightly, and his hard length presses against my panties. Two thin layers of cotton—that’s all that’s between us down there.
And I’m slicker than I’ve ever been, panting against his bearded cheek, whimpering with need as he strokes a hand down the center of my writhing body.
“Shit, you’re hot right now, Clementine.” His breath is warm, his eyes glazed. Duke’s lip curls back when his fingertips meet the waistband of my panties, and you’d think I came up here in crimson lace, not faded blue cotton.
He groans, gripping the fabric tight in his fist. It pulls harshly against me, cramming up my ass and rubbing against my clit, lifting my hips an inch off the bed, and my head tips back with a moan.
God. He’s so much bigger and stronger than me. I’m a doll in his hands.
Duke shakes his head, lip still curled. He’s staring down my body, and I don’t think he’s blinked in minutes. “Fuck. You’d let me rip ‘em clean off you, wouldn’t you? You’d let me shred ‘em to pieces right now.”
Why yes. Yes, I would.
“Do it,” I beg, scrabbling at his broad shoulders. “Oh my god. Do it, Duke.” Anything that lets him touch me down there.
But he huffs a laugh, then tugs my panties down my thighs gently instead. “Not tonight, baby. I’m not adding property damage to my list of sins.”
“Oh, please.” Tossing my head on the pillow, I can’t think straight. Don’t even know what I’m saying. “They’re not even my best ones!”
“Best ones, huh?” My panties drop to the floor beside the bed, and the mattress groans as Duke rolls on top of me again. “Now there’s a thought. Tell me about your best ones, Clem.”
One layer of cotton left between us. With my flesh bared, I can feel everything, every detail of his cotton-covered bulge.
This is the most torturous countdown. And I want to say no, that he can see my best panties himself one day, but this isn’t like that, is it? Tonight is a one time thing. For Meg’s sake, it has to be.
My eyes burn, just like earlier on the riverboat, but I’m not gonna fall apart like an idiot this time. If Duke and I only have one night together, I will not ruin it with snot and heartbreak. Again.
Those things can come tomorrow. I’ll tell Meg I have the flu or something.
“Clementine?”
“I’m here. I’m with you.” My thoughts scatter as Duke sucks on my throat, but I finally remember his question. “They’re, um. My favorites are pink. With little watermelons on them.”
And I feel dumber than a rock admitting that out loud, but Duke groans into my neck like I’m dirty-talkin’.
“So… goddamn… sweet.” He punctuates each word with a rock of his hips, his rigid length rubbing over my bare slit. And even though there’s still fabric between us, even though his boxers have twisted around in a way that can’t be comfy, we both shudder like it’s the best thing we’ve ever felt.
“Clementine. I’m—we don’t have to. But do you want to…?”
“Yes,” I breathe, scratching my nails over his chest. “Oh my god, put it in me. Duke, put it in me.”
And I won’t win any speech making awards, but Duke kisses me like I’m his own personal miracle.
He reaches between us. Tugs his boxers down far enough to free his cock. Presses the head against me, and both our breaths are so loud.
“You ever done this before, Clementine?”
The way Duke asks it—it’s like he’s in pain. He grits the words through his teeth.
“N-no.” I shake my head, and every part of my body is focused on the tiny point of contact where his length prods my slit. My heart bangs like a drum.
Downstairs, something creaks.
We both pause, but the house is silent.
Then Duke looks at me, and for a sickening moment, I think he’s going to stop. That he’ll change his mind about wanting an inexperienced college student in his bed, and send me back downstairs to the guest room. Maybe tell me to try again in a few years time, once I know what I’m doing.
But Duke’s not like that. Of course he’s not. And we’re not like that, not so easily put off—we’re both trembling with the effort not to slam into each other like animals.
“I’ll go slowly,” Duke grinds out. “If it hurts… or if I’m too heavy…”
“I’ll tell you, I promise.” My eyes are dry from staring between our bodies, waiting desperately to see us join. And I know there’s a ton of other stuff we could do right now, licking and touching and what-have-you, but Duke and I are on the same page with this.
He needs in.
And I need to feel him as deep as he can go. Nothing else will do.
“Please,” I say as he presses forward, nudging the first inch inside. The sudden width of him steals my breath, and I don’t register the creak on the staircase. “Oh god. Yes. Duke. Please, I want you.”
Footsteps along the hall. We’re both frowning down between our bodies, lost in our own world. Both bare and flushed and rumpled, with no possible excuses for what we’re doing. The pink light of dawn shines through the window, and we’ve done it. Lost track of time.
I hitch my knees around his waist. Duke shoves my sleep shirt up to my collarbone, grunting at my hard, rosy nipples as they point at the ceiling.
He sinks another inch inside me. I sigh.
So good.
The door handle turns. Duke’s bending over me, sucking on my breast, and I watch in horror over his shoulder as Meg bursts into the room, all of our carelessness slamming into me like an eighteen-wheeler.
People say this all the time, but I swear, time slows down. My world falls apart in slow motion.
“Dad, that gator’s back—MY EYES!”
Meg claps a hand over her face, reeling back against the door frame. It’d be funny if it weren’t so awful. The end of everything good in my life.
Duke leaps up like I’m a rattle snake he just found in his bed. Like I’m venomous, and he’s appalled that he ever got so close. “We’re not—this isn’t—”
And he can tuck himself away all he wants, can yank the sheets over my body like that, like I’m something shameful to hide, but there’s no denying what his daughter walked in on. “This is nothing,” he tells her, pleading with his eyes for her to believe him.
How can she not? After all, Duke won’t even look at me. I sure believe him.
As I sit up, curling my knees to my chest, I’ve never felt this small and miserable. My best friend backs up, shaking her head, one hand still clapped over her eyes.
“Jesus fucking Christ. You two.” Meg curses her way back along the hallway, bouncing off the walls with a series of thumps, like her eyes are still covered even out there. She curses all the way to the ground floor, then throws the front door open.
Duke and I both flinch as it slams shut behind her.
Silence.
I never knew silence could be so loud.
One minute later, my legs shake as I swing them off the bed. “I shouldn’t have come in here. I’m sorry.”
Duke scrubs a hand down his face, not saying a word, and Meg is long gone but he still won’t look at me. Not even a goodbye glance.
I scurry out of there, sleep shirt swishing, too humiliated to snatch up my panties and put them on.
He can keep them. Or throw them out, more likely.
Maybe set them on fire while cursing my name.