7
Live in the Moment
~Claire~
It’s been a few weeks since that explosive make-out session in my backyard. My first and, as far as kissing goes, I am incredibly grateful at how amazing it was. It was gentle yet scorching; smooth yet electrifying; tender, tentative, exploratory yet all-consuming. It was the sweetest, most affectionate anyone has ever treated me, and I am addicted.
However, Noah has not kissed me the same since that night; just gentle kisses on the lips, nose, cheek, forehead, and once under my ear that made me clench my legs together. That little, seemingly innocent kiss left me a panting mess. He knew how it affected me, too. His eyes widened in shock before giving me an almost shy smile. I think my reactions to him shocks him.
The day after that kiss, Noah picked me up and met my dad again, where they talked for a good half hour, something I was grateful for because Dad really seems to like him. Then Noah took me to the next town over where they have nicer restaurants, driving his aunt’s truck since he guessed there was no way I would get on his motorcycle with my dad watching.
We had a comfortable conversation, getting to know each other better, asking mundane questions like favorite color, bands, foods, and such. We fell into each other so naturally it was like we have known each other all our lives, making me regret waiting so long to even talk to him. A whole month, and then some, lost.
He shared stories about all the places he has been to in the world. One minute he would reminisce like it was the greatest time he had, and then his mood would turn somber. That’s when he admitted how he fell behind in school, that he should have graduated by now, that he was ready to be done with this chapter of his life.
That saddened me because, if he hadn’t been held back, then we would have never met.
A girl from our school was dining with her family at the restaurant. And by the apt attention she was giving us—and by her fingers furiously typing on her cell phone—I knew the whole school would know about this come Monday. I was not mistaken.
These past weeks have been filled with nothing but stares and comments about me now being a whore—how else could I have gained Noah Gish’s attention? It was disgusting. But I never mentioned it to Noah. I saw how he fights, and I don’t want him getting expelled for sticking up for me.
Speaking of fighting, Troy’s father has him on a probation of sorts. Not legally, though Troy cannot leave the city limits and has every faculty member in the school watching his every move, per his father’s request. Let’s just say that Troy hasn’t even looked in mine or Noah’s direction.
Though he may not be looking at me, I have noticed some strange behavior with him and Chelsea. By all appearances, Troy is still with Nikki, yet I caught him and Chelsea in heated conversations over the past couple of weeks, heads close together, voices lowered.
She is once again no longer with James, but she hasn’t appeared to move on to anyone else, either. She has been forlorn, looking depressed when she thinks no one is looking, and her attitude toward me has escalated … when Noah isn’t around. She has even gone so far as to shove me with her shoulder when she passes me. So mature.
Since our first date, mine and Noah’s relationship has slowly progressed. A kiss has gone from hesitant to second thought, like it’s ingrained. Conversations have gone from curious, get to know you to saying what is deep inside our thoughts, our feelings, and opinions about anything and everything. It’s magical watching and living this connection.
Now it is Halloween, and though it falls on a Wednesday, Noah and his band are performing tonight—yes, my dad fixed that complication for them.
I’m supposed to meet Noah at the bar after my lesson with Signora Gelardi, who is none too thrilled at the new addition in my life, lecturing me almost as much as she teaches. She’s relentless in telling me how off I am when I sing, even when I know I have not made one error.
“Again,” Signora Gelardi snarls, pounding on the piano keys.
I ignore her attitude and take a deep breath as she starts the introduction to “Casta Diva” from Norma, an aria, which is a prayer to the Druid gods to bring peace during Rome’s occupation. The high soprano notes are a testament to how much my skills have grown.
As the notes grow closer to when my part starts, I close my eyes and feel the music. I want to get out of here as soon as possible to make it to Noah’s gig on time. He has been at his own practices while I attend mine, leaving us little time to be together, though we do go on dates almost every other night, eating dinner together since he learned my dad isn’t home often to eat with me.
One night after Chinese take-out, I pulled out my history book and learned that Noah has a photographic memory. Since then, he has been tutoring me, not that I need it, but it is fascinating to pick his brain.
I keep waiting for him to make a move, to start a make-out session like our first and only. He doesn’t give. We will sit close together, my legs draped over his as we share a book to study from. He will play with my hair, wrapping the long strands around his fingers. He sometimes rubs circles along my back where my shirt has ridden up. And he also likes to play with my hand, mesmerized by how tiny my fingers are, or so he says. Regardless of all the contact he gives me, I still haven’t felt his tongue against mine in weeks.
I never realized what sexual frustration was until Noah came into my life. I never experienced my sex clenching in need until Noah kissed me. Never had an inkling to experience sex until Noah.
I have only known him for weeks, yet I want to give him everything. And that scares me. Is that how others feel?
Noah scares me, but at the same time, he frees me. He makes me feel so alive. He makes me want to live in the moment. At this moment in time, I feel like I could give everything up to be with him. Say screw everyone and everything, jump on the back of his bike, and ride off into the sunset. And that scares me.
I don’t want to be that girl. Because then I see a future of living in trailer parks, barefoot and pregnant, while my boyfriend—because we will never get married in this scenario—plays his guitar in bars, coming home smelling like cheap beer, stale cigarettes, and cheap perfume.
This is the visual that grounds me. That is not a future that looks happy.
Even if living in the moment feels fantastic, I have to remind myself of the bigger picture. And if Noah was to push me, and not act like the perfect gentleman he has been, then I don’t think I would care for him or want him as much as I do.
~Noah~
I know I shouldn’t be here. I should be helping Kyle and Cyn set up for the show, but when I found out where Claire has her practices, I had to come and watch her.
I asked her to sing for me last week, and she immediately turned red and dropped her head. We were sitting on her couch. I had my feet kicked up on the coffee table, watching her lying back on the couch, reading the book that was assigned to us with her feet in my lap. She was humming something that wasn’t familiar. The melody sounded like an opera song. Even humming, she sounded amazing, clear, mesmerizing.
“Sing it out loud,” I suggested, thinking she would. I mean, she performs in front of people; what was there to be shy about?
“What?” Claire dropped her book into her lap, looking at me in confusion. I guessed she didn’t even realize she was humming.
“You were humming. I want to hear it.”
Her face automatically flushed, and then she tried to hide it behind her book. “No.”
My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe how self-conscious she got around me. I wanted to tease her; make her feel comfortable enough so that she would share this with me. I shared my music with her, and she knows how I feel about that.
I scooted up the couch, her legs still draped over mine. Reaching out, I lowered the book that was practically plastered to her face. “Why not?”
Her flush disappeared when she looked me straight in the eye. “I will feel embarrassed.”
“Why?” My brow furrowed. I knew that was how she felt, but I still didn’t understand. “You sing in front of other people, so why not just me?”
“It’s different,” she mumbled, looking away.
“You were the one telling me that you like to sing to see people’s reactions. You were really adamant that singing in front of people is your favorite part, so … give it to me. Feed me emotions,” I encouraged with a grin.
“That’s what I’m afraid of with you,” she told me. When my smile turned into a look of confusion, she continued, “I’m okay with admitting that I’m insecure enough to wonder what you are reliving, or who you may be thinking of when I invoke emotions in you. I don’t want to see that on your face and have to wonder. I want to wait until I’m secure in you, in us, and in where this”—she gestured between us—“relationship is going. I mean, this is a relationship, right?”
Her insecurity was endearing to someone used to confident women who knew what they wanted, who knew they were beautiful and flaunted it. This girl, because she is still a little girl in so many ways, is more beautiful, more put-together, successful, and just more than anyone I ever met. However, her loneliness, insecurities, and her brutal honesty make me respect and worship—yes, I worship this girl—her unlike anyone in my past.
“I hope this is a relationship,” I answered, swallowing down the strong, overwhelming feelings I had for her. “And I understand where you are coming from. But, Claire, I can promise you that when I do hear you sing, you will be all I feel.”
And it’s true.
I can hear her voice from right outside the auditorium as I make my way toward the doors leading in. I don’t know what she’s singing, but I know it’s in Italian.
Her voice is out of this world. I have never heard anything like it. Where her talking voice is small, gentle, yet soprano; her singing voice is overpowering. Her range moves from the sound of tiny, metal wind chimes, but strong enough to make your eardrums vibrate, to a low, soulful tenor that sounds so aching in emotion. I have to see her.
I crack the door open and get my fix. She is standing on the stage, her arms outstretched as she hits a high note, her eyes closed and head tilted back. She’s dressed in what she wore to school today: black, skin tight pants; a black shirt that comes off both shoulders; a fat, black belt; and red fuck-me shoes that I would love to have wrapped around my neck, or digging into my ass.
Being in the spirit of Halloween, she dressed up as Sandy from Grease, minus the teased hair—thank God. Which means, I guess I’m Danny, since I’m in my jeans and leather, donning the classic black T-shirt—not on purpose, I must add.
I have never done the whole Halloween get-up. Not since I was eight years old when my parents told me I was too old to dress up. I’m surprised Claire got into it, considering she doesn’t participate in anything school-related, including dances, something else we have in common. However, Halloween is her favorite holiday.
I couldn’t keep my hands off her at lunch today, running my palms up and down the soft, shimmery material of her pants that hugged her better than any skinny jeans, marveling at how someone so short can have such long, sexy legs.
“No!” The sound of a shout from an older lady, whom I guess is Signora Gelardi, takes me out of my wandering thoughts. “Again!” She proceeds to play the piano again, shaking her head at Claire in disappointment.
I think her tone is a little uncalled for. I didn’t hear anything wrong with the way Claire was singing. She sounded flawless, never missing a beat, and her voice transitioned smoothly. But what do I know? Opera isn’t my thing.
Claire gives her tutor a look that shows her own agitation at the woman. It’s a look of infuriation I have never seen on her before. She always looks so serene, like nothing ever gets to her, so seeing her show anger is new to me.
She looks irresistible with her blue eyes narrowed into icy slits toward her singing tutor, her little fists resting on her tiny hips. She looks totally sexy in that pose, with that look, in that tight, hot, little outfit. I am so lucky she is mine. I only hope I don’t screw anything up with her.
This relationship stuff is all new to me. I have never been so open with anyone before, never felt so comfortable spending all my time with someone, and definitely have never cared what a girl says. I was all about instant gratification before, letting a girl talk until there was an opening to get her on her back. That was all I wanted in a woman. Until Claire.
She has this aura around her that I am completely drawn to. There is no denying our attraction to one another; everyone sees it. There is so much more to it, though. This goes beyond sexual attraction. This is a mental and emotional connection. It’s like there is this tether that connects us. If I close my eyes and follow the pull from my chest, from my soul, it will lead me directly to her. She feels like my lifeline, my other half, the part of me that has been missing since birth. There is no other way to describe it.
That said, I hope I’m not going to get kicked to the curb by being here.
She has her eyes closed again as the song pours out of her fluidly. I understand a little of what she’s singing. I know it’s Latin.
Without realizing it, I have come through the door and am now standing in front of it. As another high note flows past Claire’s lips, I quickly sit down in the back row, scooting down in the seat with my legs sprawled out in front of me to accommodate my height.
I chuckle to myself at the irony of hiding out, starting to sweat at the fear of being discovered and those doe eyes looking at me in anger, or worse, disappointment. Not to mention, with the way Signora Gelardi barks at Claire, I would hate for that bitch to try to bark at me. I would put her in her place so fast that woman would be stuttering for the rest of her life. I can’t do that, though. That’s a surefire way Claire would never talk to me again.
“Will that be all for tonight, Signora?” Claire’s question brings me out of my thoughts.
“Yes, but first I would like to know who intruded on our practice.”
I see Claire’s eyes dart from Signora Gelardi to the auditorium doors before scanning the rows of seats. Confusion and maybe hurt and betrayal that I wanted to avoid cross her features as I start to sit up in the chair.
Yep, when her eyes find mine, there is definitely hurt and betrayal there. I let her down, and now I feel like shit.
“Hi.” I give her a little wave and a shamefaced smile as I stand, undecided if I should move toward the stage or make a run from it.
I think Claire sees my unusual awkwardness because an amused expression comes to her face. Thank God the disappointment is gone. The girl could crush my hopes and heart with a few words if she told me to get the hell out.
With that reassurance, I make my way down the aisle and toward the steps leading up to the stage as Claire descends them. I give her another sheepish smile before pulling her into a hug.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself once I found out where you were.” That’s the last time I will apologize for sneaking in here, and now that I said it, I won’t feel guilty about it anymore.
Claire pulls away but keeps her hands on my shoulders. “It’s over and done with. Though, don’t expect me to trust you again.” Her eyes narrow teasingly before they grow alight with amusement once more. “But now you must suffer the wrath and inquisition of Signora Gelardi. This will be punishment enough. I would apologize beforehand, but you deserve it.”
I love her playful mood, but if I were her, I would be more concerned with what I may say to Signora. After hearing her bark at Claire, I want to put her in her place.
We walk over to where Signora is standing next to the piano, arms crossed, brown eyes narrowed with intimidation behind her small, rectangular glasses. She is taller than Claire, but still much shorter than me. Regardless, her intimidating stance makes her appear taller. She has an air of superiority about her that would make most men turn into cowering, quivering little boys. Not me. I grew up with my mother. Nothing else on this earth is more frightening than her when she is in professor mode.
“Signora Gelardi, this is Noah. Noah, this is my tutor and once a great Prima Donna, Signora Gelardi. Behave,” she whispers the last part, but I don’t know if it’s intended for me or her tutor.
I hold out my hand for a handshake, but Gelardi scoffs at it.
“I have no interest in meeting you, or you taking her time away from me. At least Troy knew not to do that.” Her accent is thick, and she slips into Italian often, but I understand every word she says.
My face feels hot and grows redder with every word that continues out of her bitchy mouth. Not able to hold my anger back, damning my pride, I shoot back, “While I care about Claire, I don’t like your prejudice toward me when you haven’t even met me. She’s here for every one of your damn practices. I haven’t taken her away from that, have I?” Not waiting for her to answer, I continue, “As for Troy, what do you think would have happened with your time if he had succeeded in raping her?”
I see the shock on her face that she quickly tries to cover, meaning Claire hid that tidbit from her, which makes me mad at myself for breaking that confidence, even though the whole town knows of the rumor. Whether they believe it or not is another story.
“So don’t use that idiot over me,” I continue. “Don’t judge me or our relationship. And don’t interfere in our time after she is done devoting most of hers to you.”
There is a very loud quietness in the auditorium after my angry speech as Gelardi stares at me with unquestionable intensity before turning her eyes to Claire.
I, too, look at Claire, suddenly nervous to see what her reaction is. This is the second time tonight I gave Claire a reason to reject me, and it tears me up inside.
Claire is in an eye-lock with Gelardi. They both appear to be communicating in some way. Finally, I see Gelardi shake her head minutely. Then Claire turns to me, looking disappointed, but whether it is with me or her tutor, I don’t know.
She squeezes my hand that we continued to hold throughout the confrontation. I remember feeling her hand tightening around mine during Gelardi’s tongue lashing, but I didn’t realize that the assuring hand was still grasped in mine until now.
~Claire~
Without a word, I pull Noah away from Signora Gelardi, and we make our way out of the theater. I hear her collect her music, and it reminds me to do the same, but I just want to focus on getting out of this auditorium and away from—Noah said it right—Signora Gelardi’s prejudice.
I am more disappointed in her than I am in Noah. They are both hotheaded, but Signora attacked first, despite my warning to her to act decent. Noah was only defending himself, and he was right. He hasn’t done anything to take my time away from my music, though I would have rather Signora not know why I’m not talking to Troy anymore. Regardless, it would have been a matter of time before she heard about it.
When we get outside, Noah pulls against my hand, making me stop abruptly. I look up at him as I try to clear the worry from my thoughts and get back into a happy place, not wanting to ruin the night. It is Halloween after all, and it’s supposed to be a night of fun, mystery, and entertainment.
Noah grasps my waist with his empty hand and pulls me toward him. I have to tilt my head back to look at him when we are this close.
“I’m not sorry for what I said back there. I know I can’t help myself during a confrontation, and though I would rather use my fists to get my point across, I will never hit a woman. I don’t think that beast in there is a woman, though, so it was close.” His mouth quirks up a bit, but he quickly recovers, trying to be more serious. “I think you know by now that I don’t like most people, but she is seriously the worst I’ve met in a long time, besides my mom.
“I don’t know what you are thinking right now … about us,” he clarifies, “though you’re still holding my hand. But I think I should stay away from her from now on. I don’t want to jeopardize your relationship with her, or your tutoring. Period.”
I sigh in exhaustion. This night better turn around soon.
“It’s going to be fine. She’s … who she is. Nothing is going to change her ways. She thinks I’m distracted and needs to find someone to blame. That’s you. I love the woman, but I’m glad you put her in her place. I think she is really surprised that you stood up to her. Believe it or not, you impressed her. Though she will never admit it.” I smile at the memory of her speechless, staring at him then me like she was trying to figure out another avenue to argue.
Noah bends down and kisses me on the lips, lingering, but no tongue. “I promise to wait out here from now on. No more confrontations with the beast.”
I laugh as he guides me over to my car where his bike is parked next to it. When we get there, he hands me a good-sized box that is strapped to the back of his bike with bungee cord. It’s not wrapped, just a cardboard box with no stamps or print telling me what it could be.
“What’s this?” I take the box with a confused expression, shaking it gently, but I don’t hear anything move inside.
“Just open it.”
Noah is always so direct. He looks a bit nervous but excited also. It makes me even more curious to know what he is giving me.
Since we don’t have much time left before his show starts, I hurriedly rip off the tape then set the box on the hood of my car so I can pull out the bubble wrap, exposing a white motorcycle helmet with a tinted shield mask.
“Uh …” I’m at a loss for words. Does he really think I’m going to get on the back of his bike?
He’s grinning now, possibly amused by my shock. He pulls the helmet out then grabs the now empty box, tossing it into the back of my car. Then he swaggers back over to me, locking eyes with mine.
“Let’s put this on you.” He lifts the helmet to the top of my head.
“Noah, I can’t—”
“One ride. Let me take you to the show tonight. If you don’t like it, you never have to ride with me again. Okay?”
I swallow hard and nod, shaking with nerves as he pushes the helmet over my head.
The tint is so dark I can barely see, but then Noah lifts the visor, and that’s when I notice there are two screens on the face, the inside one without tint.
I look up at Noah who is looking down at me with a smile that reaches his eyes.
“You look so adorable. Don’t be nervous. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The helmet muffles his voice, but I can hear him clearly enough. He takes off his jacket and holds it out for me to slide my arms through before zipping it up for me. “I want to kiss you right now.”
I want him to kiss me, too, like our first kiss.
“Got your keys?”
I hand them to him and continue to stand by the trunk of my car as I watch him lock up my car.
“Do you need your purse or anything?”
I shake my head, but he pulls out my cell phone from my purse, anyway, and tucks it into his back pocket as he comes back over to me and grasps my fingers in his, locking them together. Without another word, he pulls me toward his bike, not letting go of my hand as he lifts his leg over the bike and straddles it. Then he pulls me over and guides me behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“You need to hold on tight. You can hold on to your wrist.”
I do as he says, scooting closer against his back until our bodies are flushed together. Heat pools down low, making me throb at the connection and friction. I can hear my own breathing pick up.
Noah stills for a beat before continuing with his instructions. Clearing his throat, he tells me, “Now lift your feet and place them on the outside of these pegs.”
I see where he kicks one of the foot pegs, and then slowly lift one foot then the other to rest on them. Noah is fully supporting the bike now, and that scares me to death. I imagine all these scenarios in my head where we get into head-on collisions, hit a deer, lose control of the bike. So many nightmares run through my head, and I cringe at the phantom pain of being in them.
I don’t want to die. I especially don’t want to die slowly in excruciating pain.
“Claire? Claire.” Noah’s voice pulls me out of my visions of blood and gore.
“Yeah?” I squeak.
“You’ll be fine, angel.” And with that, he starts the motor and backs us out of the parking space.
~Noah~
Claire’s soft body is pressed against mine, her breasts moving against my back with every bump in the road. I can feel her heat against my lower back as I nestle into it unconsciously. Her long legs are parallel with mine, and I can feel her thighs contracting, squeezing mine when we take a turn.
I have never had a girl on my bike before. It’s turning me on so damn much. I want to take her on this bike and put myself out of this misery. Rid myself of the ache.
Through the torture, I can tell Claire is having a great time. She is relaxed, leaning more into me and loosening her death grip. I had really hoped she would enjoy this freedom of feeling the wind whip past you, like flying. The freedom makes you feel like you can overcome anything, leave everything behind, be yourself, and have no one tell you where to go or what to do. It’s only you and your thoughts.
I hear her laugh, which causes me to laugh. Then I lean down into the bike, bringing her with me as I accelerate. I won’t do anything reckless when she’s with me, but I was driving like a grandma before, so now that I know she’s relaxed and loving it, I can let go and pick up speed.
When we get to Jeremy’s, I pull the bike behind the restaurant and into the employees’ parking lot. The place is already packed. It’s only Wednesday, but it is Halloween, and Jeremy is hosting a costume party tonight. The crowd is going to be unreal. I just hope Max is up for the job of babysitting Claire for me tonight.
I turn off the bike and feel Claire, on shaky legs, try to climb off. But before she can get anywhere, I scoot back, throwing her back into her seat. She lets out a small yelp in surprise as I grab her red-heeled foot and pull it around me, grabbing her waist to guide her around until she is straddling my thighs. Then I take off her helmet, dropping it to the ground, before I grab either side of her face and kiss her like I need her to breathe.
She lets out a gasp at the sudden assault, and I take the opportunity to plunge my tongue into her mouth, tasting her again for the first time in weeks. She moans as her hands come up to grip my shoulders while I slide my hands into her tangled hair.
I inhale her scent deeply through my nose before tilting my head to deepen the kiss. I don’t know why I have waited so long to kiss her like this again. Yes, I do. Because I get consumed in it.
Her lips are so soft, her mouth so innocent. She kisses with tentativeness, yet with a poise that would have me believe she does this on a regular basis. Her passion rivals my own. I have never experienced the near combustible attraction that shields the rest of the world from me when I am with her like this. It’s like time stands still and locks us in a single moment. A bubble that no one can penetrate.
She moans again and squirms in my lap, pressing herself against the hard bulge in my pants. My frenzy grows. I want to relieve her. I want to relieve me. I want to strip us down and fuck her on this bike.
My hands have a mind of their own. They move through her hair, following the trail to her firm ass where I grip each globe, enhanced by her tight pants, and pull her against my erection, giving her the friction she needs. She gasps but doesn’t pull away or try to stop me. My mind has completely shut down, only thinking of pleasuring her.
I pull her with me as I scoot back, and she grinds down on my erection. It amazes me that someone as inexperienced as her still has the instinct to know what would alleviate her arousal. It makes me wonder dark thoughts about her, which really increases the frenzy in my body. The visual is not what I need right now.
I press her back against the bike, her legs still draped to the ground and her arms now locked around my neck. I remove my hands from her ass and glide them down her legs to behind her knees, never removing my mouth from hers. Drawing her legs up around my waist, I scoot in to feel her heat. We both moan at the connection.
I grind myself against her, never stopping contact where we both need it most. I swear to God I am about to come in my pants.
I break away from her mouth with a gasp of air, trailing kisses down her jaw to her ear where I bite her lobe before moving to her neck. We are both breathing so hard right now, our chests rising and falling against one another’s.
I return to her mouth when my name escapes her lips.
I can’t hear her tell me to stop right now. I don’t want to. But her arms are pulling me closer, telling me the opposite.
I let go of her knees, not knowing where to go, yet wanting to go where I can’t. Encircling her hips, thumbs digging in under her pants, I stop myself from going there, sliding one hand back to her thigh. Then I travel up her ribs, lifting her shirt and exposing her little waist. Then I stop again, right at the curve of her breasts, knowing this is uncharted territory for Claire.
God, it’s so frustrating to restrain myself. But I will do it, because this girl is nothing like the others. She needs slow, needs someone to be tender with her, needs someone to show her love first.
“Noah,” she gasps around my mouth. “I need … I can’t …” She’s frantic with her need, pressing against me urgently.
Sweat is beading on her forehead, so I gently wipe it off before pressing my forehead against hers, staring into her wide eyes. “I know. Relax and let go. You’re holding it in.”
“Touch me,” she begs, arching her back and pressing down on me harder.
My hands are back in her hair, working the tangles out with my fingers. “I am,” I answer, grinding, kissing.
“No,” she mewls, trying to grab my hand.
Jesus Christ.
I interlock our hands, misinterpreting what she wants, until she guides my hand down to her core.
“I can’t.” My voice breaks.
I know her frustration. I feel it, too. But I have experience reining it in where she doesn’t.
I can feel her whole body coiled tight, her legs gripping my sides, digging into my ribs. Her arm still around my neck is taut, and her hand interlocked with mine is squeezing my fingers.
“Please, Noah,” she begs again, so I pick up the pace, grinding into her fast, aligning the length of my cock right against the apex of her thighs, pumping my hips through the thin material of her soft pants. I’m so close, dry humping like I did with girls when I was thirteen.
“Stop … holding on,” I grunt out, not knowing how to explain this to her.
“Noah,” she whispers, her brows drawn together like she’s thinking.
I want her to stop thinking and simply feel, so I bend down to her neck and lick a line up until I reach her lips, then plunge my tongue back in, mating with hers.
Claire moans, her body quivering and shaking with torment, finally finding her release.
I lift up from her body, watching as her eyes roll back before she shuts them. Her legs have gone limp again, resting over my thighs. Her hands are staying busy, though, one stroking down her belly, the other pulling her hair. Then the hand on her belly brushes over her breast, groping, while the hand in her hair moves down over her face where it ends its movements at clutching her neck. It’s the most erotic display I have ever seen.
Claire is completely undone. Her eyes are still closed as she comes back from wherever she has been. I sit silently as her breathing regulates. My own comes down, though my dick still hurts. She looks like she’s about to fall asleep on my bike.
I lean over and press a gentle kiss to her lips, and her eyes open in response as I pull away. Then I pull her up into a sitting position before getting off the bike so I can easily help her down.
Just as she swings her leg around the seat of the bike, we hear clapping. Two sets of clapping.
I turn to see Chelsea and Nikki walking toward the back door with big smiles on their faces. Chelsea is dressed like an angel, with wings on her back. Her clothes are styled more like Tinkerbell than any painting of a Biblical angel. Nikki is her contrary, dressed as a devil, with horns on her head. Her clothes, or lack thereof, are more suitable to her theme, dressed in practically nothing, like Chelsea. Both girls scream attention and loose morals. Neither have the detachment I preferred in girls in the city.
“That was better than porn,” Chelsea comments, her eyes taking in every detail of my body with a look of lust. Her tongue peeks out from between her teeth before they both turn around and walk into the restaurant.