The pause after Claire’s speech is heavy. Jackie is still as a statue, her face unreadable, and Claire has done all she can do. Jackie has to meet her the rest of the way.
Finally, Jackie’s shaky hand comes up to rest on Claire’s breastbone. Her hand is scorching hot through the cotton of Claire’s shirt.
“I want you, too,” Jackie murmurs.
Claire could power a small town with the force of the feelings those words provoke in her. She’s a hydrogen bomb. A rocket about to take flight.
And then Jackie’s hand turns into a fist, and she pulls.
The moment their lips meet, Claire understands what Theo meant when he said that itjustfelt right.
It’s something that Claire can’t explain in words. Any and all kissing experience she might have had before this is nothing—nothing compared to Jackie’s lips against hers, the heat of the hand on her chest. The kiss is gentle and tentative, like Jackie is giving her the opportunity to run, but all Claire wants is more.More kissing, more touching, more skin contact, justmore. She wants what she sees in her dreams. She wants to take all of their clothes off, press against Jackie like that day in the pool, and see what happens if they don’t stop.
As soon as Claire leans in more, pushes deeper, makes it absolutely clear that she isn’t going anywhere, Jackie seems to lose her inhibitions. And, Claire learns, the introduction of tongue to kissing is absolutely life-changing.
With an almost pained whine Jackie slots their mouths together properly, and with that shift their kisses turn messy and frantic. Claire’s heart is beating so hard that she can hear it in her ears, can feel her blood whizzing through her body as Jackie’s tongue meets her own, and that unfamiliar feeling from her strange dreams has returned in full force. Jackie is panting into her mouth, pressing her into the closet door, and all Claire’s years of discomfort seem so far away as to be another person’s life entirely. She’s finally at home in her body, doing exactly what she was meant to do.
Jackie is hot and vital. The coat slips from her shoulders as she trails kisses up Claire’s neck, her tongue breaking ground on places Claire had no idea were so sensitive, and in a fit of unbridled wanting Claire slides her hands down to grip Jackie’s perfect waist and pull her closer.
Every sense is tuned in—Claire is fixated on the shape of Jackie’s body under her hands, the taste of her lipstick, the smell of her perfume. Jackie’s moan is musical. It strikes that same tuning fork in Claire and makes it sing.
So much is happening that Claire can’t possibly keep up. She’s running on instinct, following the pattern of her impulses for the first time in her life, and with Jackie’s hands sliding under the collar of Claire’s shirt to smooth along the hot skin of her chest, one instinct is loud enough to break through the din.
She wants Jackie’s hands everywhere. She wants to be one of those couples she saw in the living room, or heading to and from the bedrooms.
She wants to see and be seen.
In a fit of inspiration, Claire’s fingers move to the buttons of her own shirt. One by one she slips them free, as Jackie trails her mouth down a scorching path over each new piece of bare skin until Claire parts the shirt to reveal herself entirely.
It’s in that very moment that Claire remembers she chose not to wear a brassiere with this outfit.
It had felt right, at the time. Her breasts are small to begin with, nothing to write home about, and she’d gone bra-less when she went to that club with Theo. It had seemed a fitting decision for this new sense of self.
Now, Jackie is staring at Claire’s bare chest like it’s the ninth wonder of the world.
“Are you sure about this?” Jackie says, her hands landing and anchoring near Claire’s hipbones. It’s just about the most chaste place Jackie could touch her right now, and yet Claire feels the ghost of Jackie’s fingers higher up, where she wants them.
“I’ve spent my whole life obeying,” Claire says. She takes Jackie by the wrists, moving her hands up until they rest on her ribs. “This is the first time I’ve ever wanted.”
Jackie’s breath shudders over Claire’s sensitive skin. Hands inch upwards, moving closer and closer to Claire’s exposed nipples just like in every strange fantasy that’s haunted her for months, but this time she’s not going to wake up before they reach their final destination.
“I’ve had so many dreams like this,” Claire can’t stop herself from blurting.
Jackie makes a noise—it’s something like the one she made the day they smoked together, when Claire had massaged herscalp. She bites down gently on Claire’s collarbone, and Claire’s whole body arches forward and tingles in anticipation.
“Me too,” Jackie murmurs against her skin. “Tell me about yours. Tell me what you dreamed of.”
Her fingers are tracing just under the curve of Claire’s breasts, tracing up and over the sides but not yet daring to really touch, and Claire understands suddenly what it is those dreams were telling her. What she wants. What sheneeds.
Words aren’t required. With a sudden burst of confidence, Claire grasps Jackie’s hands again and puts them over her breasts.
Claire’s suspicions were founded, it turns out. Jackiedoesknow things.
The way Jackie touches her is different than anything Claire could have imagined. She cups Claire’s breasts with her clever hands, pressing just enough to make her gasp as she kisses Claire senseless. Her fingers dance around Claire’s nipples, tracing and flicking and evoking a feeling that Claire never could have imagined. She feels it in her whole body. She feels it between her legs.
When she screws up her courage enough to slip a hand under the hem of Jackie’s dress, caressing the warm skin of her bare thigh, everything accelerates. Jackie’s hands are everywhere, and Claire wants them to be evenmoreplaces, and she barely has time to process the pleasure of it all before they move south, shaking with want.
And Claire doesn’t have a single idea what she’s doing.
