Whit
I’ve spent the whole night running interference from teenage girls and inquisitive locals who want to know about the Citadel. I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of that, though. I’m just trying to get up the nerve to talk to Summer.
Isabel hovers around me like fly and I’m a pot of honey. I try, for the sake of the event, for this girl’s feelings and my own sanity, to let it be, but my nerves are already frayed.
“You look like you could use a drink,” she says, sidling up to me. Anita put me on door duty, making sure no one walked out without paying for their merchandise.
“No thanks, I’m good.”
She pulls a bottle of beer out from behind her back. “You sure?”
“Sneak that out of your daddy’s cooler?” I ask, holding back on my annoyance. Part of my irritation is at myself. Before I met Summer, that move would’ve worked—jailbait or not.
She shrugs and takes a nervous, slow sip from the bottle in an attempt to look grown and sexy. Instead she’s just confirming her immaturity, which with everything going on right now, is not appealing.
I check a few bags, offer a few goodnights and look back and find her still standing nearby. “Isabel, what are you doing over here? Go hang out with your friends, hit the Camp, smoke a joint under the pier.”
“But,” she says, her face turning red, “I want to be here. Near you.” She takes a deep breath. “Look, I know you’re seeing Summer, but I also know she’s dating Justin and maybe Nick. You deserve better than that. More than that.” She steps closer and touches my arm and licks her lips. “You deserve a girl that can give you all her attention. A girl like me.”
I stare at her for a minute, wondering if it’s worth my time to let her down easy or lecture her on approaching a guy that is clearly not interested in her—that’s too old, too everything, but I decide it’s not my problem. Instead I ignore her, spotting Bobby talking to Richard, and wave him over. “Hey man, can you watch the door for me? I need to run to the back for a minute.”
“Sure man.” He takes my spot and looks over at Isabel, who’s watching me with watery eyes. “Sweetheart,” he says to Isabel, “give me that beer before both you and I get in trouble.”
“Whatever,” she mumbles and flounces off.
“Be back in a second,” I say, going the other direction. I’d seen Summer’s blond hair near the back hall and head her way. She’s standing near the edge of the signing table when I walk next to her, link my fingers with hers and lead her into her mother’s dark office.
“You look like you needed a break,” I say, sitting on the couch and pulling her onto my lap. I want to tell her everything. About school. About how much I want her. About how I want her to know all of this before we take this further. It only seems fair but now that she’s sitting on top of me and we’re away from the chaos outside, I just want to feel her.
“Whit,” she says, her voice a little strained.
I brush her hair back. “You okay?”
“I’m not sure,” she says close to my mouth, “But you may be right. I need a break. I need you.”
The office is pitch-black other than the light from under the door. I reach out and fumble with the lock, securing us in this tiny space. The last time we were in here I tasted her, made her come, because I wasn’t sure how to balance my feelings for her. I’m always too raw—too on edge—tonight is no different, except for some reason it seems to be.
She tastes so good and feels even better, the skirt of her dress hiked over her hips. The top tugs down easily and she’s not wearing a bra and I curse the lack of light, but I don’t need to see her when I can feel her, with my hands, lips, and tongue.
“When you were sick,” she says in a quiet, whispery voice, “you told me you wanted to do things to me, claim me, make love to me like an animal to a mate.”
I still. “I said that?”
“You were delirious.” She grinds against me. “But that doesn’t make it untrue.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Is that why you hold back? Because you think I can’t handle that?” Her mouth is near my ear, hot and warm. “Because I can. I want you to. Now. Make me feel what you’re feeling. Make me yours.”
Still kissing me, she fumbles with my buckle and I hook my thumbs in her panties, easing them down her legs to get them off. She uses the time pull down my jeans and I sigh in her mouth, relieved to have my cock freed from the tight confines of the denim.
She climbs back on top of me, hovering over my hips, grazing me with the hot, wet heat of her body. “It was stupid of me to resist you,” I tell her, “resist this.” I run a hand down her arm, pulling at the strap on her sundress. It falls below her shoulder, exposing her breasts, and I bend over to take her nipple into my mouth.
She arches back and moans softly, sending a jolt of arousal through me, making my cock harder than before. Her fingertips graze my shaft, I feel her lowering over me and then her shuddering exhale when she sinks down, taking me in. She rides me lazily, quietly, obviously afraid of making too much noise. I hold her hips, rising and lowering her, but she’s right, I don’t want to have sex with Summer, or even just make love to her. I want to claim her. Be with her. Consume her.
“Do you trust me?” I whisper into her mouth, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
“Yes.”