Page 92 of Between the Lines

I don’t know what this means either, but I need it too.

My orgasm hits me unexpectedly. I yelp, my other hand snapping to her hip as I spurt into the condom, holding myself deep inside her. I swivel my hips against her, and that simple motion sets her off, her walls milking out the rest of my pleasure as her legs come to cinch at my lower back, refusing to let me go.

I don’t know how long we stay there, panting heavily, refusing to let one another go. But I do know this: Deep down in my soul, Claire Benson has awakened some long buried part of me and convinced it that I am needed. Rules be damned, I will do everything in my power to prove that I am worthy.

thirty-eight

claire

I am almost absolutelycertain I’m stuck inside some fever dream. One that involves Nathan Harding making me comefour freaking times, and then insisting that I wear his T-shirt while he sits on the floor in front of me and paints my nails.

It’s a dream. Ithasto be.

It’s the after that seems impossible to me.

Nathan painting my nails.

Making me a steaming mug of herbal tea, in the same blue mug that I’ve used since my first visit to his place.

Pulling his T-shirt over my head like he was tucking me into it.

Bringing me the exact brand of gummy bears that I have at school as the treat in my lunch bag.

The fact that, as soon as both of our bodies had stoppedvibratingfrom the intensity of that last orgasm, he had brought a washcloth straight to the bedroom to take care of me? And here I thought that sort of thing only happened in romance novels. Here I am, living outside the pages.

I’ve always been the person taking care of others. I guess I missed out on what it could be like to have someone take care of me.

It’s uncomfortable.

I can admit that. It’s a feeling I’m not used to, and while my hands feel safe in his as he delicately strokes the applicator brush over my thumb, I’m itching all over to do something forhim. It’s one of the reasons I insisted on doing the dishes tonight after dinner—which seems like it waslight years ago. It seems, though, that dishes are about all he’ll let me lift my finger to do.

I squash that itching feeling down, doing my best to focus on the tenderness of his hands. The delicate way he holds mine, like I’m fine China. The intense focus he wears, like he’s sculpting a piece of art instead of just painting my fingernails in pale pink.

The divot between his brows is so damn cute though. Nathan isn’t soft. Not in public. Not at school. But he lets that part of himself out forme, and that thought makes the itching subside just a little.

“You’re good at this,” I say, then clear the raspiness from my throat. Nathan’s eyes darken a little as he stares up at me and pauses. “Were you a nail technician in another life?”

He smirks.

“No. I’m just bound and determined to put in one-hundred-percent effort at everything I do.”

“Is that your fancy way of saying you’re a perfectionist?”

“Did you not orgasm twice before I’d even put a finger inside you?”

Dude’s got a point. He chuckles, like he’s proud of himself.

“Let me remind you that if you’re looking to start something, sir, my nails are still wet, which means you’ll not only ruin your perfect paint job, but possibly your upholstery as well.”

He grunts, pausing the second coat on my right ring finger to shake his head, and lift his bedroom eyes to me.

“Ifyou’renot looking to start something, I’d suggestnotcalling me sir. As for your hands, I have a few creative ways I could keep them up and out of my way. Believe me when I say that I’mconfidentI could make you come again while keeping your manicure intact.”

“Really?” I tease. “I didn’t think an old man like yourself could get it up so soon after.”

The smolder in his eyes is both a warning and a promise. His words drip like molasses, straight between my thighs. Nathan is definitely into someotherthings that I thought only existed in books—all “old man” jokes aside. I squirm where I sit cross-legged on the big comfy couch, then wince as I remember how he’d spanked me, and squirm some more when I remember how much I liked it. He has theaudacityto smirk again as he says, “Are you going to sit still now?”

I nod, biting my lower lip.

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