by Trisha Wolfe
“My behavior was wrong before, when I grabbed you,” he says, as he pulls his head back. His hand skims my arm, trailing down to my hand. I flinch as he draws it up, worried about him noticing the cuts, but he lays a gentle kiss to the inside of my wrist. “But here’s the thing. I don’t know what it is, but I know you’re hiding something. You’re like a ghost, with no online presence at all. That’s a hard thing to accomplish.”
Fear coils around my spine. “Are you trying to…blackmail me?”
He chuckles. “Is there something to blackmail?”
I shiver. “No, Carter. I told you before, you have to stop looking—”
“Want me to stop? Make me.”
The dare in his eyes is lethal. I could make this stop. I could make this all go away—but the temptation to assert control over him is too strong. Something I never had with Jeremy.
A way to relive the past. Rewrite the future.
When I don’t respond, he dips his head so close, my breath stutters. “You want me to find out all your dirty secrets.”
I should feel some smolder of indignation well up within me, but I’d be a hypocrite if I tried to claim otherwise. If he let go right now, I’d yearn for his touch. I’m desperate for him to keep holding me, despite what my head is screaming.
I lick my lips. “Maybe just one,” I say.
He touches my face softly this time, his coarse fingers abrasive and electric against my skin.
“I saw how you looked at me,” he says. “That first second in your office, I saw it. It took all my willpower not to shove that fucking desk out of my way and take you right there. I’ve never seen a girl look at me like that before, and I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since.” He runs the pad of his thumb across my lips. “You’re making me fucking crazy.”
I swallow, and his gaze drops to my mouth as he releases a fervent curse under his breath.
I’m desperately trying to listen to my mentor’s guidance…but the temptation to give in to this feeling is too strong. “This is crazy,” I say, my voice weak, trembling. “It’s wrong.”
“Fuck wrong,” Carter says. “I can’t go another day at that academy wanting you and not being able to touch you.” He demonstrates his desire by cupping my face. “Just stay here with me, Ellis.”
I close my eyes at the longing in his voice, the needy way he says my name.
I remember saying similar words to Jeremy, when I was trying to convey just how right we were—how desperate I was to make him understand that we belonged together, and how frustrated I was that he didn’t hear me.
When I open my eyes again, I see that frustration on Carter’s face—that desperate, fraught desire for me to believe him, to stop denying my feelings.
How cruel it would be for me to disregard his emotions. I can’t be that ruthless, not to the boy who has invaded my soul like a storm, tearing down every barricade I’ve put up to protect myself. It’s been so long since I let anyone in, let anyone get close. He’s made me feel.
His gaze travels over my features, searching. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
There’s a fraction of a second—one moment of hesitancy—where I could stop him.
But I don’t. More than let it happen, I’m complicit as I meet him there.
Our lips collide, and every dormant emotion I’ve allowed to die in my quest to be sane and normal and rational bursts through me as I breathe him in. He tastes like heaven and hell, sin and salvation. Pure rapture.
If Carter Hensley is a devil sent to torment me, then I’ll be the angel to deliver us both.
The Fire
Ellis
Devil’s Bluff is a flat rock formation that juts out from the bowels of Black Mountain. The bluff overlooks a lake at the mountain’s base, creating a dark basin effect, like a landscape painting by Van Gogh.
The dangerous climb through the bluff’s two peaks is known as Devil’s Tooth. A sharp rocky growth that rises up like the jagged ridge of a demon’s mouth. There’s a narrow path atop the toothed structure. It’s a dangerous path to cross and, according to legend, no one has ever survived the attempt.
The locals simply call this the pass.
A while ago, a couple of girls went missing. Their bodies were later discovered mangled and mutilated by coyotes on the bluff, just a stone’s throw away from the pass. If the killer had wanted them to disappear completely, he should’ve thrown their bodies down the ravine of the pass, never to be seen again.
I’m taught this Black Mountain history lesson by Carter as he builds a fire. Nestled on his uniform blazer, I stare into the darkening sky above the ridge. The changeover from day to night happened so abruptly, it’s like we entered another time zone.
Or another world. One where judgement can’t touch us. Because out here, we’re shrouded by the anonymity of darkness. All sins committed in the veil of night never feel wrong in the moment. They feel necessary and needy, our demand too great to be ignored.
Once my feet hit the halls of the academy tomorrow, there will be shame. Maybe even regret. I’m trying not to think about that now. I want this moment to last, for however long I can make it.
My lips are still tender from his kiss. I touch my mouth as the fire crackles to life, the small flame wavering in the open air. The scent of burning pine needles and dry limbs is a balm to my overstressed system.
Carter tucks a Zippo lighter into his pocket. “It’s become a dare,” he says, continuing the tale about Devil’s Tooth. “Kids come up here to get drunk, dare each other to cross the pass. The floor of the ravine is said to be covered with scattered, picked-clean bones. Animals, humans. It was a pretty gruesome thing to hear growing up.”
“How often do people come up here?” I ask.
He gives me a knowing look. “You mean, is anyone going to suddenly show up and find us out?” He stands and moves closer to settle down beside me, drawing my legs over his lap. The act so casual, familiar, as if we’ve done this a million times before. “Not tonight.”
It’s ethereal, this intensity he exudes. There is no hesitancy in him, no need to stop. Think. Weigh choices. Carter is full force or nothing. I’m starting to think that’s why his file reads as it does, that he’s misunderstood. If directed on the right path, aggressive behavior can be perceived as a positive.
CEOs. Lawyers. Politicians. More than not these type-A personalities are praised for their aggressive pursuit in their careers.
His hand traces a path back and forth over my leg, then progresses above my knee, fingers dipping beneath my skirt. An alarm flares inside me, and I lay my hand over his.
“No one comes to Devil’s Bluff during the week. It’s just us,” he says, still thinking I’m worried about being seen, caught. He pushes closer and sweeps my hair from my neck, where he places a tender kiss.
His hair grazes my cheek, and I sigh at the tantalizing feel of it. “How do the kids know to meet here? Some secret code sent out on social media?”
With sudden interest, he looks up. “Why aren’t you online, Ellis?”
I hesitate before forming an answer. “I know it’s hard for someone your age to believe, but not everyone wants to be on social media.” I tamp down the unease his question stirs.
His jaw tightens. “You keep doing that,” he says, a severe edge in his voice. “Bringing up my age.” His movements are fast and fierce as he closes a hand around my ankle and pulls me halfway beneath him. “Guess I’ll just have to prove I’m a man.”
The intense burn in his eyes threatens to consume. He’s all dark energy and combustible matter. He lays claim to my mouth with a searing kiss, stealing all logic and reason.
Something that feels this right can’t be wrong.
My eyes close as I will the inner warning to quiet. Why I’m hesitant has nothing to do with moral or ethical dilemma, though it should. Every touch, kiss, smoldering look…reminds me of Jeremy, and how we moved just as fast. We made love on the beach the very first night we met, and it
was intense.
All steam and explosions and professions of love. The stuff romance novels are made of. I was young and naïve about what would happen the next day.
I shove the memory to a dark corner of my mind where it belongs. Carter is not Jeremy, and I am not that girl anymore. Lacing my arms around Carter’s neck, I draw him down on top of me.
I tilt my head back to give him better access as I revel in the feel of his firm body pressed to mine. The weight of him bearing down between my thighs is maddening, our clothes preventing us from getting close enough. A delicious ache deepens where his jeans rub abrasively along the seam of my panties.
This feels right. This is right.
I mentally repeat that mantra, willing my body to give in—to just let go.
“Christ, I have never wanted anyone so badly as I want you.” His hands are everywhere, his kisses fervent and demanding. “I wasn’t lying about the dream,” he says. “I almost crashed my bike. Images of you on that fucking desk…all I could think about.”
Everything I’ve ever wanted to hear; I don’t interrupt, I don’t want him to stop. My blazer is removed in the frenzy of movements. My hands go to the snap of his slacks, fumble the button open. He releases a guttural noise that sends me careening toward the edge.
Something wild takes hold, and suddenly every desire and yearning I’ve suppressed for so long comes surging forth. I maneuver us so that I roll on top of him. My hair falls forward to create a drape, isolating us together.
I kiss him unhurriedly, deliberately, savoring the feel of his soft lips, the way his tongue darts out to tangle with mine. So deprived and impatient; the desperate need for gratification only a man his age can demonstrate. It makes me feel powerful, in control. Knowing that, the longer I tease this moment out, the more desperate he’ll become.
I lift up, and he follows, never breaking the kiss. My hands seek the hem of his shirt, tug it up, my nails grazing his defined abdomen and eliciting a satisfying groan. I pull away long enough to tear the shirt over his head.
He palms the side of my face, his thumb resting along my jaw, as he gazes up at me. “God, you’re so beautiful.”
My heart aches; the pain too unbearable to breathe. I want this to be real—I need him to be real. For every other moment before this one to become a bad dream.
Worlds and memories are colliding…so it just happens. His name slips out. “Jeremy…”
Carter leans back on his elbows. “Who the fuck?”
“It’s no one…” I trail off, unsure of how to explain. “I didn’t mean—”
“He will be no one,” he says. He grasps me at the small of my back as he thrusts his hard length against the achy part of me. “I’m about to fuck this Jeremy right out of your system.”
And I want him to. Oh, God—I want him to make the terror of the past as if it never happened. Erase Jeremy and that beach from existence.
He takes over then. Clasping the back of my neck, he splays his fingers into my hair and grips, forcing my head back as he devours the juncture between my shoulder and neck.
I savor the arousing feel of him. All smooth skin and lean muscle. My fingers lightly trace his chest, abs, down to the V that dips beneath his jeans. The thick ridge of his cock grows harder beneath me, sending the throbbing ache between my thighs deeper. I undulate my hips, grinding against him, and that’s all it takes.
“Fucking hell…come here.” Carter pulls me to him, his mouth crashes to mine as his free hand goes to the buttons of my blouse. He’s not gentle as he yanks loose each one, working my shirt open until he has the access he craves.
He becomes fury as he shreds the rest of my clothing and then pins me to the earth. Pants are removed and then there’s nothing between us; we’re fiery skin to skin.
The moment he seats himself between my thighs and the tip of his cock touches me…I’m a livewire, the current flowing from him to me, all yearning to be filled. Ground the connection. He holds himself there as he takes hold of my hip, eyes searching mine for approval.
Fuck me, I mouth.
His eyes close in submission as he thrusts into me.
He fills me completely, and I take all of him. Again and again, he drives deeper, every thrust more intense than the last, his face a mask of anguish, as if the desire is too strong, too much, and I feel that yearning pull my whole body tight.
We are violent in our need. Violence is what Carter understands, how he responds to all difficult situations—why not sex? When emotions are heightened and our passion sears hotter than the flames of the fire, the only act to follow is one that tears apart, consumes, devours.
The waterfall can barely be heard over our ardent whispers and groans, every harsh word uttered between us to express the desperation to be sated.
“Say it,” I implore. “Say you want me. I need to hear it…”
“I’ll say it all night long. I want you, baby. Goddamn, I want you.”
He drives into me with a thrust meant to decimate, and I ride the crush of his body, the feel of him hard and belonging to me the ultimate high.
We die like that, in a frenzy of need and temptation. Reaching the high together until our bodies are spent and broken—the pain a form of satisfied pleasure like no other.
I’m wrapped in his arms, our bodies still on fire. I fit against him perfectly, as if I was made to be by his side. “Will this change tomorrow?”
I didn’t mean to ask it out loud. The thought was there, persistent with the fear of history repeating itself in the backdrop.
Carter leans up on his side and cups my face, his tender touch a stark contrast to the roughness of our lovemaking. “I’d have to be fucking insane to ruin this,” he says. Then he kisses me, stealing the pain away.
I’m rapture in this moment, with him close, the fire for warmth, the sound of the cascade a euphoric cocoon. And yet, fear remains. Every beginning has an end. Even if all you have to dread is the end.
It is fear of death that motivates us to do anything at all.
Otherwise, we’d become these dormant, god-like beings who only watch. Not act.
Despite our apprehension, Carter and I act. We push logic and fear aside, ignoring society and rules, and instead embrace this violent passion between us.
Shakespeare wrote: These violent delights have violent ends. The omen to precede all omens.
Oh, heaven, I hope not.
Villain
Ellis
The bright autumn sun of morning shines a blistering light on the night before, dispelling any illusion that what Carter and I shared was a dream.
In the shower, I touch every bruise and scrape left behind by his brutal, desperate touches. My body aches in the best way; every movement a reminder that he was inside me.
I’m thrilled and terrified at the same time. Elated that I can still feel, and scared that these feelings, that Carter, will suddenly disappear. That niggling little voice worms its way inside my head and whispers: he’s lying.
If Carter is a lie, then I don’t want the truth.
I embrace the truth as I know it. I want to believe that Carter won’t hurt me—that I won’t hurt him. I float through the halls of the academy like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. Buoyant and carefree. I even wave to Sue the calculus cunt on my way to the office.
Sue doesn’t appear to be in as great a mood. She smiles, but the action doesn’t meet her eyes, which follow me down the hallway.
I shrug her off. I won’t let any negativity invade my bubble. Not today. Because today, I have to believe in the best in people. Not everyone is a deceitful villain bent on destruction. People, for the most part, are inherently good. Most of them too preoccupied with their own lives to give a damn about anyone else.
Carter and I are together. That’s all that matters. I don’t want to give my fear any more oxygen to burn. I need to suffocate anxiety; just snuff it out.
As much strength as I project to the outside world, I’m fragile when it comes to inti
macy. Go figure, considering the one and only love of my life evaporated like morning mist the day after we made love.
Jeremey was so caught up in us while he was fucking me, that he failed to mention he had a girlfriend. When I approached him at school, he pretended he didn’t know me. He acted as if the night before had never happened. He laughed with his friends about the obsessed “psycho girl.”
The memory wounds as much now as it did then, and I swallow the fiery bullet in my throat. I had actually started to wonder if I had imagined the whole thing—that maybe I was crazy. If you’re told you’re insane enough times and you’re the only one who remembers an event, it’s not hard to lose your grasp on reality.
I shake the thought from my head, lift my chin. Push through the main office doors.
I say hello to Ms. Jansen as I pass the front desk. When I reach the solitude of my office, I sigh with relief. Then take out the folder I created for Carter. Alongside my recordings, I started a physical file—one not accessible in the digital realm—where I could keep my personal thoughts.
I hear a whisper from Dr. Leighton: shrine making…
“No, it’s not,” I insist.
The picture from the bulletin board falls to the desk, and I pick it up. I run the pad of my finger over the image as I remember his tender lips on mine, his heated touches.
A knock on the door startles me, and I quickly tuck the picture and file away in my drawer and lock it. “Come in.”
Sue enters my office. I adopt a bright smile. “How can I help you, Sue?”
She walks into my office and closes the door behind her. She has yet to tell me why she’s here, and all I want is for her to leave. I try to suppress the irritation and force a smile. She doesn’t sit, and when her dull eyes finally meet mine, I can see the trouble brewing.
“We need to talk,” she says.
Nothing good ever follows that statement.
I relax my mouth, working out the kink in my jaw from holding the smile too long. I let my face rest in its natural state. This seems to unnerve Sue. Leisurely, I walk to my desk chair and take a seat, cross my legs.