Page 12 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

Twelve

Clarissa

T he movie was over too early for Clarissa’s liking.

“That was better than the last one they made,” Rachel said, stretching her arms into the air.

“First time I’ve seen it, it was good.” Tom started unplugging the wires and packing everything into the back of his car.

“Did everyone finish their food?” Clarissa started picking up the containers and empty bottles.

“Oh here, let me take those inside.” Rachel piled the litter into her arms. “I’ll toss them out before I go to bed. Don’t stay up too late, you two it’s a school night after all.”

Clarissa shook her head as Rachel went inside. “Do you need any help with that?” she asked.

“Nope, I’m already done.” He slid a box into the trunk next to the battery pack and collapsed the small folding table.

Grabbing the beanbags, she hauled them over to the trunk. He tossed them inside.

“Thanks,” he said, slamming the door shut.

“I should be thanking you,” she said. “This was amazing. Thank you, Tom.”

“Are you just saying that because Batman was involved?”

“You caught me.” She laughed. “No, I-I had a really good time. This was perfect, thank you.”

Smiling, he reached a hand out, brushing his fingertips against her cheek. Involuntarily, she closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. He let his hand linger.

“It was my pleasure.” His voice was low, all hints of the previous jest gone. “I like making you happy. Seeing the worry leave your eyes, seeing your genuine smile, hearing you laugh. You make me happy.”

Clarissa wasn’t sure, but she thought she was blushing scarlet. Her body was shaking. She felt a hot prickle wash over her skin.

“But the best thing to happen tonight is this.” He brushed his fingers against her face again. “You didn’t flinch when I touched you.”

Opening her eyes, she saw the unasked question on his face mixed with strain. She couldn’t understand why he looked so miserable.

“I like you touching me, you feel … warm.”

Her voice was so low she wasn’t sure if he heard her. Then the hand on her face tensed, sliding to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. Caught off guard from the movement, she stumbled, resting a hand against his chest to steady herself. His heart raced beneath her fingers.

Standing so close, she had to lift her face up to see him. His eyes were bright and eager as they searched her face. Leaning in, his words tickled her face.

“Clarissa.” His voice was gruff, almost a plea.

Hearing her name spoken like that on his lips made her heart stop. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“Trusting me.”

Without thinking, she lifted herself up, closing the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The hand on her neck tensed. His other hand wrapped around her waist. He pulled her in, and she let her body mold into him. Her hand resting against his chest gripped at his shirt; the other snaked its way into his hair.

Pressing her body into him, she opened her mouth, inviting him in. Her knees went weak. Strong hands gripped her, keeping her from falling. He opened his mouth in response, his tongue exploring.

Pulling him in, she ground her hips, desperate to have as much contact with him as she could, yet none of it was enough. She needed to feel him. All of him.

The hand on her neck threaded through her hair. She felt a moan echo shamelessly in her chest and the hand on her back seized a fist full of her dress. She lifted her leg, trying to wrap it around the outside of his hip; their height difference suddenly became irritating.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. His chest heaved under her hand. “Clarissa.”

Her mind exploded, the ache in her pelvis now undeniable. Why did he have to say her name like that? She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his breath, his heartbeat.

“Should I … Do you want me to go?” he rasped.

Her eyes flew open. Why the hell would he ask a stupid question like that?

Leaning back, her hands fell to his forearms. His ginger hair was mussed from where she’d gripped it, the brown of his eyes hidden behind his pupils, his fair face flushed. He gazed at her in earnest, waiting for an answer. The only problem was her brain was going haywire. Unable to think straight, she couldn’t make her mouth work to give him an answer.

Lifting her hand, she caressed his face. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Raising onto the tips of her toes, she kissed him.

As if savoring her every movement, he kissed her slower. Suddenly nothing else mattered. Not her insecurities, not her past; all that mattered was that he kept holding her, kissing her, and that he never let her go.

“Thomas,” she gasped against his lips. “I want you.”

In an instant, her feet left the ground as he scooped her up in his arms. In a panic, she gripped his neck. She couldn’t remember ever being carried like this. If she wasn’t so preoccupied with him, she thought she would have screamed.

Burrowing her face in the crook of his neck, she kissed him as he carried her inside. Did he shut and lock the door? She couldn’t bother to check right now; his proximity was making her dizzy.

He set her down, then turned to close the bedroom door. At that moment, all she cared about was him, and he was wearing entirely too many clothes.

Crashing into him, she kissed him, fumbling with the buttons on his flannel until she felt the heat of his bare skin against her hands.

Tossing aside the offending garment, he pulled off her sweater. When his hands brushed her scars, she winced.

“I’m sor—” She was cut off as he placed a finger over her mouth.

Leaning over her, he kissed the scars on her neck, trailing down over her shoulder to her forearm. Her eyes rolled and her lids fell closed. No one had ever touched her scars, or anywhere, like this before. Turning her palm up, he kissed her pulse. She whimpered.

Trailing his hands down to her thighs, he went under her dress. Fingers brushed over her hips and waist, making her shudder. In one fluid motion, he pulled her dress over her head.

Cool air brushed her hot skin. She was abruptly and painfully aware she was standing in only her panties with every inch of her burns exposed. The need to cover herself was instant. Curling in, she placed a hand over the twisted and puckered skin on her abdomen.

Kneeling in front of her, Thomas moved her hand to his neck and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her. Featherlight kisses danced over her scars. She choked back a sob.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmured against her flesh.

“No.” She threaded her fingers through his hair. “You can’t imagine how good that feels.”

“I will kiss your scars every day until you believe they are beautiful.” His hot breath danced across her skin. “And every day after so you never forget it.”

While he took his time adoring her body, tears filled her eyes as she became a trembling mess. She tried to memorize it all. Every touch, every lick, the way his breath felt against her skin. The way he was extra gentle around her burns without ignoring them. Her heart shattered into a million pieces as she realized this was what it felt like to be worshiped.

Finally, he slipped his fingers into the hem of her panties, pulling them down to her ankles. Kissing his way back up her body, he stood. He cupped her breasts, his mouth claiming hers.

Her head was buzzing, and her body throbbed. Kissing him back, she seized the zipper on his jeans. She pushed her hand inside to feel him. He gasped as she wrapped her fingers over his cloth-covered erection.

Breaking the kiss long enough to remove his clothes, he stood before her as bare as she was. Pausing, she took a moment to appreciate him. His body was toned, every inch of his pale skin scattered in freckles; he was hard, uncut, and utterly gorgeous.

Licking the tip of her thumb, she pressed it to his tip, swirling it in the bead of pre-cum. He gasped, his head falling to the crook of her neck. Doing it again, he shuddered. She smirked; she liked this new game.

Seizing her waist, he lifted her up, laying her down on the bed. Crawling over her, he took one of her breasts into his hot mouth. Of its own volition, her body curled off the mattress as she gripped him. He pushed her back down, as she feebly tried to grind against him, desperate for any type of friction.

Hovering over her, his hands made their way between them. Strong fingers explored her vulva. She bit into her fist to stifle a yell. He’d found her bundle of nerves. With a satisfied moan, he started to move his fingers in a circle over her swollen clit.

Laying atop her, he kissed and licked every part of her skin he could reach. His hands moved faster in varying motions. Writhing beneath him, she gripped onto his back for dear life and arched off the bed biting back a scream.

Falling back down, she felt limp. He shifted over her so she was gazing directly into his eyes. His hand moved between them, spreading her open and pushing a finger inside her. She whimpered.

Finding her lips with his, he forced her mouth open, kissing her greedily. He pushed a second finger inside. She could feel his heart racing, his hot skin slick against her own.

“Do you have any—?”

His question was cut off by a moan as she wrapped her fingers around his length, teasing. Seeing him, so tall and strong, come undone on her touches was like a drug. She could easily lose herself watching him contort in pleasure.

“In my drawer,” she said, twisting her wrist as her hands slid up and down his erection.

Reluctantly taking her hands from him, she rotated to rifle through her nightstand. She found the dusty box and tore it open; overwhelmed with gratitude, she decided not to toss it out last week when she was cleaning. Grabbing the foil, she turned back to him.

She made an involuntary and highly indecent noise as he removed his fingers from her. Chuckling, he took the foil and sat up on his knees.

A sliver of moonlight shone through her window. His ginger hair turned a dark maroon in the shadows and a brilliant ochre in the light and his fair skin glowed. Cords of muscle flexed with his every movement. She’d never known a human could be so ethereally beautiful.

Tearing open the foil, he rolled the rubber over himself, then moved to lay over her, taking her mouth in his. Parting her swollen lips, she accepted.

He grabbed the back of her calf, pulling her leg over his hip. Reaching down, she guided him to her entrance. Her breath caught as he pushed inside.

Gripping him, she arched her back and pulled him closer. Rolling his hips, he thrusted into her. She bit his lip as he moved again.

She was intoxicated by him; every inch of her skin tingled and buzzed, every thought, every breath, was consumed with him. Thrusting deeper, he kissed her neck and collarbone. She wanted him closer. She wanted more of him. Everything he could give her in that moment, she would take it.

His hands moved down, gripping her ass. Lifting her off the bed, he sat up on his knees. Wrapping her legs tighter around his hips, she braced herself against the headboard.

She moaned as he set a breakneck rhythm, thrusting deeper and harder. Toes curling, she gasped. Pressure built in her pelvis.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, “Thomas, don’t stop.”

Gripping her tighter, he sped up. Her eyes rolled and she stopped being able to breathe. Eyes half closed, she fumbled for the pillow. Her leg started to shake. The pressure was building, more, more. She was coming undone.

Yanking the pillow over her face, she screamed. Her body convulsed, muscles spasming as she bit into the fluffy case covering her mouth.

Moments later, she heard him grunting with exertion before a strangled gasp left his lips. He held her aloft while he panted through it.

Pulling out slowly, he placed her hips back on the bed. She scooched over to make room for him as he pulled off the rubber. Tying it off, he tossed it in the bin next to the bed. He collapsed at her side.

Clarissa let herself be moved as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest. It felt warm, somehow safe, like a piece of her that she didn’t know was missing was now returned. It felt right. And she never wanted it to end.

* * *

The alarm buzzed in her ear. It took her longer than normal to fully wake after turning it off. She groaned. Last night was the most peaceful rest she’d had in … well, she couldn’t honestly remember.

Running a hand over her eyes, she paused. The bed felt warmer than usual, and somehow fuller. Twisting around, her heart skipped a beat. Tom was asleep next to her, completely naked.

All haze of sleep banished from her mind as she screamed internally.

She’d slept with Tom. Instead of thinking with her brain last night, she’d let her hormones rule her actions, and she’d slept with Tom on the second date. Now he was in her bed. Well fuck !