Underneath the Sycamore Tree

by Celeste, B.

  My head rests against his shoulder, which tenses for a moment before relaxing. His arm lifts and wraps around my waist, tugging me closer into him. I sigh when I feel his body heat wrap around me.

  We both see our breaths.

  My nose tingles and numbs.

  I bite my lip before letting it loose. “I decided that it’s better than people pretending to be good though. There are a lot of fake people in the world, Kaiden Monroe. You may be a jackass, but at least you’re real.”

  His chuckle fills the night air.

  I tip my chin up, looking through my lashes at him. His dips to meet my eyes, and we stay like that. Close but not close enough. Distant but not distant enough.

  He knows more than I want him to.

  But he doesn’t know what matters.

  I swallow. “Kaiden?”

  “Hmm?”

  I lean closer, one of my hands pressing against his toned stomach. There’s nothing soft about him. He always looks like he’s ready to pounce, to fight.

  I’m not sure what to say.

  I can’t ask for what I want because I’m not sure want is the right word.

  I need it.

  His warmth.

  His distraction.

  “You remember when I said pass before?” I whisper, slowly rising to my knees so our faces are at the same level.

  His eyes darken.

  “Can I take that back?”

  His nostrils flare as his palm cups my jaw, light but fiery. The anticipation rises in the air between us, setting a fire to the chill.

  “What if I’m not any good?” I whisper.

  He chuckles. “Then we’ll practice.”

  That’s all he says before his lips are on mine, much softer than I expect. They brush mine once, twice, a third time. He distances himself just enough to tease my lips with his breath, angling my head to the side before kissing me again.

  This time harder.

  Hungrier.

  Needier.

  I quickly figure out what to do and follow his lead, pressing my fingers into his sides and causing him to jerk. I let go and bunch his shirt in my hands, holding on while he parts my lips with his and drags the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip before his tongue tastes mine.

  I gasp when his hands drag down my sides, gripping my hips tightly and then loosening up. He tastes like marinara and lemon water, and smells like the woods, and everything about the moment consumes me.

  One of his hands goes to my hair.

  One of mine goes to his face.

  His other hand goes to the small of my back.

  Mine goes to his bicep.

  I’m not sure where to touch him or not, but he doesn’t let me stay in my head long enough to begin doubting my lack of experience. He presses on my lower back until he’s pushing me into his lap, positioning my legs on either side of him. My hip pops and makes me wince, but I force myself to focus solely on Kaiden. A startled noise escapes me when I sink onto him and feel something hard press against my inner thigh.

  He draws back, but only to begin kissing my jaw until his lips work their way down my neck. I shiver, but not from the cold. My body is overheating as his teeth graze the skin of my neck, before suckling just above my pulse. It feels good, too good the way he nips and sucks and licks the same spot.

  “K-Kaiden.” I press a hand against the back of his head, wanting him to keep going. He groans when my hips involuntarily move on his lap and his teeth bite into my flesh.

  It stings, but then he licks the pain away.

  His hands go to my hips, pressing down on them to get our bodies as close together as possible. He doesn’t know my hips are a trigger point of pain, but I don’t bother stopping this to tell him. I just endure the sharp feeling because there’s a new kind of heat burning between my legs, one that gets more and more intense as his nipping becomes rougher and his hands become more demanding. I can deal with this kind of pain.

  I move against him, needing friction. He growls and helps me build a rhythm, sliding his body against mine as he rocks into me. His mouth works its way to the base of my beck before my scarf gets in the way.

  He doesn’t move it.

  He doesn’t undo my coat.

  He just focuses on me.

  My warmth.

  My need.

  My silent pleas.

  Our mouths meet again, and his kisses are lighter, but just as needy as mine. My tongue dances with his, my hips becoming jerky, and suddenly I’m panting and gripping his shoulders, and leaning my forehead against his.

  I almost come undone when I feel his hand reach between us and begin rubbing me over my leggings. Nobody has ever touched me there, and the added sensation feels amazing. I move against his palm until he’s pressing into me so hard I tip my head back and let the orgasm take over.

  “Fuck, Em,” he groans as I ride out the sensation against his hand. He kisses my cheek, my jaw, and then pecks my lips when my movement creeps to a stop.

  Swallowing as I catch my breath, I pull away from him. His eyes are dark, his face flushed, and his chest raises and falls as quickly as mine.

  “I’ve never…” I blush hard, shaking my head and glancing down at where our bodies meet. The admission burns my body. “I’ve never had one from someone else before.”

  He grins.

  It’s devious.

  All knowing.

  It’s…Kaiden.

  “Just wait until it’s my cock, Mouse.”

  My eyes widen.

  He laughs…and then guides me inside like it’s just another night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The bathroom mirror shows me a new kind of flush to my cheeks. Not one caused by disease or cold air, but by Kaiden. Maybe I could have pretended it was early winter’s caress when I came in to peel off my scarf and coat, but my swollen lips said something else.

  That’s why Kaiden is on the couch, with the pillow and blanket Mama gave him. At first, my face burned when she chanced us both a look before passing him things to use for tonight, but then I smiled.

  Because Mama noticed.

  Mama saw me.

  Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and all.

  Now I’m curled in my room, touching my lips that are nothing extraordinary since hours have passed. I kept squirming on the couch when I agreed to watch TV with everyone, because Kaiden kept finding ways to nudge me with his knee or brush my arm with his hand, so I opted to change and go to bed. Mama and Grandma followed suit, telling me goodnight before we closed ourselves in our rooms.

  My phone’s reading app is up, but I’ve been rereading the same page for the past five minutes. I’m distracted, my brain replaying what happened outside over and over until my heart is racing like it did before.

  Not even my favorite romance books can get me to stop thinking about what happened.

  My first kiss.

  With Kaiden.

  I’m sure by typical standards, I should have been kissed by anybody else—a band geek, a drama nerd, an outcast. Not my stepbrother. Not the person who’s isolated me since moving, going hot and cold in an instant like the broken faucet in the kitchen downstairs.

  I try focusing back on the book.

  Two sentences in, my bedroom door quietly opens.

  I hold my breath.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised you’re reading,” he muses, creeping in the room after shutting the door with a soft click.

  I sit up in bed. “You shouldn’t be in here. There’s a reason you were given stuff for the couch.”

  He grins, not stopping until he’s leaning over me. “Maybe I’m just making sure you’re all tucked in for the night. Hmm? That would simply make me a concerned family member.”

  I blanch. “Don’t refer to yourself as my family member. Not after…” Waving my hand around, I shake my head and avoid his gaze.

  He sits on the edge of my bed, picking up my phone and glancing at the screen, making a disappointed face. “I’m surprised you’re not
reading something smutty. I hear people love reading all about different sexual positions and calling it research.” He tosses the phone back onto the mattress. “Is that why you read, Mouse?”

  I roll my eyes. “I read because I love books. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Can’t. It’s a permanent residence.”

  I flatten the comforter around me. “Well, as you can see, I am already all tucked in. Your job here is done.”

  His head tilts. Without a word, he turns himself around and practically forces me to skootch over. By the time he’s settled in, he’s taking up most of my bed, one arm bent behind his head in support, and another opened as if he’s inviting me to use him as a pillow.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, having deja vu from last night. My eyes go to the door, worried someone will notice he isn’t on the couch. Usually Mama is the one who will get up in the middle of the night, especially if she doesn’t take her sleeping pills.

  Instead of waiting for me to move over, he pulls me into his body. I’m practically laying over half of him by the time he wiggles his way into the mattress and drapes an arm around me.

  “Seriously?”

  He looks over. “Don’t act like you hate this. Can you honestly say you were restless last night? Do I make you uncomfortable? Or did you sleep better than you have in a while because you were too comfortable?”

  I don’t answer.

  He turns his head so it’s facing the ceiling. His breathing is even, calm. “I hear you tossing and turning at night at home. You don’t sleep throughout it very often, do you?”

  How does he know that?

  I don’t have to ask, because I realize he’s always sneaking in and out of the house. He’d have to pass my room, and Mama always told me I was noisy when I got restless. I guess it’s only gotten worse.

  Quietly, I admit, “I get nightmares.”

  To my surprise, he doesn’t reply right away. His hold on me tightens a little, almost like a comforting squeeze. It’s his version of a hug—telling me he’s here.

  “And last night?”

  I lick my lips. “I didn’t have one.”

  “Do they happen every night?”

  Pausing, I debate on lying. If he knows I get them almost every night, he’ll ask what they’re about. Anyone would be curious over what haunts a person’s thoughts so often.

  “Not every night,” I settle on.

  He knows enough to slowly nod. “I’ll stay for a while. Should probably slip out before your grandma or mom finds me in here.”

  I hum out my agreement.

  We’re silent for a long while, just listening to each other’s breathing, heartbeats, and other old house noises. I can hear the freezer running as it produces ice, and if I focused hard enough I’d hear the slightest drip coming from the bathroom sink.

  Deciding to break the silence first, I rest my cheek on his chest and let out a tiny sigh. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, or as nice as you can get, but thank you.”

  His chest starts moving, and I’m confused until it registers that he’s laughing at me. Peeling myself off him, I glance down with pinched brows.

  “I assure you,” he murmurs, voice low and eyes dark, “my intentions aren’t nice, Mouse. But if you want to thank me for being your first kiss, then you’re welcome. It’s unfortunate though.”

  He thinks kissing me was unfortunate?

  Tensing, I lay back down and don’t say a word. He must sense something is wrong, because he draws me away until I’m staring back down at him again.

  “Don’t get self-conscious on me.”

  My jaw ticks. “You just told me that—”

  “Other guys aren’t going to get you off like I did, Emery.” His words silence me. “They will take, take, take, but they won’t give. Any other guy will be ruined for you because of me.”

  Maybe he thinks I’ll swoon or kiss him or thank him again. I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I fight off the laugh that wants to bubble from my lips.

  His eyes narrow.

  I shake my head and pat his chest. “I’m sure you’re right, Kaiden. But I’ve read that very line in like forty different books. The truth may be the same, but the delivery could get worked on for the full effect.”

  Now he’s silent.

  Then his chest starts shaking again.

  I fall asleep shortly after he pulls me back to him, not bothering to worry about his warning.

  It won’t matter anyway, because Kaiden is…Kaiden. My Kaiden. The very person I need in my life to put things in perspective.

  Nobody compares.

  Nobody will get a chance to.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kaiden slips into my bedroom almost every night since break. There are no expectations, just dreamless sleep and the occasional fondling that I’m sure isn’t accidental. It’s nice, welcoming even, when I hear the door crack open and bed dip beside me. Sometimes I’ll wake up to trailing kisses or hand holding. Other times to soft snoring that makes me giggle.

  December has hit in full force, with winter snowfall coating everything in white. I never liked the season, even when I was little. Lo would always drag me outside to build snowmen and snow forts, but I’d protest every time until Mama said it’s good to get out.

  Now I loathe the cold weather for justifiable reasons, not that anyone truly gets it. When the temperature drops, my joints become so stiff I can’t move them for at least an hour after waking up, and there’s always a dull ache that lasts throughout the day unless I wear gloves and try to keep warm. Wearing gloves during classes isn’t an option though, so I endure the struggle of holding a pen while jotting down notes.

  Even my space heater doesn’t do as much as Kaiden’s warm body wrapped around me does. I go to bed wearing layers, sometimes even sleeping in my fluffy bathrobe for extra comfort. But it doesn’t always help. The single digit temperatures do my body in, and it reminds me of the days Lo struggled to get out of bed because her body was so swollen and locked up that she had to be tended to from our room.

  School has become a ready distraction from the aches and pains and late night rendezvous with Kaiden. Most girls would probably be irritated over being ignored by him in the halls, but I prefer it. Nobody sees him for who he is here. He let’s down his walls for me at home, sharing silly stories about our pasts that mean more than he could ever know.

  During Thursday Book Club, Annabel sits by me instead of her usual seat. She kept looking at me in history, but never said a word. I was almost tempted to ask her to sit by me at lunch, but I’ve gotten used to the empty table that graces me for forty minutes.

  Annabel brushes hair behind her ear as she settles into her seat. “I don’t think the others like our book choices.”

  Three of the girls stopped showing up almost two months ago. Apparently staring at Mr. Nichols wasn’t worth the effort of reading and talking about the books.

  After break, we discussed Jodi Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper, which one of the girls protested because of its content. Both Mr. Nichols and Annabel defended my choice by arguing it should be discussed regardless of what happens to the characters.

  Nobody wants to read about reality.

  Mr. Nichols had asked Little Mermaid why she thought so, which she scoffed at. She doesn’t want to talk about books or why she doesn’t like reading them. But I know the answer she won’t verbalize.

  People are afraid of the truth. They don’t want to accept that bad things happen to good people every single day. People struggle. People die. It’s life.

  Little Mermaid called me morbid.

  I called her naïve.

  Mr. Nichols told us to be respectful.

  The more we talked about the book, the more heated it got. It stopped being about the content and about why authors write about realistic topics.

  Fiction is the perfect platform to talk about the things nobody wants to have conversations of in real life. When you’re reading a
bout a character’s struggles, you find ways to relate from a distance. It doesn’t always hurt as much, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt at all.

  Chronic illness is real.

  Death is real.

  People don’t like to read about those things because they know it could happen to them. Distance or not, you put yourself in the shoes of every character you read.

  Denial doesn’t make the fear go away.

  It expands it.

  Feeds it.

  Makes it impossible to fight.

  Annabel pulls out her book choice, Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, and wiggles until she’s settled comfortably in her chair.

  I give her a small smile. “The others don’t like living in a world that’s beyond creepy vampires that watch women sleep and kids that get put in an arena to slaughter each other. They’ll get over it.”

  She giggles. “We’re doing them a favor, if you think about. Hitting them with reality before reality can.”

  I grin back at her.

  Mr. Nichols walks in and smiles at us. We’re the only two in here so far, but a couple girls are lingering at the computers across the room. They’re giggling and joking and probably looking up something they shouldn’t be online. I see people do it all the time, hacking through the firewall the school places on social media sites.

  “Ready for another group read?” he asks, setting his messenger bag down on the table in front of his chair.

  Annabel rolls her eyes. “Do you mean argue with the girls about tasteful literature? Yes. I’m prepared.”

  Amusement flickers across Nichols face, but he doesn’t buy into the remark. “I’ve considered adding this book to the curriculum for next year. I’d like to see what discussion we come up with based on first opinions.”

  Annabel makes a face. “It’s the kind of book you’d need students to do research on. It isn’t like Emery’s book last month. Atwood uses political influence in this.”

  Nichols sits down, taking out his own copy that has multicolored tabs marking the pages. Something tells me he’s already done extensive research on the book, especially if he’s interested in teaching it.