Page 76 of Between the Lines

“Wanted to take my time with you, Claire,” he mutters, his mouth flirting with the edge of my bra while his thick finger snakes beneath the band of my thong and traces between my cheeks, slowly up to where I’m dripping. “You’re making it so hard to be patient. Making it so hard to follow the rules.”

I fist his hair in my hand, helping to guide him up and along my breast, where he tugs the cup down with his teeth and seeks out my nipple with his tongue.

We’re barely moving. His tongue skirts over my nipple, his finger toying over my thong in a delicious friction that has me panting. Breathiness fills the room in an erotic symphony set to piano while the button of his finger sneaks its way to my clit and immediately crescendos us to forte.

“Nathan…”

“Can’t wait any longer, Claire.”

I sneak my hand to the front of his pajamas, feeling the precum through the damp fabric as I wrap my fist and tug. With my other hand still laced in his hair, I pull him from my chest to kiss him. But before our lips can meet, I memorize the shape of his eyes that spell out desire, forests so densely green with golden light peeking through only for this, only forus.

He lifts his hand from my waist and cups my whole face in his palm, touching us at the nose, his lips pressed against mine as he speaks.

“Tell me to break the rules. Tell me I can have you.”

“Please, Nathan, I want you?—”

The curtain falls. His finger against my clit, his length wrapped in my hand, the squeeze of his hair in my fingers, as my cell phone finally finagles its way out of my pocket and onto the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

This time, it’s ringing. His breath against my skin transforms from needy to a remorseful sigh. My head falls, because I know what awaits me on the other side of that call. I want so badly to give in. To steal one kiss, one taste of him, to be greedy and selfish foronce in my life.

But I know where it leads. And I cannot stand the thought of having him just to have to walk right out his door. No matter how much it hurts, it will be easier this way.

“It’s probably my parents,” I say, as if the mood hadn’t already been absolutely killed.

He nods, and when I think he’s going to pull away, he tugs me closer. Skims the side of my face with the tip of his nose. Tattoos me with intention. It is somehow more intimate than any of the places his hands have been.

He sits up in the same moment that I fling my upper body off the coast of his massive bed and find my phone rattling around on the floor.

“Hi Mom,” I answer, after I’ve lofted back onto the bed and positioned myself so that I’m laying with my back to Nathan.

“Claire, where thehellhave you been?! We’ve been trying to get ahold of you since last night!”

“I stayed with a friend. Sorry I forgot to text.”

“That isn’t the only thing you forgot. Your sister and brother needed rides this morning, Claire! What a wake up call to find Michael dressed and ready for soccer with no one to take him. He was almost late to the game! And Zoey…”

She continues on like that, but I’m done listening.

There is no,We were worried sick when you never came home.It’s simply a matter of what Ididn’tdo, and how a minor inconvenience upset my parents’ easy Saturday morning.

I let her do it, though. I let her use me as a verbal punching bag, let her get out all of her frustrations until she’s probably blue in the face over Michael potentiallynot starting a game—God forbid. And as she does, I grant myself a moment to turn over.

Nathan has given me space, but he hasn’t left. He’s sitting up against the headboard, glasses on, still slightly sleep drunk. He has the book from last night open to the page where I stopped, but I can tell he isn’t reading. He isn’t eavesdropping either. He’s simply looking at me with a mixture of grace and concern laced in his tired eyes. When my smile crinkles into sadness, his hand slides across the bed, and I don’t hesitate to slide mine in.

I finish the call in short answers, promising I’ll be home soon, knowing that it will come with a reprimanding.

Honestly though, what can they do? Take away the car, the phone, or the other devices I pay for? Tell me I can’t go out and see friends anymore? That would be the joke of the century.

I hang up, and sigh. Nathan squeezes my hand, and we come to a silent agreement to steal one more moment to ourselves.

It strikes me then, how much of my soul I’d give to see him like this more often. The man who I’m just now learning hates mornings, and wakes with wild and crazy hair, a sweet juxtaposition to the austereness I see in a professional setting. The one who holds on to me even in sleep, and wants me so badly that he sounds desperate when he asks for it.

I want so badly to follow him into his kitchen and make us breakfast, to steal kisses while omelets sizzle on the stovetop. To have him lift me onto his countertop, and maybe carry me into his shower.

But then, the ghost of his words, about how I make itso hard to follow the rules, reminds me of all that we have on the line in thefirst place.

His new role in administration. My first step out into the real world. We shouldn’t be doing this at all. HisTell me to break the ruleswas answered for us by the ringing of my phone instead of our impulsiveness. Maybe this was the kick in the teeth we both needed.

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