“Ross!” I start at the sound of her voice. “Your marshmallow!” She shrieks.
“Shit!” I pull the stick back quickly. The entire tip of it is engulfed in flame. I blow it out but it’s too late, my dessert burnt to a crisp.
“It’s okay,” she giggles. “It’s not completely done for. Shannon used to like them like that. She’d just peel off all the black stuff and lick that thing right off the stick.”
I smile. The way she just said her sister’s name, without even flinching, means I’m doing something right. And I suddenly don’t regret any of my future plans. Not even giving her up. Not if it means her future will be better.
“I kinda like things Cajun style,” I reply. I bring the tip of the stick to my mouth and take a big bite.
“No, Ross!”
“Ah!” I hop up off the log, dropping the stick on the ground. “Shit! That shit is hot. I burned my fucking lip!”
Sheila is laughing so hard I can barely make out what she’s saying. “What were you thinking? Everyone knows you don’t bite into a roasted marshmallow two seconds after roasting it.”
“Clearly not everyone.” I scowl at her and she laughs harder.
“Here,” she reaches up to touch me and I jerk back. “Hold still, would ya?”
My lip is still stinging like a bitch as I bow toward her, tentatively. “This fucking hurts,” I murmur.
She rolls her eyes and begins picking at my bottom lip. “You’re such a baby.”
“Tell that to my mouth.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never done this before. Such a city boy.” She discards the last piece off hardened marshmallow and pats my cheek. “Better?”
“Still hurts.”
She smiles. “Want me to kiss it better?”
My heart swells. Fuck, yes. But hell, no. Not with the things that have been going through my mind tonight. I open my mouth to respond—maybe try and change the subject somehow—but she doesn’t give me a chance. In seconds, she’s on my tiptoes and pulling me closer. She plants a tender kiss on the sore spot and I close his eyes. “How about now? Is it better now?” I sigh and she kisses me again. “Or do you need some more first aid?”
She kisses me softly again, this time swiping her tongue across my lip. I reciprocate, taking her top one into my mouth. It’s still sweet from the marshmallow and when she moans in response, I grip her waist and yank her toward me. As always, I kiss her deep and hard and in seconds her hands are in my hair and she’s panting for breath.
“I thought you were in pain,” she whispers.
“Fuck, Carlson. I am.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sheila
He hoists me up, his lips still pressed roughly against mine. As he makes his way back toward the cabin, I squeeze my thighs at his waist. I’m dying to rip my close off, to finally get to our makeup session. But my stomach is in knots, my mind swirling.
“Wait,” I mumble.
“What?” He pulls back a little, then nips my bottom lip softly before asking, “What’s wrong?”
“We, um, we should probably—we need to put the fire out.”
He stops in his tracks, then glances over my shoulder.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, wriggling free and jumping down. “After all, I’m the one with all the experience.” I nudge him and nod toward the cabin. “Go get ready for me,” I add with a wink. It feels like a stupid gesture and I immediately wish I hadn’t said it.
For a moment all he does is stand there. His gaze drinks me in and I wring my hands in front of me, watching him.
“Don’t be long,” he grunts, licking his bottom lip.
“I won’t,” I whisper.
After he goes inside, I head back toward the pit. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since agreeing to come on this trip and all of a sudden I’m so nervous I can barely breathe.
Why? It’s not like I haven’t been with him before. Sex was our favorite pastime for a solid month after everything went to shit. Why am I so damn scared?
I rake my fingers through my hair, then pull my jacket tight. Grabbing the tin bucket from beside the fire pit, I make my way toward the riverbank.
Maybe it’s circumstance. A cabin in the woods instead of his bed—the only place we’ve ever done it. Not to mention I usually like to freshen up beforehand, but unless I feel like trekking to a public restroom and back in the dark, I’ll have to do it cavewoman style.
I suck in a deep breath. It’s fine. I’m fine. We spent an entire day in bed once and as romantic as it sounds, I could have killed for a shower by the end of it. It’s only been a few hours.
I let out a shaky breath, as I fill the bucket with water. As I trudge back toward the pit, I consider what tonight might mean. An opportunity for us to finally define what we are. It’s the impending answer to that question that’s haunting me. What if we’re nothing? What then? What if we’re everything?
I rest the bucket down and pick up one of the heavier sticks. The neglected fire has already started to die down on its own so I begin prodding at the coals, spreading them out around the pit like I’ve watched Dad do a million times.
“You’re okay,” I mutter. “Everything’s going to be fine. Just relax, Sheila.”
And I am fine. Fine and sober.
The coals sizzle as I douse them with water and I stand there watching them fade from to black. I spread them around a little more, then sit back down on the log, head in hands.
I can’t remember the last time I was this alert and aware of my surroundings. At least the last time I was this way around Ross. I nursed the same drink all night, taking a tiny sip here and there. I’m barely buzzed and it’s freaking me out. It shouldn’t. It’s probably ridiculous that it does but those are the facts. Although I grew accustomed to being mostly inebriated over the past several weeks, it’s been easier to wean myself than I expected. I guess I didn’t need it as much as I thought I did. I just never gave myself the opportunity. I always believed it would be too painful to get through every day with a clear head, but I’ve been handling it.
This morning when I opened my eyes I was happy for a split second. For that fraction of time, I completely forgot who I was and what I’d lost. But the sorrow seeped in, one drop at a time like sweat oozing through pores. And in the moments that followed, I craved the numbness. I imagined raiding Mr. Rose’s liquor cabinet, getting plastered and going back to bed. But stopped myself. Because I made a promise—to myself and to whatever force is in control of all of this. I’m going to let it hurt. I’m going to let the pain in. If it means I’ll be able to see clearly, to make the right decision, then it’s what I’m going to do.
But as I sit here now, I’m terrified. I’ve never been with Roscoe without something in my system. I don’t know what it will be like. I don’t know how I’ll feel after—or during. I don’t know if I’ll feel the same about him. I don’t even know where we stand. What if everything I’ve been holding onto all this time is false? An illusion. Not real contentment or safety but a trumped up version of both. What if, with a clear mind, I realize Ross isn’t who I think he is? What if he comes to the same conclusion?
I pour the remainder of the water over the blackened coals and take one slow step at time toward the cabin. As I approach the steps, I force myself to relax. I focus on the way I’ve always felt. On the way I imagine he feels. I focus on the possibility that, even in the real world, Ross and I are exactly what we’ve always been: two halves of the same whole—a perfect match. I just need to show him how I feel. At least how I think I do.
He’s standing on the other side of the cabin when I enter. Still fully clothed and just staring. His gaze moves from my face, down the length of my body and settles back on my mouth. His brow is knitted together, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.
I let out a slow breath. “What are you doing?”
He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”
I unzip my jacket and drape it on the back of
the chair. His gaze still fixed on me, I wrack my brain struggling to come up with my next move. What would I normally have done? What would he expect? He usually teases me about wanting to be in control—he says I’m bossy.
I coach my nerves to calm and start on my sweater pulling it over my head. Once it’s lying in a heap on the floor, I take a few steps toward him. He’s still staring, his expression unchanged. I pause in the middle of the room to unzip my jeans and peel off one leg at a time. Roscoe doesn’t look away, so I smile, even though I’m dying inside. What the hell is he waiting for? He’s the one who told me to hurry up and now he’s just…standing there.
What if he’s already realized this is wrong? What I’m the one playing catch up? He was with Maya after all. Maybe not with her with her. But something made him give in. The memory of what they had? The fact that I don’t measure up?
When I finally reach him, I stop inches away, gazing up at his scruffy face. He’s been neglecting the razor again and it makes me just a little bit excited. The way his face pricks against my skin turns me on more than I’d ever let him know. I get the feeling if I did, he’d never shave again. And I don’t do beards. I laugh a little and he raises an eyebrow.
“You all right?”
I nod.
“The fire out?”
I nod again.
Crossing my arms in front of me, I slowly peel off my t-shirt, revealing my half-naked body. His eyes glisten and he closes them—almost squeezing them shut. He bites down on his lip when I stand on my tiptoes, my own lips grazing his throat. The clink of his teeth against that barbell makes me sigh.
“What’s wrong?” I press my palms against his chest, trying my best to replicate what I remember of our time together. I nip his skin with my teeth and he groans a curse.
“Sheila—”
I don’t give him a chance to finish. I cup my hands around the back of his neck, pulling him to me. He’s quick to take over, his hands immediately find my bare waist, his fingers digging into my sides. He devours my lips like he’s been starving for me all this time—the way I’ve been lusting for him. I fist his hair and he kisses me harder, probing my mouth with his tongue, gripping my body so tight, I don’t know how I haven’t lost my breath.
I fumble with his clothes, urging his belt open with one hand as I yank at the hem of his shirt with the other.
My fingers have just met the warmth of his firm, rippled stomach when he pulls away.
“Hold on. Just…hold on a sec.”
“What?” I rise up on my tiptoes again, attempting to pull him back to me. “What’s wrong?”
“We…can’t…we shouldn’t.”
“What?” I shake me head, squinting as though it’ll help me make more sense out of what he’s saying. “We shouldn’t what?”
He grips my hands, holding them between us. “I can’t—I can’t do this with you anymore.”
His admission floors me and I yank my hands away, backing up and nearly tripping as the room blurs around me. “What are you…?”
“It’s not what you think, Blue.”
“What do I think?” I ask. I feel more angry than I sound, but I can barely bring myself to speak as it is.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that the other day. I wanted to and maybe I’m even glad I did, but I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”
“You touch me like that all the time,” I whisper. At least he has for the past two months. What the hell’s changed? The moment the question enters my mind, the answer isn’t too far behind.
Maya.
“Oh,” is all I say as I bend to pick up the remnants of my pitiful little strip tease.
“Oh, what?”
I shake my head. “Why would you bring me here, Ross? Some romantic little cabin in the woods. Of all the places…”
“Because I—”
“You didn’t want Maya to see us together? Is that it?”
“Maya? No. What does she have to do with anything?”
“When you said this wasn’t a triangle, I thought you meant me. I mean after you kissed me like that, what was I supposed to think? But I get it now.”
“You don’t get anything. This has nothing to do with Maya. I swear.”
“Maybe you should take me home”.
“We’ve got the place for the night. It’s cold outside and Coco and Cole are probably sleeping by now. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
“But you don’t even want me anymore.” My eyes are burning now and as weak as the words sound, I can’t help myself. “I thought that’s what this was. I thought…” I shrug a little.
In a few quick steps, he’s suddenly inches from me again, yanking my clothing from my hands and tossing it aside. “I’m not taking you anywhere, Blue. Not yet.”
Roscoe’s hands grip my ass and he hoists me up, our lips connecting on instinct. I grip his biceps as our tongues tangle together and, when I squeeze my thighs, he swells against me.
“Take me to the bed,” I mumble against his mouth.
But he doesn’t listen. He drops to his knees, taking me with him, his arms encircling my waist as I straddle him. His hands travel up my spine and he grasps my hair, yanking my head back and nuzzling my neck. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shuttering moan as I grind against him.
“The bed,” I whisper again.
“No. I want you right now. Right here.” Roscoe unsnaps my bra and lays me down on the floor, slipping the garment over my arms before hovering over me.
He stares down at me, his gray eyes smoldering and a nervous shiver runs through me. He licks his lips, his gaze locked with mine. He looks hungry. Like he hasn’t had the one thing he’s craved in days.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his tone unstable. “Every time I close my eyes, I can smell you. Fucking taste you. Goddamnit, Blue. What’d you do to me, huh?” He pulls his sweater over his head revealing beautiful, intricately inked skin.
I can’t help but reach out to touch it. It’s only been days but it feels like years.
He catches my fingers between his own and brings them to his mouth. He holds them there, closing his eyes. Once again he’s frozen in place and I’m sure he’s about to change his mind.
“I want this,” I say quickly. “I want you. I’m sorry I left. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I—I don’t care about Maya anymore. It’s my fault. I—”
His lips seize mine and I arch upward, melting into his feverish skin. The bulge beneath his jeans presses against my thin cotton panties and I feel around for his waistband again. Roscoe pushes my hands away, working his pants over his hips and kicking them off in frantic movements. The floor is hard against my back and for a moment I consider suggesting the comfort of the tiny mattress, but when Roscoe pulls away from my mouth and begins trailing vehement kisses downwards, I lose all ability to speak.
With a light score of his teeth, here and there, he swirls his tongue down the base of my neck and leaves a trail of kisses down the center of my chest. His hands find my breasts and he squeezes softly, then just a bit harder before rolling my nipples between his fingers.
I let out a soft cry and he responds with a satisfied moan. He continues moving downward and just when I think I can’t take anymore of his teasing he pulls my panties to the side and lightly grazes my sensitivity with his finger.
“Ahh!” It catches me off guard and my legs tingle, my toes curling in sequence with my fists in his hair. Roscoe rubs a little harder and I gasp, then clench my teeth as I hold back a groan. When he increases the rhythm, my body betrays my mind and I let go, an unfamiliar scream tumbling from my lips.
“Oh, god.” I cover my mouth, my cheeks heating up. “Ross…”
His kisses move past my belly button, down the length of one inner thigh and up again. He lingers over my center his hot breath causing me to arch toward him. His tongue, wet and warm, darts out, sliding across my seam and earning another scream. I can almost hear the smi
le in his responding moan. He licks me again, this time dragging his tongue slowly between my folds and twirling it around my clit until my entire body goes limp.
I’ve never been more ready. I’ve never wanted it this bad before. I open my mouth to tell him as much but the intensity of his entire mouth against my heat takes control of my body, my mind…my everything. He pulls the most sensitive parts further into his mouth, flicking it with the cool metal of his tongue ring. I’m convulsing, my entire body trembling beyond control. I’m muttering something too—words I can’t quite push to the tip of my tongue, sentences I can’t quite form.
“R—Ross!” I scream. “Oh, my g—Ross!”
He squeezes my nipples harder, growling into me as he laps at my center, taking me to a place I’ve never been. When I release, it’s with so much force that my lower back, slams against the hardwood floor, my legs kick forward and head bobs back. Roscoe grips my hips, holding me in place as he continues to pleasure me, groaning at each aftershock.
When I finally collapse on the floor, he crawls over me, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “You okay?”
All I can manage in response is a faint nod.
Ross laughs. “Are you sure, Blue?”
“I’m…” I whisper, my eyes still closed.
He chuckles again and I hear a shuffling as he rises to his feet and moves around the cabin. I’m so spent, I don’t bother to ask what he’s doing. In the next few moments, he surprises me, scooping me up and carrying me to the bed. He crawls in next to me, pulling me close to him and resting my head on his chest.
“Should probably get some sleep,” he says.
“No,” I protest weakly. “What about you?”
He presses a kiss to my ear and whispers. “I’m good, Blue. Trust me. I’m very, very good.”
And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. Nothing’s changed. I want to be with Ross. I need to be. I lean into him, with a contented smile, slowly drifting off to sleep.
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