18. Chapter 18 #2
"Man, you don't shut down a whole goddamn pier for PR. You do it because she wanted an amusement park and I wasn't giving her a half-assed version of her own dream date."
Malik throws his hands up, grinning. Jaylen howls and immediately announces he's going to be their kid's godfather, unprompted, before either of us has said a word about kids.
Malik hits him with a full dap routine that takes approximately forty-five seconds.
Jordan daps me up too, tells me I did good, which from him is basically a ticker-tape parade.
The two of them head for the lot still arguing about who put away more funnel cake, Jaylen yelling over his shoulder that godfather is a done deal, non-negotiable.
And then it's just me and Claire, the lights, and the water.
***
Hannah leans into her shoulder and whispers, not quietly enough, "I've never seen you like this with anybody. Not even what's-his-name."
Katie swoops in, throws an arm around Hannah, and taps Claire's elbow like she's tagging her out. "Alright, I'm stealing the girls. I've got another event — my aunt's neighbor's dermatologist is hosting a launch party with DJ Lux and apparently I'm on the list. Don't wait up."
Hannah hugs Claire tight, whispering something that makes Claire's whole face soften before she lets go.
Katie gives Claire a wink like she knows exactly what she's leaving her to.
Then the girls drift off toward the parking lot, their laughter trailing behind them, and the night opens wide around us.
I've been looking at the photo booth on the far end of the boardwalk all night.
"Come on."
I catch her hand and pull her toward it.
"What are we doing?"
"Documenting history."
"Darius."
"You'll thank me later."
I feed a few bills into the machine and hold the curtain open.
She laughs. "You seriously want photo booth pictures?"
"Future generations deserve evidence that I was handsome."
Still laughing, she ducks inside after me.
The booth is small — cramped, even — faded purple curtains, cracked vinyl bench, a screen already counting down. I fold myself in after her, knees pressed to the side wall, and we're closer than the space requires and neither of us adjusts.
PHOTO 1 IN 5...
"Oh." She settles onto the bench. "It's already starting."
"Smile, Claire."
The camera flashes.
PHOTO 2 IN 5...
"Remember earlier?" I say. "When you said your favorite position was missionary?" I lean in, close enough to feel her breath catch. "I'm going to show you something new."
She looks up at me, eyes wide, a laugh starting at the corner of her mouth that doesn't quite make it out. "Darius—"
"That's a yes."
I drop to my knees on the cracked vinyl floor, my head bent at an angle that's going to cost me, and I don't care at all. I lift the hem of her dress slowly. She goes still beneath my hands — not pulling back, just holding her breath, watching me.
Her underwear is simple white cotton. Something about that hits harder than lace ever has.
I press my mouth against the fabric and feel her grip my shoulders.
I pull her underwear down. She lifts her hips to help. My tongue finds her clit immediately, circling it slowly. She makes a choked sound, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I use my hands to spread her thighs wider, giving myself better access.
The position is killing my neck, but the sounds she's making are worth it.
I lick her in long, slow strokes, from her entrance to her clit and back again. She's already so aroused that it doesn't take much. Her hips start moving, grinding against my face. I focus on her clit now, sucking it gently, then harder, using the flat of my tongue to press against it.
"Oh god," she moans, her head thrown back against the wall. "Darius, please..."
I increase the pressure, my tongue working faster. Her thighs start shaking, and I know she's close. I slip one hand under her ass, lifting her slightly to get a better angle. That does it.
Her orgasm crashes through her, her body arching off the bench. She cries out, the sound echoing in the tiny booth. I keep licking her through it, drawing out her pleasure until she's limp and panting beneath me.
When I finally pull back, my face is wet with her juices. She looks down at me, her eyes hazy with satisfaction.
"That was..." she starts, but doesn't finish.
I grin up at her. "Points?"
She laughs, a breathy sound. "Definitely points."
I start to stand up, but my head hits the top of the booth with a dull thud. "Ouch."
Claire sits up, her dress still bunched around her waist. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," I rub my head. "This booth wasn't designed for someone my size."
Her eyes travel down my body, lingering at the obvious bulge in my jeans. "I can see that." She reaches out and traces the outline of my dick through the denim. "But I want you."
I look around the cramped space. "There's no way. There's literally no room for me to pull out any moves in here."
"Then don't," she says, her voice husky. "Let me."
Before I can protest, she's pushing me down onto the bench. I barely fit — my knees are bent at an awkward angle, my head pressed against the wall. She straddles my lap, her dress still around her waist. The position puts her breasts right in my face.
She fumbles with my zipper, her fingers shaking slightly. When she finally pulls my dick out, it springs free, hard and ready. She strokes it once, twice, then positions herself above me.
"Wait," I say, suddenly remembering. "Condom."
She hesitates. "I don't have one."
"Fuck," I breathe. "I don't either."
"I'm on the pill."