The Girl Next Door Ch 02 13

Chapter 2: Claire in the Cardigan

Nick was still hard when he woke up.

Amber had vanished--no text, no goodbye, no wet footprints. Just a single red hair on the couch and a scent that haunted the house. The storm had passed, but a quiet tension clung to everything, like the walls knew what he'd done.

He tried to shake it. Showered. Made eggs. Pretended life was normal.

But when the knock came again--same time, same rhythm--his stomach flipped.

He opened the door.

There stood Claire.

Or someone who looked exactly like her--eighteen years old, maybe, brunette, soft curls tucked into a thick cream-colored cardigan. A floral sundress peeked out underneath, just long enough to be decent. She held a book tight to her chest, her eyes wide, lips slightly parted like she'd rehearsed something to say and forgotten it.

"Moved in next door. I, um... I saw your mailbox was open yesterday and I thought maybe..."

She trailed off.

Nick didn't speak.

Claire Ashwood.

She'd tutored him in high school. Smartest girl in their year. Brown eyes you could sink into. Everyone thought she was a good girl--and maybe she was--but Nick had always seen the hunger behind those glasses. They'd never hooked up, but she was the first girl he'd ever truly fantasized about. He used to jerk off to the way she chewed her pencil in study hall.

He remembered sitting in her bedroom while she explained Wuthering Heights, wearing short shorts and a hoodie two sizes too big. He remembered the heat of her thigh next to his. How he'd left that night so hard he had to jerk off in the back seat of his car in the driveway.

And now--she was here. Same face. Same name. Eighteen. And she didn't recognize him at all.

"Oh my God," she said suddenly. "I'm so sorry. You probably think I'm crazy showing up like this--"

"No," Nick said quickly. "Come in."

She smiled, relieved, and stepped inside.

Her legs were bare. Her thighs thick and soft. Nick couldn't stop staring at the shape of her under that cardigan.

She noticed. And blushed.

Claire sat down on the edge of the couch, knees together, book still hugged to her chest.

"I didn't mean to bother you," she said. "I'm just trying to be neighborly, I guess."

Nick stayed standing. Watching her. His cock already hard.

"You're not bothering me," he said. "Not even a little."

Her eyes flicked up. "You're married, right?"

He hesitated. "She's not here."

Claire nodded slowly.

Then she tilted her head. "Can I ask you something kind of... weird?"

"Sure."

"Do you ever feel like you've met someone before? Like... really met them, but they don't remember you?"

Nick's heart stopped.

"Yes," he said.

She smiled shyly. "That's how I feel right now."

She stood, walked over, and reached up to touch his face. Her fingers were warm.

"I don't know why I feel like I know you," she whispered. "But I want to."

Nick swallowed hard. "Claire--"

Her lips were on his before he could finish.

She kissed like she'd been waiting her whole life. Soft and slow, then urgent, her body pressing into his as her book fell to the floor. Her hands slid under his shirt. His fingers tangled in her curls. She moaned into his mouth as he guided her gently down to the rug.

He undressed her slowly.

The cardigan dropped first. Then the sundress slipped over her head, revealing lacy white panties and a sheer bra underneath--like she'd worn them for someone.

She blushed when he stared.

"I... don't normally do this," she whispered.

"I don't either."

She giggled. "Liar."

Nick kissed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She gasped as he slid the bra down, exposing perfect soft breasts, nipples flushed and aching.

"I used to dream about this," he murmured.

Claire blinked. "You did?"

He didn't answer. Just slid her panties down and buried his face between her thighs.

She cried out--shy, shocked, overwhelmed--as he sucked her clit and tongued her slowly open. Her legs clamped around his head, her hands clawed the rug.

Then he was inside her.

She gasped. "Oh my God--oh my God--"

Nick thrust deep, slow at first, then faster as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, legs locked around his waist, lips biting his shoulder as she came hard against him

"I shouldn't be doing this," she moaned. "But I can't stop--I don't want to stop--"

They fucked on the rug. On the stairs. In the upstairs hallway with her braced against the wall, her face buried in his neck.

When she finally collapsed beside him, sweaty and gasping, she looked at him with a dreamy smile.

"I still feel like I've known you before," she said softly.

Then she kissed him one last time and left through the back door.

The next morning, Nick found her book on the floor.

It was Wuthering Heights.

His old high school copy. His name written in the inside cover.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he picked it up, turned to the first page...

...and saw Claire's lipstick print on the margin beside his favorite quote.