Spring Fling

by Claudia Burgoa

  He digs his chin into my shoulder as he looks down. It tickles and creates a hot vortex in my stomach. I laugh soundlessly; I’ve never been so attracted to a man in my life.

  “Has anyone jumped here?” he asks. “It’d suck you right under, huh?”

  “Yeah, when my dad was a teenager, someone died. A guy trying to impress his friends.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, they never even found his body. That’s why the city raised the banister and put up that giant sign.” I point to our right without looking. He lifts his head from my shoulder, leaving me momentarily cold. Thankfully, his closeness returns as soon as he’s read the sign.

  “Come here,” he whispers, leaving room for me to turn.

  I look up at him shyly. His hair forms a white halo in the moonlight, making him seem unreal. He could be from a different planet, one made without colors, where illumination causes people’s features to stand out. And boy do they stand out.

  He kisses me again. It’s soft yet insistent. The blood pumps in my veins, telling me to flee. It tells me to crush him tighter too.

  “You know what I would like very much?” he whispers, the rush of the maelstrom beneath us almost drowning his question.

  “What’s that?” It’s like the moon, the water, the air around us are all charged with his wishes.

  “I want to not go home without you. I want to find you in my bed in the morning, and I want everything in between those two moments.”

  I smile and brush my face against his throat, pulling in the scent of him: soap, man, and smoke from the fire pit on the terrace.

  “I’m not that kind of girl,” I say.

  “What kind is that?” He pulls my lip into his mouth and sucks once before letting it go. It sends my heart into a gallop.

  “The one-night-stand type.”

  “You’re not, huh?” He strokes my cheek. Touches the corner of my lip. His gaze is longing, like he means more than a few hours of passion.

  “I live in Spring-fling Country,” I murmur, and it sounds like I’m apologizing. “That stuff grew old while I was still too young for it.”

  “Mm-hmm.” His body is aligned with mine, radiating a heat that seeps into me.

  “I don’t even know you.” I sigh it out, my inhibitions draining with each word.

  “You don’t.”

  “You know what I think?” I shut my eyes, enjoying our nearness. His skin is warm and alive against me, and my voice barely audible as he presses me closer.

  “Tell me what you think, Naomi.”

  “That there are exceptions to everything.”

  Be My Guest

  * * *

  I’m taking my first ever one-night stand home to the Lemon House. I’m not sure why I insisted on this, but my bet is on my subconscious. Now that I’m finally going to do it, as in surrender to a fling, she must have decided it can’t be impersonal.

  I drove him here in my little old Dodge. The whole ten minutes, he was sweet, holding my hand in his lap while I concentrated on keeping us on the road. I’ve had a little too much to drink—I’d probably be in trouble if Marty had stopped me—but this morning I’m a rulebreaker in ways I’ve never been before.

  “Wow,” Peter murmurs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Bright eyes scan my little cottage, the lemon-yellow paint job, the flower beds lined with oyster shells, the one-person path to the front door. “You really live here?”

  “Guess I do.” I hike my shoulders up high. “My family goes way back in this town. My great-grandpa was a cattle rancher, and we still own a lot of land here. My dad isn’t much for selling it off.”

  He whips a glance to both sides, taking in the Tripletree on one side and the Palladium Suites on the other. They hover above us, dwarfing my little cottage.

  “This is prime resort territory, huh? I bet your father would get a fortune if he sold the place.”

  “Sure,” I reply, bored. It’s one of the most common comments I get about the Lemon House.

  Peter surprises me when he adds, “Fucking cool that your dad won’t sell.”

  Inside, Gmork meets us, winding his body around Peter’s leg like they’re long-time friends. Peter chuckles, sinks to his haunches, and pets him.

  Our visitor murmurs something I don’t understand. It’s Swedish, I assume, and it must be good, because Gmork does his we’re-besties-now blink of his eyes while enjoying Peter’s touch.

  “Anything to drink?” I ask.

  “Coke Zero? Or anything without sugar if you have it.”

  “Coke Zero is my vice.” I bring two cans to the living room and find him staring out the window toward the ocean.

  “You want to see the view? I know you city people like it,” I tease and open the backdoor.

  He smiles, white rows gleaming mischievously at me. “Why do you think I’m a city boy?”

  “Just assuming.”

  He closes me in from behind. I love the feeling of his body surrounding mine, his arms circling my waist and jerking me a little tighter to him. He must be doing this to all the girls.

  “Well, I’m not,” he hums against my ear. “I’m from a little town in the south of Sweden. It’s much like this… and not at all like this. You might like it.”

  With you there, sure, I think to myself.

  We take in the dark beach in silence. The outline of a couple kissing. A drunk partier on his back, already snoring. Further down, three drinking buddies wind their way up from the water, shouting to each other as if being tanked makes them hard of hearing. But beyond them all, there’s the ocean. Glittering in the moonlight, it tosses aimless waves in the air, letting them crash and speed inward.

  “Damn, that’s quite the sight,” Peter says. He stands so still I can feel his heart thud against my back.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “The ocean is nice.”

  “The ocean is nice,” he repeats after me, laughing softly. “You’re a tough one to impress, aren’t you?”

  I smile and lean my head against his chest so I can look up at him. “Sorry. That came out spoiled. I don’t think I’d survive without the ocean, but the other view I could do without.”

  “What view? You mean the boozers?”

  I can’t help grinning at that. “Yeah, the boozers. Spring break lasts for ten weeks here, and then we have a week’s break before the summer vacationers start flooding in, and then we rinse and repeat.”

  “Hmm, when you put it like that…” Pensive, he kisses the top of my head. “Why don’t you move somewhere else, then? This house won’t disappear anyway, right? You could just come down when it’s not tourist season?”

  I roll my eyes. “I can’t afford the rent in this town. I get the cottage for free, but my parents aren’t about to pay rent for me when I can live in one of their houses.”

  “Ah. Where would you live if you could?”

  “Well, I’ve finally committed to going to college. I took a couple of years off after high school, hence the Hallmark-store job, but now I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Psychology. I’m heading inland by a few hours, and I’ll live on-campus in the beginning. You see, my dad has nothing against paying for housing in another city.”

  I giggle while his hands stray downward. My amusement burns off when he twirls me toward him again.

  “That’s good.” Peter’s voice sinks, taking on a gravelly timbre. Cupping my ass, he squeezes it a little.

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  Time flies when you stand on your porch kissing a really hot guy under the moon. When his hands travel and feel you. When they dip under your shirt like it’s the most natural thing and sets your skin on fire.

  “You want to go inside?” he whispers, his breathing ragged.

  “Yep,” I say, popping the “p” to make light of the desire burning through my body.

  “Do you mind if I take you to your bedroom?”

  I shake my head, suddenly wordless
.

  I don’t tell him where my bedroom is. I don’t have to. The bathroom door is open, and the only other door goes to my sleeping quarters.

  Peter lifts me and searches my face. “Are you okay with this, no-spring-fling girl?”

  I bob my head, craning my neck so I can breathe better. He takes advantage and kisses my cleavage. It only makes me breathe faster.

  Cautiously, he lays me down on the mattress. Sitting back up, he supports his fists on his thighs and examines my expression.

  “Naomi.” He exhales like he’s about to admit something momentous. It makes my pulse race… which really doesn’t make any sense. What could he possibly say that was monumental for me? He’s a fling. He leaves after the concert tomorrow, or at the latest the morning after. I’ll never see him again.

  “What?” I swallow my concern.

  “I can be nice. Slow. Careful. All that shit if that’s what you want. Just tell me. But I want to be honest with you: you’ve got me fucking riled up, and I want to go complete caveman on you.” He shakes his head, laughing silently. “I know. That sounds terrifying, doesn’t it, when you don’t even know me? I’m not a pervert or anything. Just— I want to… how do I put this nicely?” He rubs his forehead, a small smirk appearing on his mouth. “To hell with it: I want to fuck. You. Senseless. Got it? I want to…”

  Peter gets to his feet and turns toward the window. As if calming himself, he starts to breathe in and out, his back swelling and deflating with his moves. Unfortunately, I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life.

  I get up and walk over to him. This time, it’s me embracing him from behind, pressing my chest against his back. He covers my hands with his own.

  “I’m not into kinky stuff either,” I murmur into the dip between his shoulder blades. “But it’s been a while since my last time, and I’m going to be frank with you too.” My pulse speeds up, hating the thought of honesty. I ignore it.

  “You make everything inside of me go rampant. Just look at me. Here we are together—I never do this. And I can’t imagine anything better than you doing what you want to do with me right now. Just…”

  “Just what?” He loosens his grip on my hands and pulls me around so I’m standing in front of him.

  “Just don’t make me wait any longer.”

  His whole body stills as his stare bores into me. Glittering eyes so light they’re barely even blue. Like some sort of precious gemstone, I have time to think, and then I don’t think anymore.

  He hoists me into his arms and presses his mouth against mine, forcing my lips apart. He groans, kissing me. Then, he tosses me on the bed, making the springs in the mattress throw me back up again. Peter meets me, pushing his hips against me, forcing us both into the surface, and hitting my secret spots with the outline of his need.

  “You’re so fucking sexy. I couldn’t sleep last night, I wanted you so bad.”

  I open my arms and help him remove my top. He rips my bra free, and I watch him squeeze my boobs, lifting them up and together until their peaks point hard and aroused right at him. I bite my lip over a moan.

  “So gorgeous.” He dives in, ravenous, sucking on me, making me bend off the mattress for more. Fighting with my skirt, he wins, and it ends up around my ankles.

  “You know what I want to do to you, Naomi?” He hisses in a breath when I trace his crotch with a hand. I let my touch get firmer, feeling him grow even harder.

  “Please…” I start on the button of his jeans. It doesn’t budge, and we’re both impatient. He drops his hold on me to wrest the shirt over his head. Then, he kicks his pants off. Fervent action. Intense, crazy movement. Until finally he kneels over me in all his glory.

  For a moment, he stills, the moon finding him on my bed too. Peter is all chiseled, breathing, ticking muscle. He’s layers of slim perfection, and the only thing dark on this man is his tribal tattoos. Slung around his biceps, they seem to float down his arms. They move like jagged snakes up the sides of his torso, rippling over the outline of his ribs, hitting his stomach muscles and accentuating the V of his pelvis. He’s even more magnificent than I imagined.

  “Better?” he whispers.

  I can only nod.

  “Have you made love in this bed before?” he asks.

  “Uh, yeah…”

  “Where have you not done it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  He shrugs, waiting for my response.

  “The kitchen.” I suck my lips in between my teeth, waiting, as his smile grows deliberately, displaying the canines I’ve come to admire.

  “I’m taking that as a wish to christen it, baby. We need a detour to the kitchen.”

  Kitchen Detour

  * * *

  I’m hyperaware of the gazillion nerves that cover every inch of my skin. They’ve sparked to life, reacting to his scent, to his touch, his breathing as he leads me out of the bedroom.

  Feebly, I register how my curtains are drawn apart. The beach could be full of peeping Toms for all I know, but it’s hard to focus on anything but Peter freaking Pan while he helps me up on the kitchen counter.

  For a moment, he stills, his gaze smoldering. Peter’s hands are on my bare, bare hips, squeezing them as if he’s imploring me to remain still. I nod, a silent promise.

  He positions me on my back. With a hand gliding down my thigh, he walks to the end of the counter. There, he pulls my legs forward until they dangle over the edge and my butt barely rests on the surface.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper. My body is buzzing, supercharged by this man.

  He looks up, fixing my eyes with his bright-bright ones. “You still want to go through with this?”

  I should probably be afraid; he looks obsessed when his gorgeous gaze floats down to my pussy.

  “Uh-huh!” Who am I anymore? For a second, I’m concerned that I’m an exhibitionist. Maybe I like the thought of people seeing me?

  He kisses the inside of my thigh. Then, he looks up, scanning the surroundings. My kitchen opens to the den, and between the two, there are four windows giving away my privacy. Peter stalks to each one and shuts the blinds. My chest is still heaving with lust when he returns and hooks my legs over his shoulders.

  His tongue goes straight to my core, making me jolt. He licks me, tastes me like he wants me to come on the spot. I’m fighting it. It’s been so long, though. Still, I don’t know him, and it feels wrong to just erupt in a mewling heap on first contact.

  “Naomi...” When he looks up, his chin glistens with what he’s done to me. “I’m going to take you. Okay? I just… can’t. Even.”

  Ahh. Another hottest thing ever!

  I watch this alabaster god sheath himself, adjust, and direct his cock between my thighs. Groaning, he presses inside of me, and I bend off the counter, meeting his body on a choked squeal. The way he spears me is like red-hot quicksilver, poisoning me with desire.

  “Oh. God.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own anymore. Weakly, I force my eyes open so I can watch him lose himself to pleasure.

  Peter pounds me hard. There is no other way to describe it. I hold onto the edges of the counter, needing to receive each explosion of pleasure as deeply as he gives them. I lift my knees up. He understands immediately and pushes them down toward my stomach, the angle making it impossible for me to hold back. I come quietly with a hand over my mouth.

  Peter stills, letting me pulse around him. “So shy,” he whispers. Then, he kisses me and speeds up his attack on my body. I grasp for him. My wild one-night fling understands again and leans over me, embracing me as he fucks me.

  “Ready to change it up?” Lifting me up again, his question is a hot gust against my ear.

  “Always,” I breathe back, and that’s not me either—I can’t believe who I am with this man.

  He leans me against the baker’s rack in the corner by the window. Impatient, he tugs me into position, jutting my ass out and gliding a finger through my slickness from the front all the way to the back
. Without warning, he jabs inside of me, and for a second, we stand there in tense pleasure. I’m on my toes. I widen my stance to get more of him. He jerks forward, making me whine.

  “Is this good, baby?”

  “God, yes.”

  Again, he speeds us up. I stick out my butt, remaining on my toes so I can take all of him. It’s impossible to keep my eyes open. That’s okay, though—I—I don’t need to. “Fuck!” I sob out, shaking. I fall over the baker’s rack, losing my grip as an orgasm hits me again. It’s so strong this time, I feel like I’m about to black out, and when I come to my senses, I’m still beautifully impaled by this Vlad, this Impaler, this freaking Dracula.

  “You came again,” he murmurs against my ear. “Goddammit, you’re perfect. I’m going to do something to you.”

  I hiccough, my heart beating out of my throat. I cry out when he removes himself from me—it’s wrong, entirely wrong. He brings me to my couch and settles me on my back against the cushions. For a second, he surveys me, adoration shimmering in his gaze. Then, he watches me watch him… remove his condom.

  My pulse sets off again, thickening like it wants to bust out of my veins. I have no idea what his plan is, and maybe, maybe that’s the biggest kick I’ve felt in my life.

  He strokes his cock. White as milk, it’s pointed straight at me, engorged, large, with thick veins flaunting his desire for me. He sinks down over me, kissing my mouth, rubbing his cock over my stomach and down to my entrance. It massages my love knob, and you know what? If he wanted inside me naked like this right now, I’d probably just throw my legs around his hips!

  Instead, his hand goes down, enjoying the wetness he’s created. I moan again, loving the sensation of his member and his fingers massaging me there at once.

  “So beautiful. So receptive,” he whispers.

  Peter’s eyes widen, going dark with desire. His pupils eclipse the irises. I let my gaze sink to his lips. Driven by the ultimate lust, they pucker as he lets out a deep groan and shoots his milk all over my stomach.