Page 62 of Clean Point

I could feel the release nearing when there was a noise outside the kitchen door. My body tensed as I let out a sharp inhale, glancing around the empty kitchen, suddenly remembering where we were. Anyone could have walked in and found him all over me. Sarah could have taken a photo, making any possibility of denying our relationship impossible. Labelling us as fuck buddies before we even got the chance to make our Wimbledon debut. One moment, and this could all be over. And then the chair screeched to the side. Nico yelped slightly, bringing my attention back to him, his face creased with pain.

‘I hit my leg,’ he explained, letting out a deep breath as some distance grew between our bodies. Some very necessary distance. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over me as reality really kicked in.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, eyes searching his. The air was hot and tight, but nevertheless the tight knot of need that had been tightened by his every touch, loosened somewhat.

‘It’s fine,’ he tried to reassure me with a grin, but this time it was weak, like he could sense the imminent end had arrived too.

‘We should stop,’ I whispered. Stop before I let you take me raw, hard, and fast against the counter and it’s too late. I hated saying the words, but I knew it was for the best. We were out of control, risking something both of us had put everything on the line for. Him, more than me.

His hand pulled out, resting on my back as he moved back to look at me, expression full of concern. ‘Did I go too far?’

I shook my head, still catching my breath. ‘The opposite.’

He crooked an eyebrow, that devilish smile appearing. ‘Not far enough?’

‘We can’t.’ I tried to release the tight knot inside of me with a breath. I was wound so tight, I was surprised I could tell him to stop, surprised I didn’t jump his bones to finish the job.

‘We can.’

‘We shouldn’t.’ I shook my head, telling myself that this was for the best.

‘I can feel how needy you are, and I can’t think of one single good reason to stop.’ His eyes broke from mine, looking down at my ruffled skirt, his hand disappearing inside the white material. His fingertips moved against my aching core. ‘Say the word and I’ll get down on my knees and tell you exactly how sweet you taste.’

I almost cried out with the overwhelming want I felt for him. The throbbing absolution I needed for him. I leaned forward, my head resting on his shoulder, his comforting smell overwhelming.

‘Wimbledon,’ I muttered into him. The excuse was easy. I’d been making it to myself for weeks now. ‘That’s a reason.’

My head lifted from his shoulder as he hummed his reply. ‘Hmm, try another?’

His forehead tipped forward to meet mine, the moment softening slightly. I wanted to cry with how desperate I was to continue, with the effort it took to fight this tsunami of need for him.

‘Nico.’

‘I want you.’ It was a strangled final plea, not made to influence me but only to remind me what I meant to him, that this had been more than a spill in the kitchen. As if he had to say it; I could still read it in his eyes.

I had taken a moment, swallowing down the impulse to kiss him again. I was an addict, doubting I’d ever crave any other pleasure more in my life as much as I wanted him.

‘I know,’ I managed. ‘But we should stop.’

He nodded, just once, before taking a step back, clearing his throat as he did. He’d wiped his hands along the front of his shorts before offering me help down. I couldn’t even meet his eyes as I shuffled off the counter. In awkward silence, we cleaned up the mess we’d made, putting the kitchen back as it should be. Leaving it almost as if we’d never been there in the first place. As if it had never happened. The way it should be, I had told myself. Even if it broke me to keep him at an arm’s length.

‘I think I’ll head to bed,’ I said, unable to will myself to stay another moment in his presence, not without caving and making him mine over and over, not without giving into the temptation to add my name to his tattoos, tucking it away somewhere hidden.

Property of Scottie Sinclair.

‘You should eat,’ he reminded me. ‘Elena probably has leftovers from dinner in the fridge.’

I shook my head again. ‘I’m not hungry.’

Not that kind of hungry, at least.

He gave me a look, pressing the urge to shovel food down my gullet. Like I could think of food when I was wound up like this, my body aching for his touch. I needed a shower, a long one. I wondered if there was enough water in the world to cool me down after him.

‘I promise I’m not hungry,’ I insisted, the look on his face not diminishing. I sighed. ‘If I want to eat later, I’ll come and raid the fridge.’

It took him a moment, his eyes still more black than grey, focused on me, before he relented. ‘I’ll head up, too.’

I almost teased him, considering what we had been up to less than a few minutes ago, but it died before I could say it, unable to will myself to make the situation more awkward.

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