by Mila Gray
“Em, I mean it,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for all these years. About us. About what might have been.”
I laugh through my nose. “We were thirteen, fourteen—nothing would have been, Jake.”
“You don’t know that,” he says, his voice a whisper in my ear that sends a long shiver down my spine.
I stand up. He’s an inch from me and the pull is so great it takes everything I’ve got to not press myself up against him. I try not to, but my attention falls straightaway to his lips. My stomach muscles tighten at the memory of them on mine. Goddamn it. Why did I give in and let him kiss me?
And why must there always be this contradiction when it comes to Jake? This constant urge I have to run from him conflicting with an intense yearning to give in and draw close to him?
“Em,” he says, shaking his head, “if all that’s holding you back is the thought of me leaving, then that’s not a good enough reason.”
I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go except into the fire, so I just cross my arms in front of my chest instead in an effort to keep him at bay. He stays where he is, and I realize he’s challenging me. He knows exactly what his proximity is doing to me. The heat from the flames behind me is nothing compared to the heat building between the two of us. I can feel my defenses melting, and he can feel it too. I know from the victorious, challenging look in his eye. He’d look like that as a kid when daring me to do something he knew he’d win at—like hundred-meter sprints.
He always did know how to play me, and the thought drives me insane. I don’t want to let him win. But it’s not a game, I remind myself. It’s not a dare. It’s my life, and Jake winning doesn’t mean that I have to lose. We can both win.
“I can’t get you out of my head,” he continues.
I am this close to caving in, but I dig in my heels.
Jake is waiting, watching me, but he finally seems to realize I’m not going to back down, that I’m resolute on this. He nods, almost to himself, his shoulders slumping, and then he takes a step backward. I take a deep breath in, feeling the distance between us as a physical ache. Another step and the ache becomes a stab to the gut—a ripping feeling in my chest as though someone has my heart in their hands and is tearing it into pieces.
“I guess then,” he says, smiling sadly at me as he reaches the door, “I’ll just have to settle for being friends.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s more than I hoped for.” A pause. “But it’s less than I want.”
His words knock something loose in me, jolt me into realizing that it’s less than I want too. The voice in my head screams that I can’t let him go, that I need to trust him not to hurt me again.
He’s over by the door to the tent, lifting the flap, when I grab his hand. I’m almost as stunned as him, as I don’t remember having moved across the tent.
Jake turns, surprised, but in the next second I’m in his arms and we’re kissing, not tentatively this time but as if time is running out on us, as if those lost years need to be caught up on in the next five minutes.
It’s so strange after Rob to kiss someone else, to be held by someone else, and I wonder now in total bewilderment how I ever thought Rob and I had any kind of connection or chemistry. I never even knew that a kiss could feel like that, and it’s frankly blowing my mind.
We sink to our knees together, Jake’s arms around my waist holding me close, my hands in his hair. He pulls me onto his lap in one swift move, and we’re still kissing, any lingering thoughts and doubts blasted away by the heat of his lips on mine, feverish and frantic. After a few minutes, though, he stops and rests his forehead against mine and takes a deep, shaky breath in. I’m still pressed against him, can feel his heart hammering beneath my palms. His own hands are gripping my hips and my whole body is trembling. It’s as if we’re standing, teetering, on the very edge of a precipice after almost running headlong into an abyss. I can sense him trying to inch back from it, and I’m poised, every nerve ending humming, as I wait to see what will happen next. And then I realize that I’m in control of what happens next. I don’t have to wait and see.
I run my hands around his neck and pull him closer and keep kissing him.
Jake sighs, his hands stroking up my spine, pulling me closer against his body. “I really want to take you to bed,” Jake murmurs in my ear. He pauses and I wait for the “but” . . . and then it comes. “But I don’t think we should, you know, have sex or anything.”
I pull back, giving him an archly amused look. That’s not what his body is telling me. Far from it.
“I mean, I do,” he says. “Absolutely, I do want to have sex.” He gives me a winsome shrug, a blush spreading over his face. “I just . . . I want us to take it slowly. Do it right.”
“Me too,” I say, feeling both frustrated and, I must admit, a little relieved at the same time. I want him, but I don’t want to rush things either. I’ve only ever been with Rob up until now. What if I’m not good enough?
“Besides,” he adds, “I don’t have any protection with me.”
I smile. He didn’t plan to get me into bed, then. I’m glad about that. I rest my head on his shoulder and he strokes his hands gently down my back and kisses my shoulder.
“We’ve waited so long I think we can wait a little longer,” I tell him, kissing him back. “And I think you can still take me to bed.”
“Really?” he asks, his voice strained.
I nod, stroking my fingertips along his jaw, feeling the stubble and marveling at how much more there is to get to know about this new Jake. “I mean,” I say, “we don’t have to have sex.”
He interrupts me. “I don’t intend to have sex with you, Emerson Lowe, ever. I intend to make love to you.”
And with that, he picks me up and stands. I wrap my legs around his waist and let him carry me over to the bed.
Jake
I lay her down on top of the covers and then slowly start to undress her, first pulling off her T-shirt and then inching down her pajama bottoms. Her skin glows in the firelight, and I stroke my fingertips over her stomach, watching it flutter in response. Shit. She’s beautiful, her skin smooth and flawless. And she’s here, with me, staring up at me with a look that makes me pause. I see the desire in her, the way her skin is flushed with heat from the fire and from my touch, but I also see the vulnerability in her eyes, the shadow of fear lurking there, and there’s a hard punch in my chest cavity as my heart thuds against my ribs.
God, I want her. She’s biting her bottom lip, her hair all disarrayed, looking sexier than I’ve ever seen. I lie down beside her, pressing up against her. She reaches for the bottom of my T-shirt and pulls it over my head. Her hands slowly start to trace their way over my shoulders and down my chest, until I’m driven so crazy that I have to swing my leg over her waist and pin her wrists to the bed.
She laughs and arches her back in response. I kiss my way down her body, starting at her neck, making my way down, down, down, taking my time, listening for the rising moans and the hitched breathing, loving the way her body arches higher and higher as I make my way lower and lower.
I reach the waistband of her underwear and she holds her breath, her back still arched. I pause, enjoying the sight of her—eyes half-closed, head thrown back—wanting to drink her in and remember this moment forever. I start to ease her underwear down and off and her fingernails imprint half-moons into my shoulders. I laugh and she swipes at me with her hand, growling. I kiss her stomach. She laughs in response, but I silence her with my tongue between her legs. She gasps loudly and her body stiffens, but I push her legs farther apart and kiss her more until she relaxes and lets out a moan. Her free hand twists the sheets into a knot.
I keep going, loving the feel of her, the taste of her, the sound of her cries, coming faster and faster. Slowly, I start to explore her with my hands and tongue, wanting to take my time, to show her how much I want her.
It’s not often I’ve got the upper hand with Em, a
nd I’m enjoying it, reveling in the way I can make her writhe and move against me, but suddenly she shifts her body, wriggling free of my grip, and rolls herself so she’s on top of me, still breathing hard, face flushed, her naked body, burning hot, pressed against mine. Now, that’s a feeling I could get used to. I stroke both palms down the length of her back, her butt, over her thighs, and reach once more between her legs, but she scoots downward out of my way, flicking her hair out of her face with one arm and pressing my chest down into the bed with her other.
What’s she doing? She sits up, straddling me, and I get a full look at her, at her body glowing in the firelight. If we could stay like this for the rest of my life I’d be happy, but Em has other ideas. She tugs off my shorts. I’m not embarrassed. I lie there staring up at her as her gaze travels the length of me before returning to my face. She smiles mischievously and then dips her head and starts kissing me, starting with my lips before tracing her tongue down my chest. When she takes me in her mouth, I suck in a breath and have to focus on not losing control. It’s my turn to twist the bedsheets into knots.
Every muscle in my body tenses as her fingers tease and stroke me. Before she can bring me close, though, I flip her off me. She cries out, but I quiet her with a kiss and pull her into my arms. Lying facing each other, our legs entwined, I reach for her again. She stares into my eyes as I slide my fingers inside her. Her mouth opens in a gasp and I bite her bottom lip. Her own hand grips me hard, starting up a rhythm that I match. We’re both breathing hard and fast, blood pounding like lightning through me. Shit. Em’s muscles contract sharply and I feel her start to come. I let go at the same time and we come together, both of us panting.
She’s covered in a sheen of sweat and I pull her close against me so I can feel her heart smashing into my own ribs and I stroke her hair, breathing her in. She starts shaking hard and I wonder if she’s crying, but when I try to pull back to see, her hands grip my shoulders tight, so I draw her closer and hold her as tight as I can.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
She responds by curling into me. She’s still shaking, and I pull back just enough to look at her face. I was right. She’s crying.
I frown and wipe away a tear with my thumb. She smiles at me through her tears, and I realize she’s not sad. She’s happy. I kiss her, lightly, softly. She lets out a sigh, burrows once more into my shoulder, breathing in deeply, and that’s how we fall asleep.
* * *
I wake up with Em’s back pressed against my chest, my arm tight around her waist. For a long moment, I just lie there and listen to her breathe, enjoying the feeling of her body nestled against mine, the smell of her hair and her skin. At the memory of last night, my blood starts to rush a little quicker. I can feel her start to stir, her hips pressing back against mine, and my body responds. My hands inch down her body, enjoying every smooth inch of her. She sighs in her sleep.
I’ve got plans to wake her up in a way that will put a smile on her face, but unfortunately a loud crash followed by cursing interrupts me. It’s the bachelor boys outside trying to light the gas stove and clearly failing. I peel my arm off Em and roll out of the bed, reaching for a T-shirt and pulling it on as I make my way outside. I really do not want to be blown up, today of all days.
The men all look up at my appearance, making their usual jibes, asking how my night was. I shrug, saying nothing, but Thor is straight onto me. “Look at that smile,” he says. “You totally got some!”
I shake my head at him, but he’s right, and the fact is I can’t stop smiling.
I move toward the camp stove to make coffee, and that’s where Em finds me a few minutes later. She creeps up behind me, and when I turn, I find her standing a little awkwardly, hair mussed from sleep, her face flushed—maybe from sunburn, maybe from embarrassment. Her lips look swollen, and I want to kiss them, but I’m conscious of the boys watching us.
“Here,” I say, handing her a coffee.
She smiles and takes it. “Thanks,” she says. She looks at me over the rim of the mug as she takes a sip and her eyes are dancing blue, filled with the kind of mischief that before, when we were kids, used to signal a dare coming my way and now seems to signal a different kind of dare altogether.
“Come back inside the tent,” I tell her, in a voice quiet enough that the guys can’t hear.
Her eyebrows rise. I walk into the tent. She follows.
This time as soon as she walks inside, I pull her into my arms. She hoists her leg over my hip, and I slide my hand along her thigh. She draws in a breath right by my ear, and I feel myself get immediately hard.
She kisses my ear. “Don’t stop,” she whispers hoarsely.
I grin and slip my hand once more between her legs and then inside her underwear. Guided by her moans, I increase the rhythm. She presses against me, then reaches her hand for me, but I nudge her away. I want to focus just on her. It’s more of a turn-on than she could possibly know.
She’s leaning against the table, and I watch as she throws back her head and closes her eyes. If only the bachelor party weren’t outside and we could spend all day in here in bed. I want to make her come over and over, but instead I just have to make do with this one time. So I make it count. I build the rhythm with my hand until I see her bite down hard on her lip to stop from crying out loud, and then I pull her close and kiss her neck, even as I bring her to orgasm. She grips hold of my shoulders as she comes and I stop her mouth with my own, loving the way her body continues to jolt even afterward. Her legs are wobbly and weak, and when I set her down she falls against me.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, her face flushed. “Wow.”
I grin at her. She pushes me backward with her fists against my chest. “Stop looking so smug,” she says. “Just wait until later.” And with that, she runs her palm down my body before spinning on her heel and leaving.
The problem with what just happened is that while Em is happy and relaxed and cool as a cucumber for the next four hours, I am jumpy, frustrated, and so wound up that not even the freezing cold water of Puget Sound can cool me off or stop me from thinking about Em’s naked body and what she might have in mind for later.
Em and I have to split up to make sure that we all get back to Bainbridge in one piece because the bachelor, after three days and two nights of drinking, twelve dares, and little sleep, is barely able to dribble, let alone paddle. I’m actually feeling sympathetic toward him, with his eyebrows shaved and with a permanent marker mustache drawn on his face, which is why I don’t mind doing all the paddling while he rests, slumped forward in front of me. Besides, the paddle work helps me burn off some of the excess energy coursing through my body.
I glance across the waves to Em in the kayak just ahead of me. She’s wearing just a bikini top, and I’m fairly sure she’s trying to taunt me. She glances over at me, her face shaded by the visor of her cap, and grins. Yeah, definitely taunting me.
She’s sitting behind Clark Kent, who’s turned out to be the most athletic and fun of the whole bachelor party. He loves being on the water and seems undented by the drinking or partying. Behind us, I can still hear Captain GoPro hollering at Thor as if they’re in the Olympics.
I can’t believe Em has to run trips like this all the time. It’s great to be out and on the water, but having to constantly be at the beck and call of clients and in top form is tough. In just over a month, I’ll be back at college, but Em will be here, doing this—until the weather turns too cold at least. I wish there were a way to bring her with me.
To distract myself from the thought of leaving, I think about all the things we can do in four weeks, all the places I’m going to take her, all the old haunts I want to revisit with her. I’m going to offer to take all Toby’s shifts too, so I can get to work with her every day. I also figure that I owe him for his deliberate mess-up with the tents.
When we pull up on shore back in Bainbridge and hop out of the kayaks, I notice Toby skulking behind the door of the store, keepin
g out of sight, no doubt nervous that Em’s going to blow his head off. As Em and I help the bachelor boys carry their stuff back to their car, he sneaks up to me.
“Hey,” he asks. “How did it go?”
“It was great.” I can’t stop my eyes from sliding over to Em, who is locked in conversation with Clark Kent, whose real name we’ve discovered is actually Aaron. Em looks up at me as if she senses me watching and smiles. Maybe it’s me, but she looks like a different person—lighter, glowing from within.
Toby fist-pumps the air. “I knew it! It worked, didn’t it? The fire teepee! It totally worked!”
“What?”
“That place is a love den. You can’t stay in the fire teepee without sparks flying.”
I shake my head at him, bewildered.
“I even had to make two fake bookings,” he tells me. “You totally owe me.”
“I do,” I tell him. “I’m going to take all your shifts.”
He slaps me on the shoulder. “Well, at least now Emerson seems in a better mood. Thank Jesus for that.” He’s smiling at Em, who is now chatting animatedly to Aaron and scribbling something down in a notebook.
“Who’s that?” Toby asks, observing them. “He’s cute.”
“He isn’t Photoshopped either,” I tell him.
“Excuse me a moment,” Toby says, and strides toward him.
I watch him hold out his hand and introduce himself to Aaron. Em leaves them to it and strolls toward me. She rests her head on my shoulder, weary but happy.
“Good job,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.
“You too,” she answers, putting her arm around my waist and leaning into me.