Debate club was on Saturdays. St. Animus always made a good showing at regionals, and Mr. Green was in charge this year, determined to keep them in top shape.

Normally, she took the bus. Normally, she didn't have Jacob half-following her around and offering to do things for her. He was clearly determined to make up for any perceived deficit in affection, because as days rolled by, she kept finding little gifts sitting around. A chocolate bar in her bag. A new set of pencils with little cats on them left on her bed. Cups of hot cocoa at her desk when she came back from practice.

It was lovely.

So, she took him up on his offer to drive her to debate, snuggling happily against his back for the ride.

Practice ran a bit later than usual. Everyone else had mostly left when Mr. Green asked her to stay behind. "Your content is excellent, but we need to talk about your presentation." He gestured to the stage.

When she walked to the podium, he followed her, putting her notes against the stand.

As she stood, she could feel him standing very close behind her, breath almost on her neck. He reached around and put his hands on her forearms. "Place your arms like so, not at your sides." She felt a palm trace her back, coaxing her to straighten. "Hold your shoulders steady."

There was a creak and she saw Jacob slide in the door at the far side of the room, clearly looking to see why she wasn't coming out when everyone was leaving.

Mr. Green didn't seem to have noticed. He stepped around to her side and put his hand to her chin, encouraging her to lift it. "Look slightly over the crowd when you're speaking." His hand lingered just a little bit too long for comfort, just a touch too warm against her skin-

There was a pointed cough from the back of the room. Even from a distance, Jacob looked murderous.

Turning quickly, Mr. Green dropped his hand. "That'll be all, Miss Frye."

The park was pleasant, a rare and sunny fall day making the colours of the leaves brilliant. Jacob was tucked into his new scarf, a fluffy knitted green thing that had mysteriously appeared in front of his bedroom door last night. Evie had beamed when he wore it down to breakfast.

He liked it here and he liked being here with her, though he would've liked even it better if he could've held her hand. Instead, they sat on a bench and ate ice creams, Evie perching sideways and huddling into her big sweater. Halfway through her cone, she made a face. "Why did I let you talk me into ice cream if I'm cold?"

"Search me. You're always cold."

He wished he could lean over and press a frozen kiss to her lips. Oh well, maybe later.

He crumpled the wrapper and stuffed it in his pocket. "Who was that guy on the stage with you?" It had been jarring to walk in and see a man standing over her, far, far too close, the gesture eerily reminiscent of a lover's slow embrace. He'd had to resist the urge to sprint up and shove the stranger away from her. And give him a solid kick in the gut for good measure.

She gave her cone a delicate lick that made his brain do funny things. "That's just Mr. Green. He runs the debate team. He also teaches my English Lit."

"Don't like him," he muttered. "Don't like the way he was looking at you."

She laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. He's a teacher. Well, trainee, but still."

A teacher who stared at her like she was a feast that he desperately wanted to eat. "Just don't want anyone else touching you, is all."

For a moment, she twisted around and pressed her head to his shoulder, a comforting gesture. But just as quickly, she had to move away; there was the risk that they might be seen by someone they knew, and they just couldn't chance it. Going home wouldn't help, because Father was off for the weekend.

The wind was brisk, even if the sun was warm, and he watched as she huddled deeper into her sweater. "I'm sure loads of girls hit on you at your school, anyway."

"It happens," he conceded. He'd known most of those girls since primary, so they didn't tend to make many attempts, but every now and then he'd get an awkward proposition. Especially once puberty hit. "Doesn't do much, though."

"Really?"

"Of course, because I'm blatantly not interested." He leaned closer and grinned. "I've got something much better." He swiped a finger into her ice cream, leaning back and popping it into his mouth as she protested with a laugh.

They fell into something of a routine. Jacob would meet her after school and they would race back to make use of the time before Father got home, fumbling and kissing until they both had bruised lips and aching bodies.

The problem was that she was often busy. There was ballet, Latin club, debate, field hockey, and her tutoring job besides; he wasn't exactly free either, between boxing training and mowing lawns on weekends and friends that were beginning to get suspicious.

Sometimes, it got hard to wait.

They were on a fourth brutal day of missed opportunities when her mobile buzzed near the end of her lunch. Lucy and Pearl were in a heated discussion about the relative merits of Oxford and Cambridge, so she politely excused herself and took the call in the hallway.

"Hello?"

"Evie." The words were almost a sigh, Jacob's voice quiet. "Are you busy?"

She smiled into her phone. "Not too busy for you."

"Are you somewhere private?" His tone was… Hungry, almost, and she had to squeeze her legs to try and tamp down a physical response. If only they could find more time to be alone.

She glanced down the hallway. "No, not really."

"Can you go somewhere private?"

Biting her lip, she thought of the various nooks and crannies around the school. "Why?"

He chuckled. "I think you know why."

Her knees felt a bit weak at the thought. Common sense dictated that this was a bad idea, but she wasn't really thinking with her brain. "I think chapel is empty at this hour."

"Kinky. I like it."

She set out down the hallway, dodging students and winding her way towards the older part of the building. "Are you alone?"

There was a sigh. "Barton isn't as big or as nice as your fancy-ass school, remember? No, I'm in the corner of the yard." He chuckled again. "Chapel. I'd be lucky to find a broom closet where someone isn't snogging already."

She pushed the old wooden doors open, poking her head into the room. Light played across the tile floor from the stained glass windows, dust twinkling in the air. As she'd expected, it was quiet as the grave, the enclosed space usually empty outside of choir and services. "I was right, there's no one here."

"Excellent. Get comfortable."

She slid into one of the pews in the back row, out of the view of the door, most of her body obscured by the rows of wood. "I really miss you."

The breath that he took was shuddering and long. "I miss you too. Are you-"

"Wait," she interrupted. "When you say you're in the yard-"

"Relax, I'm miles from anyone. Won't be overheard."

"Right." She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the row in front of her, willing the coolness of the wood to seep into her and ease her burning skin, to calm her thumping heart.

He sighed. "I wish I was with you."

"I wish it too."

"But, I'm not, so you're going to have to pretend your hands are mine."

She closed her eyes and tried to keep her voice even. "I can do that."

His voice slipped into a low and modulated tone, one that caressed up her spine like skimming fingers. "What do you normally do when you're alone?"

Pushing off to the edge of the pew, she steadied herself. "Well, uh…" She was getting better at slipping into telling him things, but there was always that first rush of embarrassment, that hurdle to clear before she could really comply. "I just… Use my hand, focus on the outside…"

"Start with that," he said instantly. "Go on."

"Hang on," she mumbled, "I'll pull down the kneeler, that'll make this easier."

"A kneeler. You're kneeling in a chapel, and about to touch yourself for me." He made a strangled noise. "That is the hottest fucking thing, it isn't even fair."

She giggled a little, the sound turning a bit breathy as she pushed down onto the padded wood and slid her hand up her skirt, pressing her hand to the junction of her thighs.

He made an appreciative hum. "Is your hand over or under your knickers?"

"Over," she sighed, starting to rock a bit back and forth on her knees as she swirled her fingertips. She was used to being in bed, on her back, but this new position was still pleasant. The risk certainly didn't hurt in terms of heightening the sensation, either.

He snapped his tongue. "You're supposed to be me, remember? I'm not patient enough for that. Under."

God, his voice did things to her, made her want to curl right out of her skin. She let herself moan a little louder than usual as she slipped under the fabric, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the sound. "Oh, Jacob…"

"Such a good girl," he whispered, "are you wet for me?"

She slid her fingers down and found that she was embarrassingly ready. "I am," she managed, whispering back in the slightly echoing space.

"Good. Use a finger there."

"But…" She hesitated, uncertain. That was foreign territory, something she didn't generally bother with. "I really don't ever-"

"Finger. Now."

Ugh, that voice. With a shuddering breath, she clamped her eyes shut and pushed her middle digit in, thighs quivering at the unfamiliar movement. Air rushed from her lungs as she pressed, and she could hear a pleased but quiet groan on the other side of the phone.

"Now," he said quietly, "move your hand for me. Imagine me there. That it's me in your pretty cunt."

Her stomach dropped through the floor at the words, so filthy and wrong and oh so right. She began to buck, head pressed to the pew in front of her, spine bowed. "Jacob- Jacob-"

"Is it enough?"

As if it could ever be enough without him near. "No."

"Add another finger. Grind against your palm."

It slid in easily, giving that little bit more friction that pushed her towards release. If she closed her eyes tightly and really tried to imagine, it almost could've been him.

"If I were there, I'd flip you over a pew and finger you until you were screaming, you have no idea."

"Oh God," she managed, words hitching with a little sob. "It feels so good-"

"Add another."

Her mind was spinning through a fog of lust, so much that she almost thought she'd misheard him. "What?"

"Another finger. Your fingers are slimmer than mine, and I need you to feel full."

"I can't," she breathed, still bucking, still climbing.

"You will. Now, Evie."

"I can't-"

"Do it."

It was stretching, deliciously too much, three fingers slick with her own wetness, hips almost moving of their own accord. She was close, so close, each grind against her palm another spark next to kindling, a promise whispered in the dark-

"Are you going to come?"

She could distantly tell that she was babbling, but it was beyond her to stop. "I'm so close so so close I need to- oh god so-"

"Good," he said, voice suddenly severe. "Now, stop."

"What?" The word was a sob, no longer restrained.

"Be a good girl. Stop for me."

There was no way. She couldn't, not now, not with heaven so close. Not even for him. "I can't- stop-"

His voice was a growl. "You'd better. Or else."

"I- I'm-"

The die was already cast; it was too late, the orgasm rushing on her, making her keen through closed lips and crumple against her own body as it rocked through her from head to toe. She was so full and raw and not sated all at once; she needed him here, needed him. It simply wasn't as good on her own, no matter how she tried to pretend. "I'm sorry," she managed when she could breathe again, blinking stars out of her eyes, slowly coming back to earth, aching from the feeling of somehow only wanting more.

"Oh, Evie," he rumbled, the sound pleased and dark all at once. "You are in so much trouble when I get you alone."

The line went dead and she was left shaking, thighs sticky and knees getting sore against the scratchy cushions, panting into the cool silence.