by S. R. Grey
She snips a single straggler by his brow. “I bet you can, bud,” she says, laughing.
Jaynie and I are seated side-by-side on the edge of her bed, watching Mandy work her magic. Cody is perched on a stool in the middle of the room, his dark hair scattered on the floor beneath his dangling feet. Callie is seated on the floor in front of the stool.
She peers up at Cody with keen interest, and says, “Cody, you don’t look like me anymore. You look like you.”
Cody, uncertain fingers tugging at his new short-do, puffs out his lower lip. “I no want to not look like Callie.”
Mandy assures him, “You still look like your twin, sweetie. But now you look more like the boy you are.”
That makes him happy. “I am a boy,” he says proudly.
Callie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a boy. And I’m a girl. Big deal. Doesn’t change the fact that being a girl is still better.”
“Is not,” Cody counters.
“Is, too.”
“Okay, okay,” Mandy interjects. “Everyone is great—boy, girl, or space alien.”
“Who’s space alien?” Cody peers at the rest of us suspiciously.
“Nobody is an space alien, stupid,” Callie says.
And that’s when I jump in and diffuse a potentially volatile situation. “Hey, hey, what did we agree on about name-calling?”
“That it’s not nice,” Callie says.
“Exactly. So, tell your brother you’re sorry.”
“Sorry, Cody.”
Cody appears unaffected. He’s still fixated on the possibility that one of us may be an alien from another planet.
Mandy leans down, and I hear her whisper to Cody, “No one is an alien, okay?”
Cody nods. “Okay, good.”
She squeezes his shoulder as he jumps down from the stool. Then, brandishing the long-bladed metal scissors, Mandy says, “Who’s my next victim?”
Cody runs over to me. “Flynnie, Flynnie!” He pulls at my hand. “Flynnie next victim. He need a haircut, too.”
I’m hesitant, since, well, Mandy and sharp scissors, I don’t know. But the truth is that I like my hair a little long and on the scruffy side.
But when Jaynie leans toward me and says, “You could use a little trim,” I allow Cody to drag me off the bed and to the stool of doom.
“Not too much,” I warn Mandy as I reach back and protectively pat the strands of hair poking at the neckline of my tee.
Mandy smacks my hand away. “Give it a rest, Flynn. Getting your hair cut won’t kill you. Who do you think you are, anyway? Samson?”
“Who is Samson?” Cody immediately asks. “Space alien?”
“God help us,” I hear a too-cynical-for-her-years Callie mumble. She has moved to the space next to Jaynie on the bed, my vacated seat.
Cody is in his sister’s former spot in front of the stool. Peering down at him, I answer his question. “Samson wasn’t a space alien, little man.”
“There are no such things as aliens,” Callie chimes in, loudly, from over on the bed. “Quit asking about them, all right? You’re giving me a splitting headache.” Kids.
Cody ignores his sister’s rumblings and asks me again, “Who is Samson?”
“Nobody, bud,” I reply. I’m worried the story might upset him in some way, especially the haircut aspect.
But Mandy goes right ahead and tells him. I give up.
“Samson is a character from an old Bible story,” she says. “He was super strong,”—Cody’s eyes widen—“and his hair was the source of all his mighty strength.”
“What happen to him?” Cody asks.
Mandy sighs. She tilts my head forward. “Well, his girlfriend, this chick named Delilah, betrayed him. She allowed a bunch of bad guys to sneak in, and they chopped his hair off so they could get the jump on him.”
Cody swallows with an audible gulp. “Was he okay?”
“He was fine,” I interject.
Mandy smacks my arm. “Quit re-writing the tale, Flynn. Cody is old enough to hear the truth.”
“I want the truth, I want the truth,” Cody chants.
“I can’t fight you both,” I say, sighing.
As Mandy combs through the ends of my hair, she says, “Samson wasn’t fine, Cody. All his strength was gone, right along with his hair.”
Like a flash, Cody is up on his feet in an instant. Tugging my hand, he begs, “No get your hair cut, Flynn. You not be strong anymore.”
“See what you did,” I mutter under my breath to Mandy. “Told you to edit the story.”
Mandy crouches down next to Cody. “Sweetie, Flynn will be fine. It’s just an old Bible story.”
I chime in for good measure, “Yeah, it’s more like a fable, little man. Remember when we read the stories where each one had a lesson?”
“Like the one about the rabbit and the turtle?” Cody asks.
“Exactly like that one,” I say.
Cody is content with my explanation, but Callie, inquisitive girl that she is, can’t let it go. “What’s the moral of the Samson and Delilah story?”
“Don’t trust women,” I murmur facetiously.
Mandy smacks me across the head with a towel. “Don’t push it, Flynn. I have scissors in my hand, you know.”
She’s kidding, but I lean away, just in case. “It was a joke,” I insist.
“Ass,” she murmurs.
While Mandy and I continue to spar verbally, I overhear Jaynie telling Callie the moral of Samson’s story is to remember who you are and to not trust the wrong people for the wrong reasons. I don’t know if she has it right, but it sounds good to me.
When Mandy gets back to work on my hair, I relax. I feel cooler and better as clumps of light brown locks drift down to the floor.
“All done,” Mandy declares when she’s finished. She pushes me off the stool. “Off you go.”
“Okay, okay.”
Cody immediately has me flex, just to make sure I’m not any weaker. And then I have to pick him up and walk around the room with him perched on my shoulders. “See,” I say when I put him down. “All’s good.”
Cody nods. “Yep. Flynnie still strong.”
A few hours later, following haircut-time, and after I decide Cody and I may as well stay in the girls’ bedroom tonight since there are no cameras to worry about, I am lying on the floor, raking a hand through hair that hasn’t been this short in ages. Mandy did a great job, and I sure feel a lot better. Still, it’s an adjustment.
Suddenly, from up on the mattress, I hear Jaynie ask. “Flynn, are you still awake?”
I prop up on one elbow. “Yeah, I’m up. I thought you were sleeping, though.”
Resting her chin on the edge of the bed, she stares down at me. “I was,” she says. “Well, kind of.”
She stifles a laugh, and I ask, “What’s so funny?”
“You,” she replies, pointing. “Your hair is sticking up all over the top of your head in just about every direction. Were you messing with it?”
I nod, and she adds, “I want to feel it, Flynn, now that it’s so much shorter.”
I may not be Samson, but just like him, there is a woman in my life who’s definitely my weakness. Her name is Jaynie, though, not Delilah. Still, like Delilah, what Jaynie wants, Jaynie gets.
I sit up and lean my back against the bed. “Have at it,” I say over my shoulder.
“Not like that, Flynn.” I hear her scooting back toward the wall. “Come up here on the bed with me.”
Whoa. I twist around until our eyes meet in the darkness. “What are you saying?” I ask.
“Just come up here and lay down next to me.” Her tone is matter-of-fact. “I want you to sleep in the bed with me tonight.”
I pause. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. We lay next to each other all the time out in the woods. What’s the difference?”
She has a point. But this is different. Sleeping in the same bed with J
aynie changes a lot of things. I mean, shit, her mattress is really narrow. Limbs are bound to touch and become entwined. I sleep in nothing but boxers, and Jaynie’s tiny tee and boy shorts may as well be nothing.
What it comes down to is this: Do I want to sleep with Jaynie, even if we do just sleep?
Answer: Hell, yeah.
But then there’s my conscience saying: Should I sleep in the same bed as Jaynie?
It’s probably not the best idea in the world, considering, well, everything.
Since my resistance is for shit, when she presses the issue a second time, I give in and crawl up on the bed.
A minute later I’m pressed against her warm, soft body. Damn, this is so not a good idea. This is Jaynie going from baby steps to giant leaps. And, sure enough, once those little hands are in my hair, stroking and caressing, we both start breathing harder.
“How does it feel?” I ask huskily.
“What?” Her lips graze over mine, and I let out a groan. “How does what feel?” she asks again.
“My hair,” I whisper, breaths ragged.
Raking her fingers through my hair, she hitches one leg over one of mine. Not a big deal, till she scoots up higher. Then it becomes huge, the deal and me.
I groan. So much for trying to hide how hard she makes me.
She seems okay with what she has to be feeling against the inside of her thigh. Still, I worry the moment will come when we push things too far.
I really need to get a grip for the both of us.
Unfortunately, I am a seventeen-year-old guy, and I can’t make myself move away. I want nothing more than to keep feeling her body pressed to mine. And maybe she wants the same thing. Seeing as she’s rubbing all up against me. God, that feels good.
And when she suddenly says, “You feel amazing, Flynn,” I sure as hell know she doesn’t mean my hair.
Jaynie
Flynn feels good, really good, and I don’t mean his new shorter hair—though that feels great, too.
Draped as I am, basically all over him, I can easily feel all of him. I have to admit it thrills me to no end to know he wants me so damn much. That’s why it’s with much regret that I lift my body off his and lie next to him instead. It’s the smart thing to do, to not push myself. For as much as I like feeling Flynn, I do feel apprehensive.
“Is this better?” I ask.
He shifts so he can roll to his side and face me. “I can’t say this is better, necessarily.”
“Flynn!” I can’t help but smile, despite my pretend chastisement.
He touches my face lovingly, and I ask, “Are you going to stay with me? Do you think you can sleep up here?” He raises a brow, and I clarify, “I mean with us all smooshed together like this. Do you think we’ll get too warm?”
I mean a little more than that and he knows it. Still, he assures me, “I’m good if you are.”
I nestle into him. “I’m better than good, Flynn. I like having you so close to me. I feel safe for maybe the first time in my life.”
He tugs me in closer and whispers a contented, “Jaynie.”
From that point on, whenever Flynn stays in our room, he sleeps in my bed with me. No more hard and uncomfortable floor for him, no more tossing and turning for me.
Mandy raises a brow the next night as she watches Flynn nonchalantly climb into bed with me. “What?” I say.
“Nothing,” she replies. And then I hear her murmuring to herself, “Guess it was bound to happen.”
She doesn’t sound mad, and I know then Mandy is happy I’ve reached this pivotal point. A guy in bed with me? Who would have thought such a crazy thing would ever be possible?
The twins aren’t fazed one bit by Flynn sleeping with me. They know we care for each other, and it’s not like we’re messing around in front of them or anything. Besides holding me close to him, the only indication Flynn is more than a friend is when he kisses me good-night.
So, yeah, we maintain restraint at night, but let me tell you, the mornings are a whole different story. The second Mandy leaves the room with the twins, following the alarm clock that wakes us all, Flynn and I are all over each other. Soft kissing turns to full-on making out in no time at all. From there, we begin to engage in cautious exploration, in the form of wandering hands and tentative mouths.
And a funny thing happens as time progresses. As I give more and more of my heart to Flynn, his touch triggers nothing but feelings of love and acceptance. What we build together becomes strong enough to blot out the monster—before, during, and after. Still, I know recovery isn’t a straight line. I expect to have setbacks, especially as we move our physical relationship forward.
For now, though, we’re content with simply pushing boundaries. A hand down the back of my shorts, squeezing lightly, my fingers wrapped around his erection in his tented boxers.
I marvel at how hard Flynn gets, and he marvels at my reaction when he simply kisses down my chest, sucks one nipple into his mouth, then moves to my other breast to do the same. “I love how that feels,” I tell him over and over.
Still, these simple acts of foreplay won’t be enough for long. Our bodies already demand more. And I know we’ll succumb. You can’t fight nature.
One morning when we’re alone in the room and kissing furiously, Flynn rolls me on top of him.
Straddling him, I sit up, my eyes meeting his. “I love you,” I blurt out, causing his lust-hooded grays to widen.
“What?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” I go on, smiling. “You have to know I love you, Flynn O’Neill.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. It’s not often I catch Flynn off-guard.
With his gaze softening, he reaches up to touch my cheek. “I love you, too, Jaynie. I’ve wanted to say it for so long now, but—”
I cut him off. Leaning down, I capture his lips with mine and shimmy my body lower. Flynn lets out a small moan when I push my core to where I feel him throbbing. Clearing my mind, I close my eyes and let my body take over. Soon, I am moving back and forth, simulating sex.
Breathing hard, Flynn lifts his hips and grinds up against me. “That feels so good,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” His voice is rough, and it turns me on further.
I push down onto him and let out a soft mewl. “Fuck,” I hear him murmur.
Flipping me over onto my back, he continues to thrust between my legs. “Is this all right?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
And it is. It so gloriously is. Only Flynn is in my mind.
Flynn places his head in the crook of my neck and kisses my shoulder. He trails a finger down my side, lingering at the band of my boy shorts. Still moving between my legs, he lifts his head, his eyes asking for permission to keep going.
I nod. “My heart is beating so fast,” I whisper.
“Mine, too,” he says. With two fingers hooked in the band of my shorts, he stills, “Tell me if it becomes too much, Jaynie.”
“I will,” I promise.
But the only reaction out of me is a breathy, “Oh, Flynn,” when he slips his whole hand under the band of my boy shorts and moves lower than he ever has.
Gasping, I press the back of my head against the pillow. And when I feel his fingers gliding over my folds, and then lingering at my core with the promise of more, I start moving with him. “Don’t stop, Flynn,” I whisper.
He tugs my shorts down my legs. “I wasn’t planning on stopping,” he tells me.
And he doesn’t.
Holding onto his strong shoulders, I squeeze at his flesh. I am aroused beyond belief. Flynn strokes me with a precision that leaves me wondering where he learned such things. I don’t care, though. I’m just glad he knows what to do.
I feel a building pressure, and my whole body tenses in a way that tells me relief is at hand. Flynn then does something with his fingers that has me slapping my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming out.
This is ecstasy.
Or so I thin
k, until I feel him move down my body and put his mouth on me.
That is indescribable.
And there in the dim morning light of the best summer morning of my life, Flynn gives me two back-to-back orgasms.
Flynn
Jaynie insists I take a shower before her. She tells me she needs time to recover. Shit, hell yeah. I’m a little smug, I admit it.
But though my ego has been stroked, I am mostly relieved Jaynie didn’t freak out over how far we ventured. Things could have easily taken a turn for the worse. Recovery is tricky like that. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was worried I’d do something to trigger some kind of panic attack.
Jaynie was okay, though. Better than okay, even. Who knows, maybe love does conquer all.
Speaking of love, it’s left me in an uncomfortable position—I’m still hard and in need of release. That’s okay. A few extra minutes spent in the shower will take care of things. I wasn’t about to push Jaynie to do anything to me. Although I think she would have. I saw her staring at my dick—my erection obvious, even though I left my boxers on—and it wasn’t in disgust.
Nevertheless, there’s no need to race to the finish line. We’ll get there in due time. The way I see it, we have forever ahead of us. I don’t plan on ever leaving Jaynie.
Adjusting myself discreetly, I start down the hall. When I reach the bathroom, Mandy is coming out, and we almost crash into each other in the hall.
“Flynn,” she admonishes. “Run me right over, why don’t you.”
I turn away swiftly so Mandy doesn’t notice my, uh, condition. Thankfully, it’s waning quickly.
“Jesus, don’t you have somewhere to be?” I snap. “Like downstairs with the twins, eating breakfast.”
“We should all be downstairs by now,” she volleys back.
“Um, I’m running a little late.”
“And Jaynie, where is she?”
“Running late, too.”
Tapping her finger to her chin, she says, “Hmm, wonder why.”
Mandy knows what goes on in the bedroom when she leaves. And she’s not above giving me a hard time about it.
“Shut the hell up, Mandy,” I say, but with a smile. Mandy may as well be my real sister; she harasses me like one would.