Page 30 of Signed With Love

We are twins. I always went where she went.

It’s not a relationship I understand, so I don’t argue. I don’t even have a sibling, so I can’t try to understand Claire’s relationship with Maddie.

But I can’t hold back from asking. Did she always go where you went?

The look Claire gives tells me no. I wonder if she’s had someone give it all up for her. If she’s ever thought she was worth it.

She’s worth it.

Claire slides the paper away, apparently done with the conversation. I would prefer to find better things to discuss than our loss during our date, anyway. I’m just happy I got her on a date somewhere this time. I think the fact she had less time to prepare—which meant less time to worry—helped. Or even better would be if she’s getting comfortable around me.

We finish up with small talk that we can do with signing. The more I’m with her, the harder I work to understand the language. There are so many variances, but Claire’s so patient with me. Anything I don’t know or understand, she spells the word out for me. The woman is gorgeous, and I can’t keep my eyes off her, but it’s not always her hands I’m watching. I have to have her repeat what she’s saying sometimes, but she’s still patient with me.

I pay the bill, leave a nice tip on the table, and walk Claire outside. It’s our last night together, and I’m ready to get back to her place and show her exactly how I think we could spend the rest of our time this weekend. The gentleman side of me checks that she doesn’t have any other plans herself since I am the one intruding into her weekend.

When she admits she doesn’t, I drive her to her house. Once we step inside, she works to remove her shoes. My eyes stay locked on her and the way that denim stretches across her curves. My mind has lost all focus when she slips her jacket off and the tight material of her shirt hugs her.

As she turns to face me, I slide into her space and steal her mouth in a deep kiss. It’s the only thing I can consider doing at the moment. She’s captivated me. As much as it’s her body and the way her eyes will take me in, it’s everything else about her too. The way she accepts me. The way she trusts me with those deeper parts of herself. The way she’s patient, unselfish with herself. So caring and sweet.

Everything Claire overtakes me. The way her fingers dive into my hair. The heady way she moans to let me know we’re on the same page.

I slide my hands down to hold her and lift. Her legs wrap around me. There’s something desperate that comes over us as she nips my lower lip. Her legs are locked around my waist, so I use my other hand to feel my way down the hall and toward her bedroom while her attention shifts to my neck.

When I turn us into the bedroom, I knock us against the door. Her laughter tells me she doesn’t even care, and her smile is pressing on my neck. With my arm locked around her, I finally find the bed and follow her down. Once she’s settled, I slide my hands up her hips, and when I reach her waist, I drag my hands under her shirt so I can take it with me.

The shirt gets stuck over her head, but she takes over so I can taste the newly exposed skin. I use my mouth to learn every curve and dip of her body. When I lift back up, she’s paused and has her arms locked in the cotton above her head. She’s watching me, her eyes a darker blue, the dangerous shade you see on a night flight thousands of feet in the air. It makes my heart pound harder in my chest. The blood rushes faster through my system. She’s dangerous in a way that promises me I’ll drown if I dare to take a plunge.

It’s not going to stop me. With her hands bound in such a way, she trusts me. She’s communicating in a way only we can. I unbutton her jeans with a deft flick of my hand. Her hips rise so I can remove the denim that encases her legs. My fingertips glide down her thighs as I work her jeans off. Claire’s head tips back, her body arching as her hands tighten into fists around her t-shirt.

I kiss my way back up her body. At some point she frees her hands; once I reach her mouth, she’s working on my shirt. Her hands make quick work of the material, and moments later, she’s pushing me back and breaking the kiss.

My worry is that I’m pushing us too quickly, until I find where her hand remains. I rest back and allow her to rise more. Her hand stays on the jagged scars that mark my body. I’m the one who wears scars not only emotionally, but physically. The ones that only solidify the reminder of my failure. Reminding me that I couldn’t save her.

Claire stares, her hand on the largest one that marks the front of my chest. When my focus was to rush into my mother’s crashed plane to free her, the jagged metal tearing at my body from the rubble hadn’t slowed my progress. Not when her body lay within it.

I reluctantly remove my hands from Claire’s body to explain. My only failure.

She rises on her knees and cups my face. The pain in her eyes is too much, so I dip my head down. I want to hide, but Claire won’t let me. She tears open the old wounds, the ones I want to bury and forget.

When I glance up again, there is no longer pain in her eyes, but a stronger hunger.

Chapter Fifteen

Claire

I can no longer bear the pain in his eyes. My need for this man swims through my body. There’s a desperate need to bridge all the space that separates us. I also want him to let the pain go for tonight. I made him unbury everything until he was exposed and raw. Now I want us to forget.

To lose ourselves in one another and let everything go. He’s a risk because I know I could want him more and more. One time isn’t going to be enough, and that scares me. But I’ve also never been more sure of anything in my life.

So, I make him look at me. Then steal his lips. We are lost after that. We tear at the last few pieces of clothing we wear. His touch is explorative as he works to learn my body. There won’t be a piece of me that hasn’t felt his hands. Or mouth, I note as he moves from my lips and down my body. His coarse beard brushes my skin in the process.

Everything about his touch pulls a reaction from me. I’m more sensitive to touch, but I don’t have to show him how to touch me. Oftentimes, I have to guide a nervous partner on how to touch me. Not Jamison. His movements are sure. Confident. Firm. And so are mine. I take my time running my hands across the firm planes of his chest and over his shoulders, then down his back. His skin is warm, his body vibrating as the rumble of his voice releases. His muscles flex as he settles his body over mine after applying protection to himself. I’m not surprised he’s prepared and thoughtful.

He cares for my body just as I trusted he would. We know and communicate in a way only two bodies can. So, when he looks at me one final time as he nudges my center, I let him know I’m ready for him to take me.

“God, yes, Jamison.”

He’s hard and firm as he presses in and sets a steady pace that eventually has my body arching toward him and buzzing with unrestrained desire as his hands glide down my neck and across my skin. A thin layer of sweat coats my skin when he effortlessly lifts my body up and has me straddle his lap, where he kneels before me. His arm bands around my back to keep our bodies close as he moves me over him, still in control and knowing exactly the way to move us as one.

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