Clare and Present Danger Ch. 03

When you hear the car alarm down the block, you come to your senses. You stifle the desire to moan as Nick's mouth moves to your neck, his hands softening their grip. Realizing that he could easily overpower your resistance, you take a deep breath, and after going limp, you slide down the side of the car and out of his embrace. Before he realizes what has happened, you've begun running down the sidewalk toward your apartment.

You feel a rush of power as you flee, laughing loudly, imagining his dumbstruck impression at the car as he wonders what happened to you. You look over your shoulder, and feel a jolt of adrenaline as you see him chasing you. You look ahead and see the steps of your apartment just a few yards away.

"Take that Mr. Feminists-Need-to-get-Laid," you think, "I'm going to beat you."

You reach the steps, and as you climb, you fumble for the key. You can hear the rhythmic pace of his running getting closer and you imagine yourself a silly girl in a horror movie. You have a moment of fear, but it's the same kind of fear that you have watching horror movies—that surprisingly enjoyable pulse that makes you laugh. And that's what you do again. As you reach your key to the lock, you giggle with nervous pleasure. You're still laughing as you open the door.

It's not until you go to close it, and his foot slips in to prevent it, that your laughter stops. You feel just the tiniest frisson of real fear before you push it away. This is just an average college guy trying to get into a woman's pants. You've handled plenty like him before. So you move to the stairway several feet from the door, ponytail snapping again, and adopt a look that is a combination of boredom and derision.

"You just don't give up, do you?" you unconsciously taunt as he comes through the door into the anteroom.

"I thought all women liked to be chased," he says mockingly, leaning casually against the door.

"I imagine you get a lot of practice. I have a feeling women often run from you," you snap. You know why, but he makes you feel discomfited and prickly, like a cat whose fur has been rubbed the wrong way.

He only laughs, moving quickly from the door to stand in front of you. You unconsciously back toward the wall as he comes closer, your eyes snapping and sparkling and your cheeks rosy from the run. He gazes down noticing the hard beads of your nipples. He leans down, his lips by your ear saying, "You're not running now."

You stiffen, once again flustered and embarrassed, and he moves his lips to your neck again. You swallow a moan as he begins to kiss along that tender spot. He smells so good. His hands cover your breasts as he nibbles and sucks along your neck and shoulder. You feel his thumbs moving over and over your nipples. Then you do moan, and hear the soft tinkling sound of your keys hitting the floor.

His cool hands beneath your shirt surprise you. His mouth moves along your jawline toward your lips as one hand moves up your belly and along your ribcage. He deftly undoes the front clasp of your bra. His teeth nip at your lower lip, his right hand rubs over your breast, finding the nipple. His left hand slides around to your lower back, the fingers slipping past the waistband of your jeans.

You feel completely overwhelmed and surrounded by him. His tongue sliding into your mouth, his thumb flicking over and over your nipple, and one finger sliding down between the cheeks of your bottom. It wiggles in the little dip right above your tight puckered hole and there is a sudden rush of wetness between your thighs. You are panting and moaning and mewling with desire.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, places his thumb and forefinger around your nipple, and slides his other finger deeper. All at once he's sucking deeply on your tongue, pinching your nipple, and pressing his finger into the mouth of your little star. You gasp, unconsciously arching your back toward his finger. Your panties are soaking wet and all you can think about his how badly you want to cum.

He shifts his mouth again to your neck, biting softly as he pinches and presses. The first two digits of his finger are in you. You can't stop moaning. And then, he begins to retreat. First, pulling back the finger until he's just rubbing the tip over your still puckering hole. Then, he returns to simply rubbing over your nipple with his thumb as his lips slide again over your jaw and to your mouth. He softly kisses your lips as he removes his hands and straightens your shirt. He steps away, bending to retrieve your keys, but doesn't hand them to you. Instead, he places a hand at your elbow and begins to go up the stairs. You allow him to lead you up a few steps.

He arrogantly says, "You can give me a drink after that run. And show me your apartment."

You feel prickly again, but you can't tell if it's his arrogance or your own frustration. Irritated, but with a fast-beating heart, you grumble, "Fine. A glass of water. But then you leave."

He chuckles, knowing you don't mean a word of it.