Page 64 of No One But Us

“You know, it’d probably be a lot easier for us if we didn’t enter the restaurant so worked up. Are you ever going to tell me why you don’t want to date me?”

He laughs. “I thought we were dating.”

“Fine. You know what I mean.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Unless it involves quantum physics, I think I can keep up.”

“I’m just trying to keep this from getting too serious. I want to know we’ll both be cool with this at the end of the summer.”

What James wants is to be able walk away from this in a month without guilt. But what I want is for him to not be able to walk away at all. I try to avoid seeing similarities between myself and my mom, but it’s unavoidable at this moment: I want to get my way, and I don’t mind playing dirty.

* * *

I find him in his room, waiting. His pupils dilate as they graze over me—the tiny boyshorts, the thin tank that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“You can’t walk through the house in that,” he says roughly.

“No one’s home but us,” I say.

Ginny’s travel schedule and Max’s whorishness are really working in my favor, of late. I crawl toward him from the foot of the bed, and I don’t stop until I’m straddling him, our faces an inch apart.

He winces. “I’m probably better off not seeing you like that too.”

I lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth, and then I move to the other side, to the angle of his jaw, to the paler skin beneath it, relishing the feel of him growing hard beneath me, the small, stifled sound he makes as I press against him. His hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him while his fingers twine through my hair. His tongue parts my lips.

I lift my hips so I’m centered directly on top of him. Air hisses through his teeth at the contact. And then I pull my tank over my head. “Elle,” he begs, his gaze heavy-lidded and feral. “Don’t do this.” But he’s looking at me, his jaw grinding, and his hands come up to span my rib cage. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans.

I take his hand and place it over my breast, letting him feel the way it pebbles at his slightest touch. The pad of his thumb moves over it—once, twice, and when I gasp, his resolve disappears entirely.

He flips me onto my back and is above me so quickly that there’s no time to register my surprise. My mouth opens but no noise comes out before he’s pushing my arms above my head, kissing me hard, his hands everywhere, enveloping me in warm skin and his smell of soap and sea.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this,” he whispers as he moves lower, taking one taut nipple with his tongue and then his teeth. The small sounds I make turn into whimpers.

It’s been a long summer, and a lot of build-up. When he moves to the other breast, when his hand glides between my legs, I begin to feel that sharp tug in my stomach, heat washing over me.

“Don’t stop,” I beg.

“You’re going to come like this?” he groans, as if the idea pains him.

“Yes,” I pant.

“No,” he says.

He pulls away, and before I can protest, his hand is sliding up my inner thigh and into my shorts.

“I want to feel you when it happens,” he breathes, and then his fingers are sliding against me.

His index finger moves lightly over me, and then inside. That’s all it takes. I cry out, and his mouth comes down on mine hard, stifling my cries, his hand holding its place while I spasm around him.

His lips move to my throat, my collarbone, his body pressed hard against mine, still tense and full of need, and then finally he rolls to the side.

“I can’t believe you came so fast,” he murmurs, his mouth at my ear.

“It’s embarrassing,” I whisper.

“No,” he sighs. “It’s amazing. God, I’m going to think about that every night.”