Page 31 of Nutcracker with Benefits
“Harder,” I say. I want a mark I’ll see for the next few days, something that’ll catch my eye in the mirror and remind me that I had her here.
Clara’s teeth dig in, and I wince until she lets go, the blood rushing back to the spot where her teeth were. She shifts again. “Nash.” It’s a warning.
My hands glide down her back and cup her butt, grabbing and squeezing. “Clara, I’m coming.”
Her muscles under my hand flex and then we’re both pulsing, hips twisting and trying to stretch it out as long as we can. Clara bites me again, gentler this time, and moans against my skin.
In the aftermath, Clara draws her legs up, pressing her knees against my sides. I soften inside of her until we make a mess on my abs and Clara sighs dramatically.
“All right, I guess I need to get up and get going.”
There’s so much resignation in her voice, it gets my hopes up. “You could stay, you know. As long as you want.”
Clara pulls herself upright, carefully swinging her leg to dismount, and uses a tissue to wipe between her legs. “I can’t. Flight’s at four.”
Before I can answer, she walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I grab my own tissue and clean up. We take turns showering and then dress. I get distracted watching Clara shimmy into her yoga pants and sports bra. She throws a light-weight, long-sleeve shirt over it, her usual airplane outfit, which makes my heart clench.
Soon, we’re out in the kitchen, and I start cooking breakfast. Clara sits on the counter—completely in the way—while I cook.
We joke and laugh until a buzz sounds from my doorbell. Clara and I glance at each other.
“Who could that be?” she asks.
I stride over to the intercom, pressing the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Darwish, Fritz Cohen is here to see you.”
I throw a glance over my shoulder at Clara.
What is my brother doing here? She mouths.
“You know he can’t hear you, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Nash! Seriously, what is he doing here?”
“I have no idea. He’s never been here before.” I press the button again. “Let him up,” I say to the doorman.
Clara crosses her arms over her chest. “My dads know, and now Fritz is going to find out.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
Clara’s eyes go soft at my tone. “It’s not, but I liked having you all to myself.”
“It’s been nearly a decade, Clara.” I take a deep breath, reining in my patience. A knock comes from the door. “You ready?” I ask.
“As ever,” she responds, and her resignation makes me grind my jaw.
I open the door, and Fritz hits me with a punch in the face.
12
Clara
“Nash!” I scream. He falls back, landing on the ground with a hard oomph.
“Motherfu—” Fritz starts, shaking his hand and curling his body around it, his face etched in pain.
