Carpe Corpus

They slid off the couch together, hand in hand, and he led her up the stairs, looking back at her in warm glances, stopping every few steps to kiss her. By the time they made it to the top, she was tingling and shaking all over.

Shane pointed questioningly at his own door, but she shook her head. Her room was bigger, and it was at the end of the hall. More private.

He pulled in a quick, shaking breath. “Five minutes,” he said. “I need a shower.”

She nodded, although somehow being parted from him made it feel risky. They could change their minds at any second.

She opened her bedroom door as Shane went into the bathroom.

It hadn’t occurred to Claire, but she supposed that Eve could have turned her former bedroom into anything—a Goth wardrobe warehouse, for instance, filled with skull- themed outfits. Or storage for her growing collection of vampire-slaying implements. Instead, the room was just the way Claire had left it—neat, kind of sterile, no trace of her own stuff left behind. There was a layer of dust on the sparse furniture, and the air felt cold for a few seconds, then began to warm up, as if the house sensed her presence and was eager to make her welcome again.

The big, soft bed still had sheets and layers of blankets and comforters.

She closed and sat down on the bed. Her hands were cold and shaking, and now that Shane wasn’t here, she felt sense trying to knock itself back into her head.

No, she thought stubbornly. No, not this time.

It was less than five minutes before he came in, hair damp around his face, beads of water on his skin and dampening his shirt.

He leaned against the door after closing it, watching her.

“So,” he said. “Maybe I should just—”

“Shut up, Shane,” she said, and went to kiss him for a long, warm, lingering moment.

Then she reached behind him and locked the door. Just her and Shane, no friends banging on the door, no family ready to drag them apart. Not even a single vampire hiding in the shadows to spoil things.

For once, nothing to make either of them change their minds.

“Don’t you dare ask me again if I’m sure,” Claire said, and raised the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it off. The cold air glided over her flushed skin and made her shiver. She knew she was blushing, and she couldn’t stop trembling, but that was all right, somehow. As she dropped the shirt to the floor, she thought, He’s seen me like this before. It’s okay.

Shane sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her with absolute concentration. She toed off her shoes, stripped away her socks, unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped them, and kicked them off into the same pile.

He’s seen me like this before, too.

She reached behind her for the clasp of her bra. But not like this.

“Wait,” he said, and pulled his own shirt off. Beneath it, his skin was paler than she remembered, his muscles more defined underneath. “I just want to keep it even.”

She swallowed a nervous laugh. “Then you have to get rid of the pants.”

Shane gri

“I am so glad you didn’t say that before. Oh, and don’t say that to my parents, ever.”

Shane’s pants hit the floor, along with his shoes and socks. Claire’s gaze skimmed over him, and she felt dizzy at the sight of so much exposed skin.

“Come over here,” he said. “It’s cold.”

He folded back the covers and slid in. She followed, feeling awkward and made of angles that didn’t quite seem to know how to fit together.

Lying beside him felt strange and, at the same time, completely right. They lay inches apart, turned toward each other on their sides. Yearning, and not touching.

Shane lost his smile for a second. “You can tell me to stop anytime. Always.”

“I know.”

“I won’t be angry about that.”

“Shane—”

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you something.”

“What?”

He reached out and touched the back of his hand to her face. “I love you.”

Somehow, she managed not to cry, although she knew he’d see the glitter of tears in her eyes. “You said it first this time.”

He looked relieved. “Yeah. Finally, huh?”

“Finally,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”

His arms pulled her against him, and she felt small and breathless and utterly secure. It was just a hug, a hug like all the other hugs . . . but it was different, too.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, and she felt his fingers press on her back. Oh—he was working the hooks on her bra. He’d had practice, some part of her noticed; the rest was too busy screaming in utter joy.

Then she wasn’t able to think about much at all.

It wasn’t like in the movies. In the movies, it was all graceful, pretty people and hot camera angles; in real life, it was a weird mix of tremendously exciting and totally awkward. Shane still had condoms in the wallet that he retrieved from his jeans. That was something they never showed in the movies (at least the ones Claire watched). He was kind of embarrassed about it, too. It made it feel real to her—a lot more real than all her old fantasies.

Shane asked a lot of questions, which felt odd at first, but then she realized that he was nervous, just as nervous as she was, and that was all right. He wanted to make her happy.

He did make her happy.

Despite what Eve had told her, the pain still came as a shock, leaping in an electric current through her entire body. If Shane hadn’t held her and helped her through it, Claire didn’t know how she would have felt about it later . . . but he did, and it got better.

And then it was all right.

And then it was amazing. She cried a little, and she didn’t even know why, except that the emotions were just too big for her. Too overwhelming.

“It’s different,” Claire whispered to him in the dark, as they lay there wrapped up together, warm and content. “It’s different from what I thought.”

“Different how?” He sounded suddenly worried. Claire kissed him.

“Good different. Different like it means something. Like right now—it doesn’t feel like we’re naked at all, does it?” She didn’t know why she said that, but it was true; she didn’t feel exposed with him. Just . . . accepted. “I’m not afraid with you. You know what I mean?”

He made a lazy uh-huh sound that meant he might possibly not be listening. “So it was okay.”

“Okay?” She rose up on one elbow to look down on him. “Is this you fishing for compliments on your hotness?”

“Why? Did I catch one?”

“Idiot.” She flopped back down and cuddled up against him. His hand caressed the small of her back in tiny circles. “I won’t lie to you: that was intense. And it hurt. But . . . yeah. It was . . . amazing.”

“I hate that it hurt,” he said. “Next time—”

“I know. It wasn’t so bad, though. Don’t worry.” The warm cushion of his arm under her head felt like the best pillow in the world. “I feel different. Do I look different?”

Shane brushed hair back from her face. “It’s pretty dark in here, but yeah, I can see it.”

She felt her eyes widen. “You can?”

“Sure.” He traced a finger over her forehead. “Claire is not a virgin. Says so right there.”

She felt her cheeks and forehead heat up, and smacked his arm. “You are awful.”

“Ah, the truth comes out.”

“Seriously. I just feel . . . I do feel different. I feel like I’m someone else than I was before. You know?”

“Yeah,” he said somberly. “I know. But I feel like that every day I wake up in Morganville.”

She kissed him, and tasted the sadness in him. His sigh seemed to come all the way from his toes. “God, I needed you,” he murmured. “I can’t even tell you how many times I thought about this. The fu