Page 59 of Given Our History

My mouth opens against his, eager to pick up where we left off. He responds in kind, his tongue dipping into my mouth, sending a fresh wave of desire through me. I loop a hand around the back of his neck to steady myself, my fingers finding that spot where his hair curls up at the nape of his neck. For a moment, we’re simply mirroring the other night: savoring the kiss itself, our breathing heavy. His hands slide over my backside, down to my thighs, tracing the soft fabric of my dress. Then he scoops me up around his waist, swallowing the surprised noise that escapes me, and suddenly we’re moving.

He walks me backward until we bump into the sideboard in the parlor, where he swipes a stack of donation forms out of the way before setting me down. “Lock the door,” I gasp against his lips. I don’t want to stop kissing him, but the last thing I want is a repeat of last night—even worse if one of our colleagues were to walk in.

He obliges, but he’s back in a flash, his mouth devouring mine. He puts his hands on me, cupping one of my breasts through the thin fabric of my costume, and I reach behind me to unzip the back, tugging the dress down around my waist. Inviting him to touch me. I’m not wearing a bra—thanks to the fabric of the dress, I didn’t need one—and my nipples pinch at the sudden rush of cool air. His teeth sink softly into my lower lip before he draws back to drink me in.

For a few seconds, he just stares at them, his own chest heaving. “That night in your dorm,” he says, “these”—he cups both of my breasts, tests the weight of them in his hands before one thumb flicks over a nipple, and I close my eyes at the fleeting touch, my head spinning—“were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I’ve thought about that night so many times”—his eyes flick to my face—“wishing I’d handled it differently. I’ve wanted you so badly, Clara, ever since the day I met you.”

I swallow. “I’ve wanted you, too.”

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to my collarbone before sinking lower, his nose dragging over smooth, sensitive skin. His tongue flicks over a nipple and then he takes it into his mouth. My head lolls back, a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan escaping me. “I’ve always imagined your—” I break off, distracted as he trails kisses across my breastbone before lavishing the other nipple with the same attention. “—hands.”

He draws back just far enough to look at me, half-laughing despite the heat of his expression. “What?”

“You have nice hands,” I say, warmth stinging my cheeks even as it settles between my thighs. “I used to … touch myself. And pretend it was you.”

He leans in to press a kiss between my breasts. “You fantasized about me?” he asks against my skin, his warm breath sending a shiver through me. I nod. “Where did you picture me touching you?” He stops kissing me and holds out a hand, and for a moment, I’m not sure what he wants me to do with it. But then he says, “Show me.”

I take his hand and guide it back to my breast. “Here,” I whisper, my eyes never leaving his face, though he’s momentarily distracted. He pinches the nipple, just hard enough that I suck a breath through my teeth, and he plants a kiss on the other.

“Where else?”

I move his hand down to my hip bone, making him grab me. “Here, sometimes.”

He mirrors the touch on the other hip, taking advantage of the excuse to yank me toward him. His arousal presses into the apex of my thighs through the rough denim of his jeans. My dress has given up, at this point: the slinky fabric is gathered around my middle, leaving my underwear fully exposed. His gaze locks with mine, challenging me.

Pulse pounding, I drag his hand across my stomach and slip it beneath the waistband of my underwear. He sucks in a breath when his fingers brush against me and he feels just how turned on I am. “This,” I say, “is where I’ve always wanted you.”

He presses his forehead into my shoulder. Need throbs between my legs, so hard it almost hurts, but he doesn’t offer me any sort of relief yet. “It’s not fair what you do to me,” he mutters against my skin.

I want to protest, because he’s the one who’s doing something pretty unfair to me, currently, but all that comes out is a faint, “What am I doing?”

“Make me so hard, I can’t fucking think.”

“Show me,” I breathe, echoing his earlier words.

He draws back from my shoulder, leaving a quick kiss in his wake. “Don’t you want me to touch you first?” he asks, thumb moving back and forth over me, lightly teasing.

I shake my head weakly. “I can’t … I mean, not without a vibrator.”

I expect him to argue with me, to give the whole with me, it’s going to be different spiel that every other man has given me, but after a few seconds, he nods slowly. “Do you have one?”

“In my purse.”

A husky laugh escapes him. “You brought a vibrator to a costume party,” he says, like he doesn’t believe me.

“Gala,” I correct him. “And let’s just say I was optimistic about us talking through things. Though I didn’t expect we’d do anything here. I thought maybe we’d go back to—”

Without warning, he scoops me up by my thighs. I squeak in surprise and sling my arms over his shoulders for some semblance of balance, but I’m not sure it’s needed—he’s able to support my weight, no problem. He trails kisses over my neck as he carries me over to the chaise. His hips settle between my legs, still separated by my underwear and his jeans, and then he’s kissing me again. My fingers scrabble at the back of his T-shirt and he seems to catch the hint, grabbing it at the neck and tugging it over his head in one swift motion. It’s technically not the first time I’ve seen him shirtless; I saw him swimming now and again at camp, but now he has a man’s body. The hard planes and ridges of his muscles have more meat on them, covered in dark hair. He bends to kiss me again and his chest brushes against my hardened nipples, the sensation sending a zing of pleasure coursing through me.

He breaks the kiss and leans over to the coffee table, reaching into my purse.

I place a hand on his arm. “Actually”—he looks at me, confused—“can it just be us, for right now?” I want him to take a little longer to learn my body, for me to learn all the sensations of being with him, first.

“Okay,” he says, with a feather-light kiss to my naked shoulder. “Just us, for now.”

I reach for his jeans and fumble with the button, and he’s more than happy to help matters along, straightening up to step out of his jeans. Next come his boxers, and then the hard length of him springs free. For some reason, it’s this moment of all moments that’s so surreal, my brain might break. I lift my hips off the chaise and he helps me out of my underwear, and then I tug the bunched-up dress over my head so that we’re both completely vulnerable for one another. I’m surprised when he reaches to the floor to fish his wallet out of his jeans, grabbing a condom. Something resembling uncertainty must cross my face, because he catches my eye and explains, “I don’t normally keep them on hand, but after last night—”

“Optimistic,” I paraphrase, dragging him toward me for a kiss. “Got it.”