His other hand is on my thigh. It slides up and I lean my forehead against his, my hips rolling automatically, my own body out of my control.
He skims a thumb along my panties, right over my clit, my swollen lips, nothing but a single layer of thin cotton separating us, and I gasp. There’s a hitch in Daniel’s breathing, and then he does it again, this touch slower, more deliberate.
“That much, Charlie?” he murmurs. I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked straight through, and all I can do is nod and then he’s kissing me again, pulling me in, his thumb tripping over my clit, moving to one side, swiping under the fabric and suddenly there’s nothing at all between us.
I grab his hair. I make a noise into his mouth, a single note of a moan, and he answers me with another low rumble. I’m a ticking time bomb. I’m a powder keg. Primed, ready, dangerous, about to alter myself and everything around me when I explode.
This is the cliff’s edge: this touch, this moment, this heady rush of skin to skin.
“Daniel,” I finally whisper. “We can’t undo this.”
His hand stops moving.
“Do you want to?” he asks.
I’m still over him, the porch light off, everything draped in the blue-black of night. It feels like we’re wearing a cloak, like we’re alone in this world of our making.
“No,” I say. “But I just—”
I take a deep breath. I have no idea how to say what I’m about to say. I just know I need to say it.
“—this will change things,” I say in a rush.
“I know,” he says, his voice low, soft, steady.
“Before, the one time we kissed, I could forget that,” I say, the words still spilling out of me. “But this is more—”
“I didn’t forget it,” he says.
“I didn’t forget it forget it,” I say. “I moved on. Life moved and I pretended it didn’t happen and after a while everything was fine, it was better than fine, but I can’t forget again.”
“I don’t want to forget anything,” he says. “I’ve got no intention of forgetting this, or of undoing it, or of letting this slip through my fingers again.”
“You had a good excuse,” I say, mostly teasing.
“I want to change us,” he murmurs. “I know there’s no taking it back and I want this anyway, Charlie.”
We kiss again. I think I’m trembling, a seismic shift somewhere deep inside my core.
“I want this too,” I whisper, and I kiss him, a kiss that turns into a full-body plea, Daniel’s hands on me. He moves me to one side, tangled in my legs, until I’m on my back on the wicker couch and he’s on top of me, skirt hiked around my hips as I tug it down on one side because despite everything I know that Rusty’s in the house, and I know she cannot learn about the birds and the bees from witnessing us.
Finally, Daniel rises, holding himself up against the arm rest, his powerful arm stretched over my head.
“Come on,” he says, and stands up, holds out one hand.
I take it, rise, my skirt falling back to my knees.
“Where are we going?” I ask, still breathless.
“My bedroom,” he says, hand on my back, pushing me toward the house.
I stop, stiffen, look at him.
“The door locks,” he says, opening the sliding screen door.
“She won’t hear us?”
“Not if you’re quiet,” he says, one eyebrow raised.
Now we’re in the kitchen, and he kisses me, up against the counter.
“Is that legal?” I ask, but Daniel just laughs, pushes a hand up my skirt.
“It’s safer than the kitchen, that’s for sure,” he says. “If we fuck in my bedroom she at least has to knock. And don’t you dare say ‘language’ right now, Charlie. We’re clearly having a very adult moment.”
I laugh as I kiss him, even as he snaps the elastic of my panties against my hip and makes me gasp.
“I would never,” I protest between kisses.
“You would and you have,” he teases, and now both hands are under my skirt, the hem going higher and higher. I’ve got one hand under his shirt again and I slide it down until I find the hard ridge of his cock, and I squeeze.
Daniel groans, both hands closing around the flesh of my upper thighs, pushing me so hard against the counter that I’m sure it’ll leave a bruise. Not that I care.
“I wouldn’t when you’ve got both your hands up my skirt in your mom’s kitchen,” I manage to say against his ragged breathing.
He just presses against me harder, leaning me back over the counter until my head hits the cabinets and he presses his lips to my neck, his beard tickling me. Another noise escapes me, and I clench my teeth together, trying to control myself.
Be quiet be quiet be quiet.