Telling Lies Online

by Miranda MacLeod

  “Well, I might have done that, if I’d realized you were going to need an excuse.” Claire gave Jamie a coy look, experiencing a little thrill at her own boldness. It was as if the kiss yesterday had opened a flood gate of naughty impulses Claire never realized she’d had.

  Right now, she wanted to see exactly what she could make Jamie do, and figure out how that power was wielded. Like, she’d only just thought of kissing Jamie a second ago, and Jamie had kissed her. Did she make that happen somehow? Could she get her to do it again? Maybe a little less chastely this time? As if on cue, Jamie’s arms were around her, their bodies pressing close as their mouths tasted one another greedily. When they broke apart, Claire’s head was spinning.

  “Sorry,” Jamie said with a little grimace. “I shouldn’t have done that here, where Paul might walk by and see us.”

  Claire knew Jamie was trying to be considerate, but was shocked to realize that she didn’t even care who saw them, who might know. At this moment, all she really cared about was not stopping. She wanted Jamie’s hands touching her, her mouth devouring her. She wanted Jamie to stop being so careful with her and push her against the wall and…Claire swallowed, hard.

  Maybe it was a good thing that Jamie couldn’t really read her mind. This was all so new, and she wasn’t certain where her imagination was going to take her, or that she was altogether ready to go there. Seriously, Claire. Get a grip. You're in a child’s playroom!

  In the past, she’d only known about passion in the abstract. It had never flooded her senses before, never driven all thought from her mind. With the one guy she'd been with, she’d never really wanted to be touched. It was something she had put up with and hoped she might find more enjoyable eventually. She’d never had her skin tingle just to stand near someone before, or felt her body ache from the absence of contact. But that’s how it was with Jamie, ever since the kitchen yesterday. Even before that, if Claire were honest. Maybe from the very beginning, only she’d worked so hard to pretend not to notice.

  “I’m going to go help Paul clean up. Go upstairs and look on your bed when you get a chance.” Jamie added with a secretive smile. “I left something there for you.”

  “But, you already gave me a present this morning,” Claire protested. Jamie had given her a rare first edition of poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay. The poet's work was a little outside her usual nineteenth century tastes, but Claire looked forward to expanding her horizons. Receiving such a thoughtful gift from Jamie had been one more perfect moment.

  “Well, this is just something extra.” They had reached the stairs and Jamie paused halfway down. “I didn’t think you’d want to open a box of sexy lingerie in front of the children,” she said with a wink.

  Claire froze.

  “I’m just kidding, Claire,” Jamie added with a laugh. “Stop looking so terrified.”

  Claire let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and scurried up the stairs to her room, mortified. She had just discovered the limits of her new found bravado, and those horizons hadn’t expanded quite as far as she had thought. Surely Jamie doesn’t expect…fantasies were one thing, but Claire wasn’t ready to contemplate doing what a gift of lingerie suggested.

  Claire wasn't old fashioned about sex. She just rarely thought about it. It wasn't interesting. But for the past twenty-four hours, sex was about all she could think about. Every time she closed her eyes. Every time something brushed against her skin. It was like every inch of her body had woken up at once, ravenous, and only Jamie could satisfy the hunger. Claire's body burned for Jamie’s touch, but her brain wasn’t ready to give in so easily. If sex with Jamie was anything like kissing Jamie, Claire knew there would be no going back. The future she had always dreamed of would never look the same after that. Her experience with the family at the park had taught her that she might get a lot of what she wanted in a life with Jamie, but it wouldn’t be all. It wouldn’t be what had always mattered most. She would never be able to recreate the life her parents had lived and had taken away. That dream had been a part of her for too long to just walk away.

  Then there was the question of Jay. What do I do about Jay? True, it’d been weeks since they had written. They'd never even met. Could there even be any romantic expectations on Jay's part? Surely not, right? But Claire fretted nonetheless. She felt like she’d made Jay a promise and she hated to break her word. Of the many infuriating, yet mostly accurate, things she had overheard her sister say to Jamie on Thanksgiving, one troubled her more than any other. She couldn't accept that her relationship with Jay had been all in her mind.

  Whatever else, that initial spark had been real. That's why she felt so confused. There had been something there at the start. So where had it gone? Because, if she was honest, it didn't seem to be there any more. Perhaps the relationship had been more one-sided than she had realized. Or maybe it was a warning of her own fickle nature. Maybe she was the type to blow hot and cold, to be in love one minute and out the next. Maybe next week, the flame that burned inside her at the thought of Jamie would be just as dead as the spark she'd felt for Jay. And then where would she be? Perhaps it was better just to wait it out, assess the situation once the embers had cooled.

  Claire spied the package on her bed, wrapped in Christmas paper and tied with a bow. Even knowing Jamie had been joking, Claire recoiled, afraid to see what was inside. Still, she really did want to know what Jamie had gotten her, and eventually her curiosity won out. She picked up the package. It was not in a box, and flopped a little in her hands. Could be lingerie. She giggled nervously, then tore a corner of the paper and peeked inside, spotting a scrap of gray and red fabric. She brushed the tip of her finger along what was the softest thing she’d ever felt. She tore the paper away completely to reveal a long flannel nightgown.

  Claire laughed, suddenly understanding Jamie’s joke. Technically, this nightgown could be considered lingerie, but it was probably the least sexy thing in existence. Claire loved it. She held it up to her chest. It reached from neck to floor, with sleeves that buttoned at the wrists and a collar that closed snugly at the throat. Not an inch of her would be exposed to the cold winter air. This is exactly like the one I saw in that little store in New Hampshire, she realized with a start. How had Jamie known? She’d barely mentioned it at the time, and Jamie hadn’t even been paying attention. She was too busy flirting with that sales girl. A pang of jealousy shot through her at the memory.

  There was another reason to be terrified. Jamie was experienced. She’d had a lot of girlfriends, several she’d even lived with for a while, though none that had lasted very long. Jamie was the fickle one. What if this was just a fling for her, and in a few weeks she would move on? Or just a bit of a challenge to see if she could get a straight girl to fall for her.

  I might not even be the first. Jamie was so charming and funny and gorgeous that surely any woman couldn’t help but fall for her a little bit. It might not even mean I’m a lesbian, Claire realized. Maybe this is just what Jamie does to people, and it has nothing to do with me at all. How could Claire be certain? It’s not like she had enough experience with men or women to have any clue how this was supposed to work.

  Maybe I should just stick with Jay. Except eventually he’d return to Boston and she’d have to deal with him in person. Jay, whose model-like good looks made her so uncomfortable that she'd hidden his pictures in a drawer. How’s that going to work out? The more she thought about, the more she wondered if she should’ve ignored all of the signs and stayed in Portland from the start. Love is too confusing. I should stick to books. Where was a clear sign when you needed one? She clutched the nightgown to her chest, feeling muddled.

  Claire stood in front of her bedroom window, looking at the sea. The water was wild and churning, a perfect reflection of her agitated mind. The wind was whipping up the waves and making the tree branches flail and shake. Claire could feel the chill of the air coming through cracks around the wooden window sashes as they rattled in t
heir frames. She shivered. She would appreciate that flannel nightgown tonight. It was only late afternoon but the sky was dark with storm clouds so that it felt like night. As Claire watched, flakes of icy white snow began to swirl outside. A streetlight flickered a few times as it struggled to turn on against the dark. The sputtering, on and off, was a stark reminder that they could lose power at any moment in the coming storm. Claire's apprehension grew.

  19

  “Jamie?” Claire whispered tentatively in the darkness outside Jamie’s room. “Jamie, are you in there?” The rustling of blankets told her that she was, but the single candle in her hand did little to help her see. There were no lights in the house, nor out on the street. As far as Claire could tell, they’d lost power all up and down the coast. It was sometime in the middle of the night, but that was all she knew. Her cell phone had stopped charging and the battery was dead, so the power must’ve been out for a while. And with it, the heat. Claire’s room, with its large, drafty windows that faced the brunt of the storm, were glazed with thick ice and the space held all the warmth of a meat locker.

  “Jamie?” Claire’s voice was louder now, more desperate.

  “Claire?” Jamie responded, finally roused from her sleep. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

  “I don’t know, the power’s out. There’s ice everywhere and I’m freezing,” Claire whimpered.

  “Is that a candle you’re holding?” Jamie asked. “I put some of those votive candles you bought on top of the mantle over there. Why don’t you light a few so we can see?”

  “You have a fireplace? Can we get some logs from downstairs and start a fire to keep warm?”

  “Not if you don’t want to burn the whole house down. It’s not safe to use, but once you get the candles lit, you can warm up under the covers.”

  Claire nodded, lighting the last candle and setting the one she had brought in with her next to the others. When she crawled into bed next to Jamie, her body was shaking from the cold.

  Jamie wrapped her hands around Claire’s icy fingers. “My God, Claire. You really are freezing! Slide over closer so you can warm up. You can put your feet under my legs.” Jamie yelped when Claire took her up the offer. “Oh, geez, they’re cold.” She wrapped her arms around the still-shivering Claire and pulled her tightly against her, tucking her closely against her chest. “Are you okay?” she asked, almost as if Claire were a child. “Is it just the cold, or is the storm scaring you?”

  “It’s so loud,” Claire said finally with a sniff of her frozen nose. “I wasn't expecting that. Snow in Portland is really quiet. But the wind and the ice against my windows woke me up, and then I realized how dark it was and it freaked me out. I hope it’s okay that I came in here.”

  “Shhh,” Jamie soothed her. “Shhh. Of course it’s okay.” She ran one hand lightly along Claire’s back, caressing the woolly softness of her flannel gown. “Hey,” she said with a laugh, “you opened your present. Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” Claire said, smiling in the semi-darkness. “I saw one like it that day we went shopping in New Hampshire and really wanted it.”

  “I know, you little goose. When do you think I bought it?”

  “What, then? How did you get it out of there without me knowing?”

  “I didn't. I got the store’s number from the woman at the register and called them later to have it sent to me.”

  “Wait, that’s what the clerk handed you, the store’s number? I thought she was giving you her number.”

  Jamie laughed. “Oh you did, did you? Is that jealousy I detect in your voice, Miss Flores?”

  “It’s—no, I just—fine, maybe it is,” Claire sputtered.

  “Hmm, well. Jealousy's good.” Jamie kissed Claire’s forehead. “I'm not complaining.”

  Claire shifted her body at the feel of Jamie’s lips against her skin, the storm momentarily forgotten. She tilted her head to claim Jamie’s mouth with her own. They kissed deeply, their hands roaming more freely in the dark room than they had in the daylight. Claire’s back arched as Jamie’s palm connected with the swell of her breast, her fingers tracing circles around her hardening nipple through the layers of the flannel nightgown.

  Claire moaned in pleasure at the unfamiliar sensations Jamie’s touch elicited. “And here I thought I was going to be safe wearing this granny nightgown.”

  Jamie moved her hand away the next instant, holding it up like a barrier between them. Claire whimpered, missing the warmth of Jamie's touch. She grasped Jamie's fingers, guiding them back toward her breast.

  “Claire,” Jamie pleaded, pulling her hand back again. “You should go back to your own room. If we keep this up, I won't want to stop.”

  “Maybe I don’t want you to stop,” Claire whispered.

  “Claire, please. I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Claire answered firmly, and was startled to realize that it was true. The thought of ending up in bed with Jamie had terrified her just a few hours ago. She'd been so convinced her feeling would fade, or Jamie's would. So what had changed?

  “Claire, I don’t want you to stay just because you’re frightened from the storm.”

  Is that the only reason? Claire wondered. No. She was sure it was something more. She was filled with a confidence no storm could explain. She felt Jamie's fingers twisting the lace on the cuff of her nightgown. The nightgown, she realized. Jamie had made such an effort to get it. No one had ever done something like that for her before. And she'd done it at a point when there was no reason to think they would ever be more than friends. That simple gesture had convinced Claire that she was special. That she was loved. Even without speaking the words, she knew. Jamie loved her. That’s why everything felt so different now. Jamie loved her, and she loved Jamie. The realization filled her with both exhilaration and peace, more than she'd ever known was possible.

  “Jamie, I’m not scared.” She took Jamie’s hand and brushed the fingers against her lips. “I don’t want to stop, and I don’t want to be anywhere but here.” Claire turned Jamie's hand over and kissed the palm, then placed it back to where it had been atop her breast.

  No need for more encouragement, they came together in a flurry of limbs and lips that left them breathless and scrambling for air.

  “Do you still feel cold?” Jamie asked between gasps of breath.

  Claire giggled. “I think that might be the least of my concerns. If we keep this up, I'll burst into flames.”

  “Okay,” Jamie declared, raising up on her knees and draping the duvet on top of her head like a hood, “then I’m taking this.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “All I’ve got on is a pair of shorts and a sports bra. Meanwhile, you’re covered head to toe in flannel. It’s putting me at a disadvantage, in more ways than one.”

  “So you’re stealing the covers?” Claire pouted. “I'm rethinking going back to my room after all.”

  “You’ll get them back later. First, I’m going to do something about this nightgown.”

  “I thought you liked my nightgown.”

  “I just think I’d like it better if it were on the floor right now. Hold still.”

  Jamie scooted to the foot of the bed, leaving Claire on her back in the dim candlelight, desperately wondering what was coming.

  “Oh, look! I found toes under here,” she teased, grasping Claire’s feet. “Much warmer now, too. Good.”

  She pinched the edge of the flannel gown and raised it a few inches to expose Claire’s ankles. She caressed one with each hand, slowly massaging up to the calves and knees, inching the nightgown up as she went. Claire squirmed in anticipation as Jamie lowered her head, still covered by the duvet, and planted a gentle kiss on the inside of each knee. Desire building, Claire tried to slide her legs apart, but Jamie put one hand on the outside of each thigh beneath the flannel gown and held them firmly together.

  “I told you, hold still.”

  Her hands occupied, she wriggled the hem up as far as sh
e could manage with it clenched between her teeth.

  “Very creative of you,” Claire said, laughing.

  She could just make out the expression of Jamie’s face in the candles' glow, and her amusement changed to a tingle of anticipation at the intensity reflected there. She tried to imagine what Jamie had planned for her next, but her brain was already too overloaded to think. Her pulse raced as Jamie placed the tip of her tongue in the hollow between Claire’s knees and, with excruciating slowness, ran it along the cleft between her smooth thighs, stopping just short of the purple silk of her panties. Claire gulped down air in short gasps, clenching her fists in the sheet beneath her to keep still as Jamie had demanded.

  Jamie sat up on her knees and looked steadily into Claire’s eyes. “I’ll admit, I was half expecting granny panties to match gown.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  Jamie shimmied the gown most of the way up Claire’s back. She positioned herself on her knees astride, settling with gentle pressure atop Claire's pelvis and spreading the blanket over as much exposed flesh as she could to ward away the chill. Secure in her new vantage point, she flattened her palms on the smooth skin of Claire’s abdomen, pressing in slightly at the curve of her waist, and splaying her fingers to cup the swell of her hips. Readjusting her body, Jamie angled her head so that she could press a line of kisses from Claire’s navel to the little valley between her breasts.

  Instinctively, Claire stretched her arms above her head, allowing Jamie to liberate her from the inconvenience of clothing at last. The gray and red flannel gown landed in a heap on the floor beside the bed.

  “See?” Jamie said, pointing to the floor. “Look how nice it looks there.”

  “Funny,” Claire replied, glancing at the floor. “I never would've thought to try it on in the store that way.”

  “Well, now you know for next time.”

  Claire shivered, the skin of her newly bare arms turning to gooseflesh in the chilly night air.