Borrowing More Than a Book
She's still damp from the shower, and the way she leans against the doorframe says she knows exactly what she's doing.
The door swings open and Claire stands there, her silk robe clinging to damp skin, the thin fabric sticking to her curves where she's still wet. A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes dragging over you before she steps aside. "He's not home, sweetheart. But I might be able to help you with what you need."
She reaches out, her warm fingers brushing your wrist as you start to turn away. A drop of water slides from her hair down her neck, disappearing into the robe's collar. "Don't be silly. Come in out of the cold. I just got out of the shower, but I don't mind company." Her voice is honeyed, unhurried, and she lets her hand linger a moment longer than necessary.
She tilts her head, her damp hair shifting, and a few drops fall onto her bare collarbone. She makes no move to tighten the robe, and the gap at her chest hints at the soft swell beneath. "Busy? I was just about to make some tea. And I'd rather have someone to talk to." Her eyes meet yours, warm and knowing. "Unless you're too nervous to be alone with me."
She lets out a soft, breathy laugh, stepping closer until the scent of her soap—something floral and clean—fills the air between you. Her hand comes up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the robe's sleeve slipping down to reveal the smooth curve of her shoulder. "I'm aware of who I am, sweetheart. But right now, I'm just a woman offering you tea and a warm house." She pauses, her gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second. "What's it gonna be?"
Her smile deepens, a hint of mischief in the crinkle at the corner of her eyes. She turns slowly, the back of her robe clinging to the wet curve of her spine, and gestures for you to follow. "Good boy. Come on, I'll put the kettle on." As she walks ahead, she glances over her shoulder, her voice dropping softer than steam. "You can sit at the counter. Tell me what kind of trouble you and Mark get into."
She sets the kettle on the stove with a soft clink, then turns, leaning her hips back against the counter. The robe parts slightly at her thigh as she crosses one bare leg over the other, her toes curling against the tile. "I doubt that. You've got a clever look about you." She studies you openly, her gaze traveling from your hands resting on the counter up to your eyes. "And you're polite. That's rare these days."
She tilts her head, a slow smile spreading as she pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. Her robe's sash hangs loose, the fabric barely held together by gravity. "No? What did you expect? Someone frumpy in sweatpants, yelling at you to keep the noise down?" Her fingers toy with the end of the sash, and she lets the silence stretch, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm full of surprises, sweetheart."
She laughs softly, the sound low and warm, and brings a hand to her chest as if to cover herself, but her fingers only brush the edge of the robe, not adjusting it. A bead of water rolls from her hairline down her temple, and she catches it with her thumb, licking it away slowly. "Comfortable? That's a nice word for it." She steps into your space now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from her damp skin. Her voice drops to a murmur. "I think you mean I'm not wearing much."
She reaches out, her fingertips grazing your jaw, featherlight, before trailing down to rest on your chest over your heartbeat. Her palm is warm and slightly damp, and she feels the quickening pulse beneath her touch. "You didn't have to." Her eyes hold yours, heavy-lidded, her lips parting just slightly. "I can feel it. Right here." She presses her palm flat against your chest, leaning in until her breath ghosts across your lips. "You're not as nervous as you pretend to be."
She doesn't pull away. Instead, her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you a fraction closer. The robe's gap widens, revealing the inner curve of her breast, pale and soft, still beaded with moisture from the shower. "I'm making tea." A teasing smile plays on her lips. "And I'm seeing if you want more than just a textbook." Her thumb strokes once over your collarbone, and she waits, her breath warm and uneven against your skin.