“God, it’s high school all over again,” Delilah said, but she was smiling. She managed to get to her knees, then her feet, pulling Claire up with her. “Okay, let’s take this slowly.”
“Good idea.”
And so they did. Delilah held Claire’s hand, and they pushed themselves along the floor, picking up speed after one time around the rink. It was a bit like riding a bike, muscle memory kicking in, and soon they were flying over the lacquered wood, air-conditioned wind in their hair while Whitney Houston sang about feeling the heat with somebody. Skating was so simple, even silly, but as Claire squeezed Delilah’s fingers, laughed when Delilah tried to skate backward and landed on her butt again, kissed her quickly after helping her up, Delilah couldn’t think of a time she’d ever felt like this.
Not with Jax. Not with anyone.
In the back of her mind, Delilah knew this wasn’t a good thing. She knew this whole deal with Claire was based on the fact that it would end. She knew, and yet, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her mouth to Claire’s temple as they stood in line for soda and pizza. She couldn’t stop her smile from crinkling up her eyes when Claire tucked an errant curl behind Delilah’s ear. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining a whole life, so different from the one she’d already made for herself hundreds of miles away.
* * *
THEY DIDN’T TALK the entire drive back to Bright Falls. They didn’t talk when they pulled into Claire’s driveway, or when Delilah flipped up her ridiculous umbrella and put her arm around Claire’s shoulders, shielding her from the rain as they ran up the front walk.
They didn’t talk as Claire unlocked her door and let them into the dark house, both of their shirts spotted with water. Claire didn’t turn on any lights or offer Delilah a drink. She simply took Delilah’s hand and led her to the bedroom. There, Claire undressed her, slowly and with this serious look on her face that made Delilah’s throat go thick. Claire’s fingers shook, and Delilah grabbed her hand, pressed her mouth to Claire’s palm. Claire inhaled a ragged breath, but still, neither woman spoke. The room was dark, the only sound their breathing, cotton sliding over skin and puddling on the ground.
Claire pushed on Delilah’s sternum, directing her to lie back on the bed. As Delilah obeyed, she kept trying to think of something to say, to laugh about, but none of this felt funny. It didn’t feel desperate or like a distraction or something they both needed to relieve some stress. It didn’t feel like a spillover of pent-up lust.
It felt like it was on purpose.
Claire pressed her mouth to Delilah’s, their tongues touching in a slow, silky dance. They’d stayed like that for a while, just making out soft and easy. When Claire began to glide south, pressing kisses to Delilah’s neck, between her breasts, just below her navel, Delilah watched her, hands trailing over any part of Claire’s skin she could reach. Need thrummed through her body, not just between her thighs, but everywhere. Her gut, the middle of her chest. It knocked the wind out of her, and Delilah never wanted this to end.
“Wait,” she said when Claire parted her legs and started to settle between them. She pulled on Claire’s arms, guiding Claire’s body north again until they were face-to-face. “I want to see you.”
Claire pressed her forehead to Delilah’s, kissed her slowly, then adjusted her body so their legs were entwined like pretzels, thighs pressing against each other’s centers.
Delilah gasped at the contact. The wet slide of the other woman’s skin against hers was almost too much to bear. It was hot and intimate, wild and safe all at once. Delilah rolled her hips, and Claire rolled back, a dance that pulled a moan from Delilah’s throat. Claire released a sort of animal sound as Delilah gripped her ass, guiding her up and down and in circles, the press of their centers intense and perfect. Delilah’s belly tightened, her clit aching as it slid against Claire’s thigh. She sort of wanted to slow down, taste Claire, feel the heat between her legs with her fingers, but she reminded herself that they had time.
They had all night.
Claire arched her back, lifting her torso up a little so that her thigh pressed even harder right where Delilah needed it. She felt her orgasm building as Claire increased her movements, ran her thumb over Delilah’s tight nipple. Still, neither woman hurried. Even as Delilah’s physical need for release reached a desperate pitch, her veins felt honeyed. Delilah was wrong. She wasn’t fucking Claire. They weren’t fucking at all. This was something else altogether, though she wasn’t sure what. All she knew was that as Claire’s body responded to her touch, the other woman’s breath quickening, her center pushing against Delilah’s for relief, their gazes never left each other.