Clementine
Dear diary,
Meg says a ten mile run will win back her heart. I’ve only ever managed six.
Wish me luck.
* * *
The side gate screeches on its hinges, and frankly, I know how it feels. I, too, feel rusted to hell. Every bone in my body aches as I stumble into the back yard, and I can’t feel my feet.
Ten miles. In the summer evening heat.
Just leave my body out for that gator.
The light faded while I was gone, the sky blushing pink, and the string lights twinkle in the trellis. It’s beautiful, but I’m too hot and cranky to appreciate it.
“Good run?” Meg smirks at me from the edge of the pool, her bare legs dangling in the water. She’s in one of Duke’s old football shirts, the wide neck slipping off her shoulder.
Jealous.
That’s my first thought, but I push it away. What’s the point of wishing I could wear his clothes? Coveting Meg’s dad has officially brought me nothing but pain.
I wave her off, staggering along the path. Sure, this morning I was scared to death that I’d lost my best friend; that I’d screwed everything up beyond repair. But after Meg came back from her stress walk first thing, she insisted on training me all day, calling it my penance—and I let her.
If she wants a three minute plank before we can make up, so be it. My arms shook like two limp noodles, but I made it.
So. We’re okay, or we will be, anyway. And after ten miles of agony, I’m done. Kaput.
“Back, demon.” My thigh muscles twitch as I kick off my sneakers and peel off my socks. I’m so wobbly and woozy. “I’m not doing any more press ups. You’ll just have to forgive me already.”
Meg hands me her half-drunk bottle of water as I collapse at her side. “I already forgave you hours ago. After the burpees.”
“Before the run?”
“Yeah.”
The drink is lukewarm, heated by the sun, but I gulp it down greedily, shaking my head behind the bottle. “Screw you,” I gasp once I can breathe again.
Meg laughs, her feet kicking in the water.
And as we sit together in silence, despite the awfulness of today, despite my throbbing muscles and the heartbreak searing my chest… it’s nice. Birds chatter in the trees, and insects hum. It smells like damp soil.
My bruised feet throb like crazy as I lower them into the water, but it’s refreshing. Scours my soul clean.
Don’t suppose I’ll ever come here again. Not after everything that happened with Duke—crossing that line together last night, then his rejection this morning. How could I?
Really, I shouldn’t even linger for another day. Where’s my pride?
“I should move along,” I say quietly, one fingernail scratching at the stone tiles. “I’ll go back to the dorm; get a job on campus until final year starts. It won’t take me long to pack, so I’ll head out first thing tomorrow. You think Duke will mind if I stay one more night?”
Meg gusts out a long sigh, frowning at the pool water. For a horrible moment, I think she’s going to tell me that she doesn’t want to share again next year; that while I’m back at campus, I should find another roommate. Burpees are fine and all, but they don’t fix betrayal.
When she yells, it’s so sudden that I jump. “Dad! Get out here! You’ve fucked this up good!”
“He’s here?” My head whips around, twinging my neck. I figured Duke would stay away as long as possible, waiting for me to hurry up and leave. Figured Meg would have warned me, damn it. Now I’m red-faced and sweaty and caught off guard.
“Shh,” I hiss when she yells for him again. “He doesn’t want to see me!”
“Dumbass,” Meg says, hauling to her feet in a spray of pool water. Don’t know if she means me or her dad, or the world at large. “Can’t believe the straights rule most everything. Don’t know how you idiots even tie your own shoelaces.”
Duke fills the back doorway, his broad shoulders blocking out the kitchen glow inside.
“Clementine?”
His deep voice makes me shiver.
* * *
“I am going to my room,” Meg declares to the tree full of birds. “I am going to put on headphones and stay locked in there for the next two hours. I will not look out the window. Enjoy this gift, you two, because I’m never clearin’ out again. Now get your shit together.”
My best friend stomps inside, cursing under her breath. Her wet feet leave an angry trail over the paving stones.
Duke moves aside to let her through. As soon as he steps into the garden, I can see him better, the pink evening light bringing out the bronze in his hair. He’s in a gray t-shirt and soft-looking jeans.
He watches me, so solemn. Scratches his chin. I’ve always loved seeing him like this: in comfy old clothes, his guard down. Domestic.
My lungs hurt as I suck in a new breath.
“I’m sorry,” Duke says, right as I say, “I’ll head out tomorrow.”
His face drops.
He takes one step closer, and he can’t decide what to do with his hands. They smooth his t-shirt, jam into his pockets, then come out again. He’s so big, so strong, silhouetted against the first stars of the evening. “You’re leaving? Because of me?”
Well. Yeah.
“Because of us,” I tell him, because it’s kinder. And it’s true, anyway. Duke’s reaction may have hurt me, but the whole scenario isn’t his fault alone. It takes two to tango, and all that.
“Meg told me she’s okay with it.” Duke takes another step, and he’s approaching so slowly. All careful and calm, like I might spook.
“I know. She told me too.” After the hundredth squat, anyway. “That’s not why I’m going.”
“Oh.” Duke hovers on the stone path, halfway to the pool. Then, abruptly: “Fuck that.” The ground shakes as he marches to my side.
A heavy knee crashes against the tiles. Duke grips my shoulders; turns me to face him. He’s not squeezing hard, not pushing me around, but all I can think is how much bigger he is than me, looming over me like that. How he makes me feel small and fragile and precious.
Dark eyes bore into mine. He’s so intense he doesn’t blink, and I know he’s gonna declare himself. I just know it.
Oh my god. This is happening, and I’m sweatier than a sinner in church.
“Clementine,” he says. “I don’t want you to go. You hear me? I won’t stop you, but I don’t want you to go. Need you to understand that. I’ll miss you every minute you’re not here, and I’ll never stop kicking myself for scaring you away. Never.”
Gah!
It’s perfect. Music to my ears. But if Duke touches me like this, if he tastes me like this after running ten miles, I’ll die. I’m a human gym sock.
“That’s sweet,” I murmur, shrugging off one big hand, then the other. He lets me go—and he doesn’t understand yet, because his handsome face looks wrecked.
I’m not turning him down, damn it. I’m taking emergency measures.
“Wait here, please.”
“What?” Duke says, then grunts in surprise as I slither into the pool. Water rushes in all around me, stroking over my skin and probing between the strands of my hair, and it’s warm after a day of cooking in the sun, but it’s still cooler than my overheated body.
My tank top flaps in the water. Bubbles rush past my face.
I shake my head, eyes squeezed closed against the chlorine.
Does scrubbing underwater make any difference? I do it anyway. And it’s not as good as a proper bath, but when I break the surface, I feel a thousand times cleaner.
“Okay,” I say. Duke’s stunned, still kneeling by the pool. “I’m ready. Help me up.”
He lifts me out so easily. Like plucking a fallen leaf.
When he sits me on the pool edge, he takes his hands away quickly. I catch his wrists and put them back.
“What?” Duke says again, shaking his head in bewilderment. But his hands grip my waist nice and tight, kneading and squeezing me through my soaked top, and already he’s looming closer. “What just happened?”
“I ran ten miles, that’s what happened. Meg’s been testing out her boot camp routines on me all day, and I was sweaty as hell. Did you really want to get up close and personal with that?”
“Yes,” he says immediately, and my eyes burn as I smile. It’s so good to be near him again, chatting and teasing. Touching and stroking. This morning feels like a bad dream—nothing more.
“You really want me to stay?”
Duke brushes wet hair off my forehead. “More than anything. For every day for the rest of my life. I’m sorry I messed up this morning, but please, Clementine. I need you.”
Well.
Okay, then.
“I’m finishing college first,” I say as he lays me back, kissing my wet neck. His beard is gonna smell like chlorine. “That’s another year apart.”
Duke’s words rumble against my skin. “I’ll come visit. All the time.”
“You will?”
He puffs out a heavy breath. I squirm against stone. “Clementine. You’re not hearing me, baby. You’d have to order me away.”
I would?
That is… very new to me. In my twenty one years, I’ve been great at slowly losing people; at watching friends and family drift away. I’ve never had someone want me around this much before.
“I could come here too,” I say, testing the waters. “Could stay sometimes on the weekend. Just the two of us.”
“Yes,” Duke breathes against my collarbone, his hands fumbling down by my waist. Gathering two sopping handfuls of tank top. “Sweet Jesus. I want that so badly.”
Me too. Just like I want, no, need the way Duke yanks my top over my head. It lands on the stone tiles with a wet slap. Need his hungry eyes roaming down my body; need his mouth against mine, tongue snaking past my lips.
The sports bra comes off harder, molded to my body now that it’s soaked. Duke curses and grunts, and I’m no help at all, melting into a pile of giggles.
“Devil—thing!”
When he finally gets it off, he flings it at the wall. It snags on the trellis, dangling there like a damp flag. Can’t breathe for laughing.
“I’m leaving hand prints all over you,” I say when I can speak again, spreading my fingers over his chest to demonstrate. His gray t-shirt goes darker where I’ve touched. All over Duke’s burly body, I’ve left a trail of greedy damp hand prints, mapping out his chest and shoulders and belly.
He rocks back on his heels and looks down at himself. Grins at me, so pleased.
Lord. I grab my own breasts, cupping and squeezing, and no, it’s not subtle, but just the sight of this man gets my motor working double time.
“Clem.” Duke chokes out my name, then hooks his thick fingers inside my shorts waistband. He wrestles those down my legs, underwear too, until I’m buck naked in his backyard.
The trees block the neighbors’ view, thank god, and Meg promised not to look out the window.
Still, I’m shy as I pluck at Duke’s t-shirt. Biting on my bottom lip, torn between covering myself up and squirming. “Will you touch me?”
His lungs empty out. “Yeah.”
Blunt fingers skate along my seam. They dip a fraction past my entrance; they swirl through my slickness and rub at my clit. My hips buck up and I moan like a harlot, every nerve ending in my body sparking to life.
So sensitive. The warm evening breeze, wafting over my nipples; the gritty stone at my back. I feel it all.
I yank on his t-shirt again. “Take this off. Duke, please.”
He shucks his clothes too, and then we’re both bare, naked together in our own private Eden.
Duke kneels between my legs, touching me again. Teasing me, working me open. Doing all the stuff we were too impatient for before.
I hiccup a moan when he takes my breast. Squeezes it, thumbs my nipple. God, he touches me like he owns me already, and I love it. I’m all his.
That thick cock bobs in the air between us, and I stare at it in the dying light. Widen my legs and tilt my hips up in offering.
“We doing this, baby?”
Duke shifts forward, his shaft in one fist. He lines us up, his other hand spread over the tiles by my head.
“You’d better.” Else I’ll lose my damn mind. We’ve already come so close once before; already nearly claimed each other, then backed away at the last second. I’m dying here.
When he looms over me, the curve of his hard belly brushes against my thighs. Something about that—the solidness of him, his furry chest, his manly smell, his beard—makes me wetter than a slip ’n slide.
“Oh god.” He breaches me slowly at first: slow and thick. I gulp down muggy summer air, tugging on the hair at my temples. My head rocks back and forth on the stone. “Oh my god, Duke. So good. So good.”
“Yep,” he says, deep voice strained, and sinks another inch. “Yeah. It’s real good.”
And damn, he’s never been a poet, but his whole stoic manly thing warms my heart so much right now. I beam up at him, wiggling my hips so he sinks a couple more inches.
Oof.
It burns a little. He’s stretching me wide, testing my untried body, and when I push up onto my elbows to watch us join, bringing our faces closer, my mouth goes dry. How the hell am I taking that? It’s a monster! Where am I even putting it?
“My organs must be mushed up in my armpit or something.”
Duke rumbles a pained laugh, then cuts off with a cough. “Shit, don’t make me laugh, Clementine. I’m hanging by a thread here.”
“Well, I’m getting skewered by a tree trunk. Fair’s fair.”
He shakes his head, shoulders trembling. And when I lunge up to kiss him, to nibble on his bottom lip, he snaps—and pushes even deeper with a groan. His tense body relaxes, then it’s done. He’s all the way in.
…Out.
And in.
He’s not thrusting, exactly, just easing things. Rocking our bodies together, so patient, while I remember how to breathe again, and all the while I’m surrounded by his heat and scent and tickly hairs.
It’s the best.
“Don’t you dare change your mind after this,” I tell him, kissing his cheek, his beard, his neck.
We’re rocking harder, grinding together deep and slow.
The stone digs into my back, and it’s getting darker, harder to see, but I don’t care.
“You can’t give me this and then take it away again.
Okay, mister? I need this now. Need it to survive. ”
I’m exaggerating, I know I am, but in this moment… well, in this moment, it feels true. Like our bodies are joined in some vital, primal way, and pulling apart would be a serious injury. Like for the rest of my life, this is a basic need.
Duke’s cock: as essential to me as food and water.
“Not stopping,” Duke grunts, and the sound of our flesh thudding together rises over the burbling pool. “Never gonna stop. You’re mine, Clementine. Mine.”
And he looks half wild above me, possessive as hell. He grabs a fistful of my hair, tugs my head to the side, and sucks a bruise on my throat. His teeth scrape.
“Mine,” he says again, punching forward with his hips. And…
Claimed.
That’s what I am.
This man has picked me, and I’ve picked him, and we’re doing this. Together.
As I rake my nails down his back, I’m possessive too. Want Duke to hiss when he feels them in the shower later; want him to catch sight of those red marks in the mirror and see my message: Clementine was here.
Meg will drown me in the pool if she sees them, but whatever. He may be her dad, but he’s my man. He’s mine, and he wants me. Needs me.
“Love you,” Duke rumbles in my ear, like he’s reading my mind; finishing my thought for me. “This is it, baby. You don’t have to feel lonely anymore.”
My breath hitches.
No. And neither does he.
I bite down on his shoulder.