Until You Feel At Home

Chapter Thirteen

She thought he might lean down and, maybe, kiss her? Touch her? She froze- ready and waiting. He backed away, like she was a dangerous animal about to pounce, and left her wanting. While he was in the kitchen, she grabbed a pillow from behind her back, buried her face in it, and belched so he wouldn't hear. She sat cross legged on the couch and lay the pillow flat on her lap, hoping it would block the signals the space between her legs was sending up to her brain.

He returned with two fresh bottles and handed her one. He sat down on the couch so close his thigh rubbed against her knees. She could feel his warmth through his slacks. "Do you have anyone waiting for you back in Boston?" He asked.

"Hmm?" She questioned, taking a swig from the bottle. "Like a boyfriend?"

"Yeah." He said. "Or a girlfriend."

She shook her head. "I was seeing someone for a while but it didn't work out."

"Who broke it off?" he was hardly asking. It sounded like he was demanding answers.

"I did. He still has feelings for me." She admitted, though she didn't know why she wasn't opposed to his line of questioning. "He texts me all the time, I never text back."

"Why did you end it?"

"We went through some hard times together. I didn't like how he handled it. He wanted me to be..." She trailed off, trying to find the words she wanted to use, "Something I'm not."

"And what is that?"

She sighed, feeling less willing to be vulnerable. "He wanted me to be all his. I wanted to be separate, but together. Does that make any sense?"

He nodded, and started tearing the label off his bottle. "I can't blame him." He looked up to her through his lashes, eyes several shades darker than usual.

"You want your girlfriends to be all yours?" She asked. He slowly nodded in agreement. She knew what he was saying. He wanted her to be all his. For the life of her, she couldn't find the strength to object. She wanted to be all his. She wanted to know what it felt like, abandoning reason and letting him do whatever he wished. She wanted to give herself to him in every sense she could think of. "It's been too long since I've been with someone." he whispered.

"Me too." She whispered back. "Brandon I want-"

"Stop." he ordered. His breath was ragged. "Whatever you're about to say, don't."

"But I-"

"Claire, I'm begging you." He shook his head, his cheeks were flushed. She was beginning to have an idea of what he looked like when he lost control. It was nothing but a tease. "If you say you want me I won't be able to control myself. And if you say you don't want me I wont be able to forgive myself, do you understand?" She nodded. "I hate my father for doing this to me. All he's ever done is given me a taste of what I can't have."

"Why can't you have me?" She asked, and it sounded like she was begging, too. In a way she was. She was disappointed.

"Because you're leaving." He said, matter of factly.

"So?"

"If I sleep with you I might fall for you. You have no clue what it would be like for me if I fall for you, just to never see you again. I've been in dark places before, Claire. I don't think I'll ever make it out again."

"You're thinking too hard, Brandon. And what about me?" She asked, moving even closer, letting the pillow fall to the floor and reveal her bare thighs. She knew half of her forwardness was a result of the alcohol going to her head. She'd had two drinks at the luncheon already and it didn't take much for her. She blocked out any caution. "You're going to give me a taste of something I can't have? You're going to let yourself be just like him?"