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I pulled her face in closer to mine, and kissed her.
CHAPTER 41
Clara
It wasn’t our first kiss. Nor was it our first touch. But it wasn’t the same mad-groping, clothes-tearing horniness as earlier. Now it was all slow hands and gentle kisses, sensual fingers and soft lips. I ran my hands across his cheeks and over his mouth, luxuriating in the prickly stubble of his day-old beard, the soft warmth of his open lips. I wanted him, but it was way more than just pure animal lust. He was all mine, and I wanted to be a part of him, to mingle with him until we were so tangled up with one another that I didn’t know where his body ended and mine began.
As his mouth worked its way across my face and down my neck, I straddled his lap. We’d been in this same position before, but in the car and jail cell, we’d been separated by bulky fabric. Now Ian was in a pair of sweatpants and I was in a pair of pajamas. With nothing but two thin layers of polyester between us, I could feel the distinct shape and hardness of his erection, and as he rubbed back and forth against me, the silky fabric teased me.
His hands began exploring. As he moved over my hips and down to my thighs, he made a realization. “No panties?” he said, breathless.
He liked it. And I loved that he liked it. “No panties,” I said.
He exhaled in stilted breaths. I grabbed his wrists tight, pulling his hands from my hips and placing them at my waist under my pajama top. I wanted his skin on my skin, and he didn’t disappoint me. His hands on my breasts were gentle and warm. As he squeezed, I slid my hands under his shirt, letting my open palms slide up over his firm abdomen on their way to his chest.
He let go of my breasts and reached up for the top button of my pajama top. One by one, he began unbuttoning. He took his time, a slow seduction. And a very successful one. With each button he unbuttoned, I grew more eager to feel his bare skin against mine.
When he at last undid the final button, he slipped my top off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, then wrapped my arms around his back. Sucking on his neck, I ran my fingertips up his spine, then rested my hands on the curve of his shoulders. As his hands moved down my back, he thrust his hips upward, his chest hair tickling my breasts as his erection poked at me hard. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d desired a man so badly, or if I had ever desired a man so badly. Ian was all mine, and I wanted him.
And he wanted me. As his hands reached the small of my back, his lips found their way back to mine. Kissing me, he grabbed my behind. But he was growing more excited, and his eager hands were no longer so gentle. Squeezing me hard, he pushed my whole body up so that his mouth could latch onto one breast. As his fingertips ran down the crease of my behind, I inserted both my hands down the front of his sweatpants, where I found him big and hard and ready for me in his tight boxers. He moaned as I squeezed him. I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Ian,” I said, “let’s go to the bedroom.”
He was more than happy to comply. Pulling my legs around his waist, he rose to his feet. Kissing me as he carried me, we passed through the door into the bedroom, and a moment later, he was laying me down on the bed.
He stood beside me, one foot on the floor and one knee between my thighs. The light of the near-full moon was streaming in from the window, and he was beautiful in its soft glow. I flashed back to earlier in the day, when he first told me about the loneliness of his childhood. I remembered how much I wanted to touch his face, how much I wanted to hold him and kiss him. This moment was no different. I wanted to make love to him, but I also just wanted to hold his head in my hands and look at him.
I brought his face to mine and kissed him. As I touched his cheek, he grabbed my pajamas at the waist and pulled down. I returned the favor.
And then there he was, on top of me, both of us naked. I loved the weight of his body on top of mine, the warmth of his skin against my skin. His knees nudged at mine, pushing them outward. I opened up for him, and then a moment later he was in me.
He was deliciously hard as he moved in long, slow strokes. I moved with him in rhythm, grabbing the bars on the headboard so I could push myself harder against him. His strokes quickened, and his sighs told me he could feel me gripping him tighter as my excitement grew. He thrust deep and fast again, then again and again. My hips reflexively jerked up as I reached climax, and he let out a delightful moan as I spasmed against him. A moment later he made one deep, final thrust, then froze in position as he orgasmed.
“Oh my God,” he said, panting as he collapsed on top of me.
“Good?” I said through stilted breaths.
He pulled out and rolled onto his back, placing his hand over his heart. “I think a fairy just got its wings.”
We both started laughing. I wasn’t sure if it was because of his euphemism or just because we were so damned giddy. But I suspected it was more the latter.
Closing my eyes, an image rose to my mind. Ian and I were sitting in the car in standstill traffic. I was in the passenger seat, reading a hand-carved cupcake. His message to me was simple, ordinary, but it captured everything I wanted from him and everything I wanted to give him in return.
I grabbed his hand. “I’m happy, Ian.”
His eyes were closed, but he was smiling. He gave my hand a squeeze.
“I’m happy, too, Clara.”
One Year Later
Ian
I watched from the kitchen window as Clara sat cross-legged on a blanket about ten feet from the surf, observing the sandpipers scamper back and forth across the wet sand as the pink light of sunset glowed on the horizon. She had a small notebook on her lap, but her pen was tucked behind her ear. She hadn’t written anything in about a half hour. I wondered what she was thinking. Perhaps something to the effect of:Let me in, Ian, it’s cold out here.
No, our relationship hadn’t gone so far downhill over the course of the last year that we’d started locking each other out of the house. But it had progressed to the point where she was three months pregnant, and I didn’t want her breathing the air in the house until the paint fumes from the nursery had fully dissipated. So when she’d stepped outside three hours ago to go to the mailbox, I pushed the heaviest piece of furniture we owned—a solid oak antique dresser—in front of the door.
So on a purely technical basis, yeah, I guess I did lock her out of the house. But my intentions were good. And her mom was on my side.
