by Callie Hart
“I’m okay,” I tell him softly. “This is okay.”
“Good.” He smiles at me, flashing his teeth, and my heart somersaults. His smile is the thing of Hollywood legends. It’s not that his teeth are perfectly white and perfectly straight, because they’re not. It’s the way his full lips part and then press together, that crazy dimple forming in his cheek. It makes my own mouth ache, like I just ate something too sweet. When he smiles at me like this, I can tell he’s thinking nefarious things—he looks like he wants to devour me in the most sexual way. “I’m going to take my clothes off now. All of them. If you’re terrified by my Adonis-like physique, then I can definitely put them back on again. But I really would like to go skinny-dipping with you right now, bluebird. And I think you want to do the same. Am I wrong?”
I’m such a coward. It takes a full twenty seconds of me chewing on my lip before I nod. “Okay, fine. Skinny-dipping. I can do that.”
Callan smirks. His hands slide out of my shirt, and he begins to undress himself, starting with the belt buckle at his waist. He kicks his shoes off at the same time he pulls his t-shirt over his head. Callan sleeps in a t-shirt and shorts when I’m around, even though I know he hates it. This is literally the first time I’m seeing him without a shirt, and I’m shocked by how it makes me feel: dizzy, turned around, excited and scared all at once. Callan neatly folds his shirt next to his bag and then unbuttons his jeans, kicking out of them. His socks are next. He stands there with his fingers hooked beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he gives me that ruinous smile again.
“Ready?”
I shrug, like this is no big deal. It really is though. I’ve touched him, sure. I’ve felt him grow hard in my hands, marveled at the feel and the smoothness of him, but I’ve never seen him naked in the broad light of day. “Yeah, of course,” I say breezily. My voice warbles, though, ruining my hopes of sounding unfazed. Callan stifles more laughter. He tugs his underwear down and steps out of it, grinning sheepishly. He has a hard on. His erection is huge and standing to attention, almost brushing up against his belly button. “Sorry,” he says. “But, y’know…teenaged guy. Beautiful girl. Kissing and touching. It was bound to happen.”
“Of course. It’s fine.” I’m trying not to stare at his cock in amazement. There’s a very good chance my amazement will look like horror, and I don’t want him to think I’m scared. He’ll get dressed again in an instant and that will be that. “Should I…” I trail off. “I suppose I should take my clothes off too, then,” I say, correcting myself. Asking him what I should do is not sexy. Tina’s reliably informed me that guys love confident women, so that’s who I should be right now. The only problem is I have no idea how to project a confident, sexy woman given that I’ve had zero experiences in that arena.
I disguise the fact that my hands are shaking by moving quickly as I remove my shirt and my denim jean shorts. I hesitate for a second as I fiddle with the clasp for my bra.
“Hey.” Callan steps closer, touching my arm. “Hey, bluebird. Don’t freak out. Look at me.” I do look at him. He’s relaxed, smiling, his skin bathed in sun, his dark hair turned almost caramel by the warm light. “Take a breath. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you want me to, of course.”
I laugh then, my nerves calming a little. I lean my forehead against his bare chest, exhaling deeply in a sigh. “Sorry. You must think I’m a train wreck.”
“A very beautiful train wreck,” he tells me, kissing me on the top of my head. “My wonderful, beautiful train wreck.” He kisses me again, and slowly everything else melts away. I can still feel my nerves fretting away somewhere in the background, but they become easy to ignore. I melt into Callan, lose myself in him. As we kiss, he unhooks my bra and slides the straps over my shoulders, and I’m not worried anymore. I stand up straight, enjoying the sun on my near naked body. The temperature increases a hundred fold when Callan looks down and surveys my chest, though. I can feel myself turning red in the face. My nipples are peaked, tight and sensitive.
Callan looks fascinated by them. He cups my right breast, stooping slowly so that he can take my nipple into his mouth. The warmth is intense and surprising, and it feels so good. I tremble as he strokes his hand over my other breast, pinching and rolling my nipple between his fingers.
“God, Coralie. You’re so fucking perfect. I can’t stand it.” All thoughts of the water and skinny-dipping are forgotten. Callan lays me down on the grass, which feels prickly and dry underneath me, kind of uncomfortable, but I don’t care. He smiles, his eyes dancing a little as he lowers himself down next to me. Funnily, he looks a little nervous himself. He lays his head down on his arm, using it like a pillow, and he watches me, moving his hand slowly up and down my body. “I love you. You know that, don’t you? I love every part of you.” He smiles, nudging my shoulder with the end of his nose. “I love your crazy, weird eyes. I love your non-symmetrical face. I love the way you look at things, trying to figure out how you’re going to paint them. I love the way you hum when you’re trying to concentrate. And I love how you look at me, Coralie.”
“How do I look at you?”
“Like you love me, too. Like there are things about me that make your heart swell in your chest. Like you might love me enough to be with me for the rest of your life.” He takes a lock of my hair and twists it gently around his fingers. “Is that how you feel?” he whispers. “Is that what you want?”
This is the first time he’s spoken about love. It’s been an elusive word between us, but it’s never played on my mind that neither of us has said it. It hasn’t needed saying. I’ve felt it growing stronger and stronger every day. I never doubted for a second that Callan was in love with me, just as I never doubted I was in love with him. I feel a pleasant pressure all over my body as I answer him.
“Yes, that’s how I feel. I love you so much, Callan. I never want to be without you. Do you think we can do it? Do you think we’ll end up being together forever?”
Callan takes hold of me by the hand and kisses my fingers one at a time. He stops on my ring finger, biting it gently. “I’d marry you tomorrow, bluebird. If you wanted to, we would figure it out.”
I feel giddy. This is a lot to take in in one go. Callan hums softly as he kisses my hand again. “Of course, waiting until after college is probably a good idea,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’d be the worst southern stereotype there is if we showed up to our first class as that married couple from South Carolina.”
“After college it is, then.” I am filled with light. It’s such a strange, unknown sensation to me—to be this happy. I never thought I’d experience the joy of life in the same way everyone does. Not with my father around, anyway. Days of sorrow and sadness, endless, stretching out for as far as I could imagine: that is what I envisioned for my future. Until Callan, that is. Now, I dare to dream. Now, I lay awake at night, excited for what next year holds for the both of us. We’ll be finished with high school and I’ll be an adult. Malcolm won’t have any hold over me anymore. I’ll be free, and I’ll be with Callan.
His hand travels purposefully down my belly, where he meets the lacy band at the top of my panties. He doesn’t go underneath them at first. Instead he moves further down, in between my legs, touching me lightly over the material. I’m already wet, which is kind of embarrassing, but Callan seems to find it a turn on. He growls as he applies pressure, sending waves of heat shooting up through my body. I love when he touches me like this. The more turned on I get, the more possessive and determined he becomes; the same thing happens today, except now I can look him in the eyes as he kisses me. I can see how fiercely he cares about me as he eventually pulls my panties out of the way and pushes a finger deep inside me.
“Oh god. Fuck, Callan.” I pant this, feeling a little light headed. Whenever he pushes inside me, I feel a powerful pressure building up inside me. It feels so good, but I can tell that it will be borderline painful if he pushes any farther. Callan senses my body tense—h
e must, because he eases off, stroking the pad of his thumb over my clit instead. I’m well acquainted with my body, I’ve touched myself plenty of times, but it’s so different when Callan touches me. It’s more meaningful, more powerful. It drives me insane.
I reach down and take his cock in my hand, slowly working my palm up and down the length of him, squeezing a little. He really seems to enjoy that; he thrusts his hips forward, pushing into my hand, groaning a little, and a thrill of excitement rushes through me. I make him feel just as crazy, by the sounds of things.
Soon we’re both breathing heavily, hands roaming over each other’s bodies as we lose our inhibitions. Callan rocks his hips back, pulling away, which confuses me until he says, “Slow down. Slow. If you don’t, you’re gonna make me come.”
I really want to make him come, but I know that’s not the end goal here. He wants to be inside me. I want him there, too, more than anything, but I’m too shy to instigate that. Thankfully Callan must already know this. He sits up on his knees, rifling through his book bag until he finds what he’s looking for—a condom. He pulls a shiny silver square out of his wallet and rips it open, then he rolls it down onto his cock, watching me the whole time.
“You seem like you’ve done that before,” I say quietly.
“I have. About fifty seven million times. All guys practice, bluebird. Would you still wanna have sex with me if the thing snapped off and hit me in the eye while I was trying to put it on?”
“That would not be sexy.” I laugh, which kills the very last remnants of my anxiety. Callan rolls his eyes, but falls serious a second later.
“I’m not gonna fuck this up, okay?” he says. “This is going to be perfect, I swear.”
I believe him. It already is perfect because it’s me and him, and nothing could ever be wrong with that. He kisses me again, hooking one hand underneath me at the small of my back so he can turn me on my side. We lay on the ground, facing each other, adoring one another, stroking and licking, sucking on each other’s lips, using our teeth. We caress and pet each other until I just can’t take it anymore. My brain seems to quit working altogether. I’m grinding up against Callan when he snaps and climbs up on top of me, guiding himself between my legs.
I wrap my thighs around him, and the whole situation begins to feel very real. This is happening. This is happening right now, and I’m more than okay with it. Callan takes a deep breath and holds me tight in his arms. “You sure?” he rasps.
I’m out of breath and a little dazed, so I just nod. There’s so much love in his eyes. I can feel him pressing up against my pussy, almost pushing inside, and my heart kicks into overdrive. Slowly, slowly, he begins to apply more pressure…
I suddenly feel so full. It was one thing having his fingers inside me, but this is a totally different ball game. Callan swears, hovering over me, going still. “Fuck, bluebird. You’re so tight. God damn it.” He clenches his jaw, screwing his eyes shut. I’m pretty sure he’s not even halfway inside me, and it’s starting to sting.
Dragging out this part will suck. I wrap my arms around Callan, digging my fingernails into his back. “Just do it, Cal. Please…” He hisses, swearing again. “Please, baby…”
The second time I beg him, he does it. Thrusting forward, I feel resistance and then pain as he pushes all the way inside me. I cry out, and Callan crushes me against his chest, holding onto me for dear life, whispering soft, beautiful things into my hair, my neck, my ear. He holds me like that until the pain subsides. Over his shoulder, tiny birds dart overhead, calling out to one another, cartwheeling and pivoting in wild dogfight maneuvers.
After a few minutes, the sharp, searing pain turns to a dull throb. I angle my hips, testing out the water, seeing how bad the pain will be if I rock against him. Surprisingly it’s not too bad. Callan groans as I move again, this time pulling back enough that I can feel the friction between us when he slides back inside me. It feels hot and raw and kind of good. On top of me, Callan’s doing his best not to move at all. I can tell by the way he’s holding his breath that this is tough for him. “God, I want to fuck you so bad, Coralie. This is so fucking hard.”
“Then do it. Fuck me, Callan. Please…I want you to.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. You won’t. Please.”
That’s all it takes. Callan draws all the way out of me, then, thrusting back inside me carefully, and then repeating the process. He’s not rough, though I can tell he wants to be. I move against him, grinding my hips against his, encouraging him to speed up.
“Fuck, Coralie.” He hisses the words out between gritted teeth, and then he blows out hard down his nose. Lord knows why, but his need turns me on so much. I can barely keep myself together as I rock against him. I know he’s so close to coming. I can read it everywhere—in the way the muscles in his arms are twitching and shaking. The way his eyes are narrowed, barely even open. By the way two deep lines have formed between his eyebrows. And also by the way his cock feels inside me. Every small movement, every small pulse sends a shockwave through me, and he’s getting harder and harder by the second.
He’s holding back, and I don’t want him too. I want to witness him coming, feel it happen inside me in order to feed this insane craving I have to get as physically close to him as possible. I lean down and around, twisting my body underneath him a little so I can take hold of Callan’s balls. It’s almost as if I’ve electrocuted him. “Jesus, Coralie. You’re gonna make me come if you do that. Fuck.”
“Good.” I don’t know where this inner, brazen girl has come from but I like her. I arch my back a little, brushing my bare breasts against Callan’s chest, and I carefully massage and tease his balls as he fucks me. In a few moments, Callan’s back arches too and he’s burying his face in my shoulder, groaning as he climaxes. I feel all of it, and it’s incredible.
He holds onto me and he won’t let go. Not that I want him to. I’ve never felt so connected with anyone in my whole life. Before Callan came along, I was alone, though. I had no one. Just the ghost of my mother and dusty boxes of memories. With him in my life, I have Jo. I have Tina and Shane. I have hope.
“I love you so much,” I say, running my fingers lightly through his hair.
“I know you do, bluebird. I love you, too.”
Three months later he repeats this into my hair as I finally pluck up the courage to tell him that I’m pregnant. We were safe. We were smart. But sometimes, no matter how safe or smart you are, fate has other plans for you.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CORALIE
Terminal Velocity
NOW
Terminal velocity. I’ve known about terminal velocity since high school, but I’ve never really felt its impact on my life before. Not directly.
The constant speed that a freely falling object eventually reaches when the resistance of the medium through which it is falling prevents further acceleration.
That’s the definition you’ll get when you look up the term in the dictionary. There comes a point where you’re moving as fast as you can go, and the things around you that have prevented you from increasing in speed toward your destination no longer have any bearing to your flight path.
That’s how I’m feeling right now.
Ben; my career; Friday; my need to not be a complete and total fuck up my entire life—these things have stopped me from spiraling out of control since I left Port Royal, but now nothing seems to matter anymore. I should never have slept with Callan. Nothing has any perspective anymore. Nothing else matters. I could lose Ben tomorrow and I would be glad of it. I could never sell another painting and I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. But now, when I leave Port Royal for what I hope to be the very last time, when I have to say goodbye to Callan for what I know will be the very last time, it will be the end of the world for me.
I can still feel the remnants of the alcohol I drank last night quietly humming in my veins. I’m sober, but there’s no way I wouldn’t blow ov
er if I get breathalyzed, so I leave the Porsche where it is in the hotel parking lot and I take my second taxi of the day out to the county morgue.
I’ve showered and changed but I must look like hell because the woman behind the counter literally jumps when she notices me standing in front of her. She’s wearing a t-shirt with a UFO on the front of it, and the slogan ‘Get In, Loser,’ which seems strange considering the otherwise sober environment I find myself in. I hand over the paperwork from the sheriff’s department and tell her why I’ve come.
“Great. Thank you. Now, all we need you to do is identify your father’s remains and we can release his body,” UFO girl advises me.
I stare at her blankly. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Yeah. All we have to do is have you view the body and then we can officially confirm that it’s your father. Then the funeral director can come collect the body and you can arrange the funeral.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I’m sorry, you don’t…?” She trails off, looking perplexed. “Some people find it therapeutic to see the body of their dead loved ones?” she says. Her voice goes up at the end, like a question, like she already knows from the look on my face that she’s making a grave error by even suggesting such a thing.
“I’m not looking at his body,” I say.
“Well, it’s just something we have to do to finalize our paperwork, Ms. Taylor. I’m sorry, but there really is no way around—”
I turn and I storm out of the office. No way am I even standing around to entertain the prospect of looking down on the cold, lifeless body of the man who tormented me for so long. It’s just not happening. Outside in the parking lot, I bend over double and throw up.