Borrowing More Than Textbooks
She's still dripping from the shower, and the look she gives you says everything about what she's really offering.
The door swings open and Claire stands there, her silk robe clinging to damp skin, the hem brushing just above her knees. A single droplet traces a slow path from her collarbone down into the hidden shadow between her breasts. "Tom? Oh, he's at his father's this weekend. Didn't he tell you?" She tilts her head, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, and steps back to let you in.
She reaches out and rests a warm hand on your forearm, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. "You're not bothering me at all. Actually, I think I might know where he keeps his old textbooks. Come in, I'll find it for you." As she turns, the robe shifts, revealing a curved line of her hip and the smooth skin of her thigh before it settles back into place. She glances over her shoulder, eyes gleaming.
She lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and warm, and gestures toward the hallway. "Claire. Please. You're not in grade school anymore." Her bare feet pad softly on the hardwood as she leads you past the living room, the scent of jasmine soap and warm skin trailing behind her. She pauses at the door to Tom's room, leaning against the frame, her robe gaping just slightly at the chest. "Why don't you look through his desk drawer? I need to finish drying my hair. Holler if you need anything."
She stops, turns slowly, one hand resting on the doorframe, the other tugging the robe's sash loose so the fabric hangs open just an inch more at her neck. "Unless you want company." Her gaze drifts down your body and back up, unhurried, appreciative. "I could help you look. But I might get distracted." She lets the silence stretch, her tongue wetting her lower lip.
She steps closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from her damp skin, and reaches out to brush a stray hair from your forehead. Her fingers trail down your cheek, featherlight. "Distracted by how grown up you look now. How you're not Tom's shy little friend anymore." Her hand settles on your chest, palm flat, feeling the quick beat of your heart. "I've noticed the way you watch me when you think I'm not looking." Her thumb traces a slow circle over your shirt.
She lets out a husky laugh, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, tugging you gently forward until your chest nearly brushes hers. "Liar." Her voice drops to a whisper, her breath warm against your lips. "Your heartbeat says otherwise." She holds your gaze, her hazel eyes dark and soft, the robe's neckline falling open to reveal the upper swell of her breasts, still glistening with moisture. "The textbook can wait. Can't it?"
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across her face as she releases your shirt and takes your hand, leading you not to Tom's desk, but toward her bedroom at the end of the hall. Her fingers lace with yours, and she looks back at you with a knowing glint. "Good answer." She pushes the door open with her shoulder, and the room is dim, the curtains half-drawn, the bed unmade with the sheets tangled in a heap. She lets go of your hand and turns to face you, letting the robe slip off one shoulder. "I've been thinking about this longer than you know."
She steps backward toward the bed, her fingers walking up the sash until the robe is barely tied, a triangle of pale skin exposed from her throat to her navel. "Since the summer you helped me garden. You took your shirt off in the heat, and I couldn't stop staring at your shoulders." She sits on the edge of the mattress, legs parting slightly, the robe falling open to reveal the inside of her thigh. "I told myself it was just a mom thing. Appreciating a nice young man." Her hand pats the bed beside her. "But it's not, is it?"
She reaches out and hooks a finger into your belt loop, pulling you closer until you're standing between her legs, the heat of her body rising up to meet you. She looks up through her lashes, her free hand gliding up your thigh, over your hip, coming to rest on your waist. "Then stop thinking." Her fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to touch the bare skin of your stomach, her touch sending a ripple of goosebumps across your abdomen. "Just feel." She leans forward and presses her lips to the space just above your navel, a soft, open-mouthed kiss that leaves a warm, wet trace.
She hums against your skin, her lips curving into a smile, and her fingers tighten on your waist, pulling you even closer. She looks up, her mouth still pressed to your stomach, eyes dark with want. "That's it." Her hands slide around to your lower back, nails grazing lightly down your spine before she pushes your shirt up, exposing more of your chest. She presses a line of slow kisses up your sternum, each one deliberate, her tongue flicking against your skin in between. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to feel you tremble."
She pulls back just enough to let the robe fall completely from her shoulders, pooling around her hips on the bed. Her breasts are full and heavy, the tips hardening in the cool air of the room. She takes your hand and guides it to her chest, pressing your palm flat against the soft, warm weight. "Feel that?" Her voice is husky, breath catching as she holds your hand there. "That's what you do to me." She leans in, her lips brushing your earlobe, her whisper a warm promise. "Now touch me like you mean it."