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“I’m close,” I cry, and the words are barely out of my mouth before it hits me, my blood heating and exploding as I clench him inside me, my nails digging into his back.
His whole body goes rigid.
“Elle,” he groans, a single pained syllable as he comes, his mouth pressed to my damp skin, eyes squeezed shut. With one final pulse, he stills and relaxes against me, burying his head in the crook of my neck.
I let his weight settle over me as our breathing slows.
“So perfect,” he mumbles, kissing my jaw, my neck, my ear. “Oh my God. I knew it would be like that with you.”
He begins to roll off, and I stop him. “Don’t go.”
“I’m crushing you.”
“I like it,” I smile, but he is already gone, pulling me onto his chest.
“I’d have risked it before,” he grins. “But now that I know what it’s like to sleep with you … ”
“You’re such an asshole,” I laugh.
“You have no idea,” he sighs. “I don’t think you know what you’re signing on for next year, Elle. I’m not going to want to leave you alone for a minute.”
“I’m not going to want you to,” I reply. “So that’ll work just fine.”
“And I’m going to act like a jealous dick every time I know you’re out, and every time some guy you know at school looks at you twice.”
“Really?” I ask with mock surprise. “You? Getting jealous? Next thing I know you’ll be telling me you also tend to be a little controlling.”
He laughs and then flips me on my back so quickly that the air rushes from my chest in a sharp burst. “I’ll show you controlling,” he smirks, biting my earlobe, nudging my knees apart.
“You can’t be ready to go again,” I giggle. “You’re still dressed.”
He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off the shorts and boxers, which were still at mid-thigh, and then lowers himself and — damn. There it is. He’s more than ready.
“You have no idea how many times a day – no, hour – I’ve thought about doing this,” he says, moving against me until he’s in the exact right place. “I have some catching up to do.”
The air stutters in my throat as he pushes forward, but the sound of the front door slamming makes us both freeze. I hear the clip of Ginny’s heels coming down the hallway.
“Elle?” she calls. She sounds upset.
“God damn it,” James hisses. “She has the worst timing.”
I push away but he grabs my hips. “Stay. She’s fine. The door’s locked.”
“James,” I reply. “She’s crying.”
“She’ll stop eventually.”
“James … ”.
“Fine,” he groans, pulling out. “Go.”
In a move that’s becoming especially familiar, I throw on only the dress, climb off his balcony and run to the backyard, before climbing the deck stairs. I walk back in through the sliding door. She stands in the middle of the room, looking ashen.
“I slept with him,” she weeps. “Elle, what the hell is wrong with me?”
**
Ginny is inconsolable. I get her upstairs and into our room, and she collapses into herself on the bed.
