Chapter 23: The Terrace

On Friday night the house on Ocean Drive was quiet in a way it had never been.

The housekeeper had gone to her sister's.

The cat had gone with her.

There was no one at the window, no one in the hall, and no phone in my hand that might light up with a Preston.

Nathaniel found me on the terrace with a blanket around my shoulders, looking at the dark water.

"Come inside," he said.

"In a minute."

"It's cold."

"Then warm me up out here."

He looked at me for a moment.

Then he sat on the stone bench behind me, put his arms around my waist, and pulled me back against his chest.

"Tomorrow is Saturday," he said into my hair.

"I know. I've been counting too."

I felt him laugh.

His mouth found the side of my neck.

I turned my head, and he kissed me, slow and deep, and the blanket slid off my shoulders onto the stone.

His hand slid under my sweater and found my breast.

I made a small sound.

"No audience," he murmured. "No door. No terms."

"Only the sea."

"The sea doesn't count."

I turned in his arms and straddled his lap on the bench.

I pulled his shirt open.

I put my mouth on his throat, then his collarbone, then the scar on his ribs, and he groaned.

"Claire."

"I know."

His fingers dug into my hips, and I felt his cock rise hard against me through his trousers.

I ground down on it, slowly, and he threw his head back against the wall.

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