Page 57 of Last First Kiss
She’s set the table for two. A flicker of candlelight dances on the glasses of red wine already poured, and plates of steaming pasta sit waiting.
Clara is standing at the far end, arms crossed loosely, watching me and smiling.
I open my mouth to apologize for being so late, but theonly thing that comes out is, “Clara ...” Without thinking, my feet move toward her.
I wrap my arms around her and kiss her. The chaos of the day melts away, and all I feel is the overwhelming warmth of this perfect,perfecthuman.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi,” I breathe, burying my face in her neck.
She pulls back slightly, brushing her fingers through my hair. “You look exhausted. Sit. I ordered your favorite,” she says sweetly, pointing at the chicken Alfredo before guiding me toward the table. I let her lead me, my hand still in hers. The creamy smell hits me, and my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since this morning.
We sit and eat as I tell her all about my day, and she shares the conversation she had with my mom.
“I can’t believe Diana caught us and then tattled to Mom!” I say.
“You should have seen Mama C’s face. Her eyes were giant.”
I laugh, picturing the exact expression.
After dinner—and a serving of chicken Alfredo so large I know I’ll be in pain for the rest of the night—I change into something soft and oversized—a pair of baggy sweats and a thick button-up pajama shirt. When I head back into the living room, Clara’s already curled up on the couch, blanket draped over her. I lay beside her, sinking into the cushions. She pulls me close, one arm wrapping snugly around my waist, her face nuzzled into my neck.
We put on a new true crime documentary, but I can’t stay still. No matter how I sit or lie, I can’t get comfortable. The day’s stress clings to my shoulders. I roll them, trying to work out the tension that’s settled, but I think it’s making itworse. Clara picks up on it, like she always does, and shifts beside me.
“You want a massage?” she asks, her hands lightly digging into my back.
I lean into her touch. “That sounds amazing.”
She scoots closer, and I turn so she can reach my shoulders. Her fingers work into my muscles, gentle at first, then harder, coaxing the stress from my body, loosening knots I didn’t even know I had, and I melt under her touch.
Her hands glide lower, across my back, and my skin burns under her fingers, a slow ache blooming alongside the relief. I try to ignore the electricity, but it’s impossible.
“I—” I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “You can go under the shirt if that’s easier. Better leverage ... I think.” It’s a thin excuse, and I feel almost silly suggesting it, but I want to feel her hands on my skin.
“Oh, um ... sure,” Clara says.
Her fingers find the hem of my shirt, and then, slowly, she slips her hands beneath. My breath leaves in a sharp exhale as her fingers come in contact with my skin, and I lean into the contact, needing it like air as her fingers continue to work magic through my muscles. She presses harder into the knot on my shoulders, and it slowly unravels. A soft moan slips out of me. Clara’s fingers stop.
I glance back to find her eyes wide and her lips parted. She swallows, then clears her throat and continues, but her touch is different now, more hesitant.
“Is this okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’s perfect.”
God, I need her. So badly it hurts. But the last thing I want is to move too fast, to push when she might not be ready. She’s never done this before, never dated anyone, andI have no idea what she’s thinking right now, or how slowly she wants to take things.
“Clara?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we should set some rules?” I turn to face her, watching her closely.
“Rules?” she echoes, eyebrows lifting slightly.
I nod sheepishly. “Yeah, I know you usually have all these rules with the women you’re sleeping with. And, well ... I know this isn’t the same, but since you’ve never dated like this before, I don’t know what your boundaries look like.” I pause, trying to read her face, but she’s giving me nothing. “I want to know where you stand on everything, how slow you want to take things. I want to make sure we’re going at your pace.”
“Oh, um ... I didn’t think we’d need any. But if you do, then we can.” She reaches for a strand of her hair, twisting it between her thumb and index finger.
