Chapter 17 #2
“Good,” she murmurs. Her mouth is on my neck a heartbeat later, kissing below my ear, then lower.
Her fingers move to the top of my shirt, but she hesitates, eyes flicking up to meet mine. I nod, chest rising and falling too fast to hide what I want.
Her eyes stay on mine as her hands start to unbutton my shirt, and my heart hammers more wildly than before.
I try to stay still, try not to lean in and rush her, but every nerve in me is begging for her to go faster.
Each button she undoes stretches the moment out further, and my skin burns with anticipation.
I watch her hands reach the last button, and when it finally slips free, my shirt parts open. Cool air rushes in, kissing my skin, making me shiver. Clara’s fingers pause, resting lightly against the open fabric, hesitating, before she eases it apart and lets it fall from my shoulders.
She exhales a shaky sigh that ghosts across my chest, and my breath shudders out.
I instinctively move my arms to cover my chest. I’ve always been self-conscious about my breasts, with one being noticeably smaller than the other; it’s something I’ve hated for as long as I can remember.
Clara gently catches my wrists, stopping me.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just holds me there, her eyes locked on mine.
And I know she knows exactly where my mind went.
She probably knew the second my arms moved.
“Hey,” she whispers, leaning in, brushing a soft kiss above my heart, “you’re beautiful.”
And with the way she’s looking at me, I believe her; all the insecurity starts to slip away, and I don’t feel the need to hide, because all I feel is wanted.
Then her eyes drop, sweeping down, landing on the curves of my breasts. Clara gulps, her eyes flicking lower as her thumb presses gently into my stomach.
“Do you have any idea,” Clara murmurs, voice rough, “how long I’ve wanted to have you like this?”
Before I can answer—before the question even registers—her thumb glides over my breasts, brushing across my nipples. They’re already tight, aching, and the contact strikes a jolt through me so sharp I forget how to breathe.
Clara’s usual honey-brown eyes are nearly black with want as she watches me react, roaming over me with a hunger that raises every hair on my arms and sends goosebumps chasing across my skin.
She leans in, her lips brushing over my collarbone.
My head falls back as her mouth moves lower, a breathless moan slipping from my lips as Clara’s tongue circles one nipple slowly, while her fingers tug at the other.
The contrast is maddening. Her tongue is like silk, soft and wet, working me with a hunger that leaves me trembling.
It’s too much, and not nearly enough. I arch into her, aching for more, for all of her.
“Take off your shirt,” I whisper, voice shaky and uneven as I struggle to catch my breath.
Her smile curves against my skin, sparking something low in my belly. In one fluid move, she peels off her shirt, and her sports bra goes with it, revealing inch after inch of smooth, flushed skin.
My breath stalls. I’ve seen her topless so many times before, but this is something entirely different. It’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time, and all I can do is stare. My mouth immediately goes dry, and my heart races up to my throat.
I lay a trembling hand on her chest, and the moment my fingers graze her skin, her breath catches before slipping out in a soft, broken sigh. I trace a thumb over her pierced nipples, taking in every inch of her.
Her chest rises against my palm, heartbeat thudding beneath my touch, wild and uneven. Her breath is coming faster, shallow and ragged, each inhale more desperate than the last.
When my eyes meet hers, the hunger in them steals the air from my lungs. Knowing I caused it, knowing she’s unraveling because of me, sends heat crashing through my body in waves.
I bite lightly on her lower lip, and she lets out a soft moan, a sound so perfect that I could listen to it forever. I am drunk on her, on the way her hands slide up my body, fingertips tracing my skin like she’s memorizing me.
Without breaking our kiss, Clara guides me onto my back, her lips never leaving mine.
She settles on top of me, and slips one leg between mine.
When she presses forward, her thigh finds the spot that’s been aching for her.
A sharp, delicious jolt runs through me, and I gasp into her mouth.
I wrap my arms around her neck, and she grinds against me harder and slower.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp, barely getting the words out.
She pulls the string of my sweats loose and slides her hand in. Her palm presses over my underwear, and she stills.
“Fuck,” Clara murmurs, her voice low and hoarse. “You’re soaked.”
Then her fingers move, rubbing slowly against my clit. Even through my underwear, her touch is like fire, making the need in my belly grow deeper as I roll my hips harder against her, seeking every bit of friction, but she pulls her hand from between my thighs, and I whimper.
“Take everything off,” she demands.
I quickly pull my sweats off, along with my underwear, tossing them all onto the floor, not caring that I didn’t fold my underwear into my sweats.
I didn’t even think to. I always do it, out of habit.
Out of control. Out of some illusion of neatness.
But not this time because I’m entirely too turned on to care.
When I look back, Clara’s standing at the edge of the couch, completely undressed, and my mouth falls open. I can’t help it. She’s mesmerizing.
“Clara . . .” Her name slips out in a whisper.
She tilts her head, a faint blush on her cheeks.
I let myself take in every inch of her, the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the defined V on her abdomen, her strong, toned legs, the tattoos wrapping along her side, curling over her hip, disappearing around her thigh, and the one that stretches up the center of her torso, starting below her ribs and climbing up the space between her breasts that’s drawing my eyes like a magnet.
I walk toward her and reach for her hand, my gaze locked with hers, letting myself be guided to her room, my heart beating so hard it might break free of my chest.
When we reach her bed, I gently nudge her, making her fall backward onto the mattress. Clara laughs.
I slowly make my way up her body, pressing soft kisses along the inside of her leg, savoring the way she shivers. When I reach her hip, I pause, letting my lips linger before sucking gently, leaving a mark below one of her tattoos.
Clara’s fingers slide into my hair, pulling enough to make my breath hitch.
I inch closer to her clit, but before I can get there, she tugs harder, lifting my face away from her skin.
I barely have time to register what’s happening before her mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s hungry—stealing the air from my lungs, leaving me dizzy.
She presses me down onto the bed, her body firm against mine.
My pulse thrums in my ears as her hand trails achingly slowly up and down my thigh.
Her touch is light enough to make me shiver but heavy enough to set me on edge.
Clara smiles as she tortures me, and I claw at her skin, dragging my nails along her back, desperate to pull her closer.
“Clara, please,” I beg, arching my hips into her hand.
Clara’s lips curl into a devious smile.
“Please, what?” Her whisper brushes my ear like silk.
“Touch me,” I say, my voice breaking with the desire coursing through my veins.
Clara slides two fingers inside me. And I gasp as those fingers curve and thrust in and out of me, doing exactly what I need, driving me to the edge of pleasure.
I moan, legs quivering as stars begin to skitter across my vision. Right as I’m about to fall over the edge, Clara slides her fingers out and murmurs, “Not yet.”
“Clara,” I gasp, as tears prickle at the edges of my eyes.
“Yes?” Her voice is low, almost teasing, as she brings her fingers to her lips, drawing them in slowly.
A soft moan escapes her as her tongue slides over them.
My chest tightens, every nerve on fire, as I watch her eyes flutter closed, then open again, locking on to mine with a heat so intense it steals the air from my lungs.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. And I want all of it.
I pull her closer, aching to feel her hands on me.
I tangle a hand in her hair, while the other finds hers, guiding it with urgency to where I need her most, to where my body is begging for her.
Clara’s breath catches the moment I press her hand against me.
Her eyes darken, and her fingers move slowly, teasing.
“Please,” I whisper, not even meaning to say it out loud, but it slips out, desperate and needy.
“Tell me how badly you want it,” she says as her fingers start rubbing harder at my core.
I want to tell her how good this feels, how I’ve never wanted anything this badly, but my brain can’t keep up. Words slip right out of reach.
“I—I can’t,” I manage, my voice breaking as my head drops back with a sharp moan as she intensifies her pressure, and I swear I can feel her smile against my skin.
Every part of me is burning, and the warmth of Clara against me is both so familiar and so foreign right now, but I love every bit of it.