Page 64 of Between the Lines

I take my place back on the couch, and am finally about to start the last chapter ofThe Fellowship of the Ringwhen Claire’s arms wind above her head. She yawns, the stretch of her mouth both adorable like a kitten and sinful now that I know what those lips look like stretched around me. On top of that, her oversized crewneck somehow still finds a way to reveal that creamy skin I still haven’t gotten a glimpse of, and I am a dead man.

Well. Maybe changing into less restrictive pantswasn’tthe best option.

I sneakily grab a pillow, shift it onto my lap, and grunt quietly as I plow through the end of my book. When I close it, sighing contentedly, I look up to see her staring at me. When she realizes I’ve clocked her, she turns cotton candy pink.

“Sorry. I just finished part one, and figured it was a good stopping point, and then I saw how into your book you were, and how close you were to the end, and…”

She shrugs. I dip my head, eyeing her with a command to keep going, and don’t miss the melting of that blush down the collar of her sweatshirt.

“You looked so peaceful reading. I didn’t want to disrupt you, but I didn’t want to look away.”

“So don’t.”

I can’t force away the intensity behind my request, or the swelling of my heart when she blinks once and keeps my gaze. The moment it becomes too much, I see her fold in on herself. She stands hastily, tossing her Kindle haphazardly onto her bag on the floor,and begins to fold the blanket before smoothing it over the arm chair.

“What are you doing?”

“I, uh…” She bends to shove her Kindle into the bag, then stands, lofting that enormous tote onto her shoulder. “I’ve definitely overstayed my welcome. I’m going to head home, get out of your hair?—”

“Stop.”

I can’t cage the demand in my tone. We toed that line in my office, and she’d liked it enough. It comes as a low, gentle syllable, but it’s enough to halt her in her tracks.

“Come here.”

These words, I paint with gentleness, softening my features as she nibbles her bottom lip and does as I ask. I slide my arm down her shoulder, taking her bag back to the ground before I tug her to me by both of her wrists. We’re eye to eye like this, and it takes everything in me not to press my lips to hers.

“I didn’t say you were imposing. If I wanted you gone, you would know.”

A shiver races up her spine, and I slide my hand over her waist to touch her there, tracing the path of that shock to sooth her.

“I want you here, Claire.”

It’s as if those simple words force her back into the present, from whatever cavern in her mind she just disappeared into.

“You’re staying?” I ask. She nods, and I relax, until I can feel the tension in her muscles beneath my fingers.

“You’re still tense. How do we fix that, Claire?”

She shudders, her breath stuttering long and slow as I trace her spine and inch her closer toward me, so much so that she has to grip my shoulders for purchase. My hand slides back to her waist and I squeeze her there, feeling her instantly melt.

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that right now.”

I swallow thickly as I reach the bottom of her oversized sweatshirt, and pause. With the slow tilt upward of my head, I swallowdown the tension, pinch the hem of her crewneck, and eye her in question.

My brave girl does the heavy lifting for me.

Claire lifts both arms above her head with a squeak, and it’s more than enough permission. The thud of soft cotton on the floor of my study echoes in the otherwise stillness—silence that namely exists because the wind has been taken from me. Because the sight of Claire Benson topless in the flickering glow of my fireplace could bring nations to their knees.

She’s all peach with a watercolor splatter of cotton candy pink that disappears beneath the straps of her bra. I groan, but as I press my nose against the cup and nuzzle there, it sounds more like a whine of desperation. She claws at my shoulders again, and that quick press of her nails into my skin has my tongue darting to trace the simple white cotton until it gets in my way.

“I can take this off, can’t I?” I pant, threading my thumb beneath the strap at her back.

“Yes,” she pants, breathless despite the way I’ve barely touched her.

Her bra joins her sweatshirt and I marvel at the small mounds of her tits, hard nipples that beg for my tongue. I grip her waist with both hands and press the flat of my tongue against her right nipple, making slow, sweet love to it before I bite. This earns me a lithe arm wrapped around my head, so I do it again.

I switch between her breasts, between fluttering and long strokes, biting and soothing until her knees are giving out and it’s the flat of my tongue that’s holding her up. I suck on her nipple, releasing it with apopbefore I flip her until her back is resting on the couch. She stares up at me like I simultaneously hung the stars in the sky and arranged the meteor shower to bring them down.

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