Love Me Crazy

by Camden Leigh

  “What is that?”

  “My dad and I built this place for my sisters.” He unlocks the door to the roofed structure.

  “Is this the dock alligators learned to climb?” I huddle next to him, searching for anything log-like that might be an acrobatic alligator.

  “Did Kat tell you that?”

  “She said alligators like eating dogs and kids and could run a swamp mile faster than an emu.” I huddle closer to him. “She said those same alligators were in this swamp.”

  “Kat’s overly dramatic at the worst possible times.” He rubs my arm and pulls me in for a bear hug.

  “Still,” I say. “Alligators?”

  “And piranha and rabid wolves and girl-eating slugs.”

  I whack him on the chest. “Stop bullshitting me.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  I laugh and he dances me in a circle.

  “I love when you laugh. Your entire face lights up, not that I can see it out here.”

  I point at the door he’d unlocked. “Are we going in? Is it safer than standing out here like bait?”

  He walks me to the center. “In a sec.” He cranes his head back and looks at the break in the canopy. “Moon’s almost gone.”

  “Then it will be pitch-black.”

  “And the boogeymen come out to play.”

  I wrap my arm around his waist and straddle his foot. “Not. Funny.”

  “We’re safe, I promise.”

  Cicadas vibrate the air like jets in a flyby. Frogs, with their high-pitch calls, echo around us. I close my eyes, allowing the drone to replace my interior noises and sedate my jumpy nerves.

  “There.” Quinn squeezes my shoulder.

  I open my eyes. What am I looking— Oh! Twinkling, pale golden bursts like exploding stars bring the swamp to life. Above me, in front of me, right at the water’s surface. Fireflies dance in the darkness, keeping their own flashing beat, casting a humbling glow over everything.

  “There are so many.” I move toward the edge, closer to the water.

  The mirrored surface reflects the bursts, doubling the pow factor, which brings a smile to my face. I shake my head in awe. “Fire Swamp.”

  “The one and only.”

  “How many girls have you brought down here, Mr. Sly Covington?”

  “You’re the first.”

  “Whatever.” He’s sugarcoated perfection. Besides the fact he could get anyone he wants on his own, I’m sure Ellie had friends over and at least one lucky girl christened their lips with his kisses. “Annabeth, of course. How many others?”

  He grabs my hand, squeezing his thumb into my palm, drawing my attention to his face. He stares into my eyes. “You. Are. It.”

  I smile, conscious of the growing heat spreading in my cheeks, my arms, and my legs. My heart.

  He guides me away from the edge and presses my back against the door. He takes my mouth with his. Our tongues dance, neither of us fighting for control. We slip into an easy rhythm, giving what the other needs instead of taking what we want. He releases my hand. I wind it around his neck, pulling him closer. He traces my sides, dragging slow, seductive trails over my ribs, the indention at my stomach, my hips. His hands link behind me, holding me in the embrace.

  I reach under his shirt and stroke his hard abs, wanting no barrier between us, no fabric. No words. No haunting pasts.

  He leans down, brushing simple, soft kisses across my chest, sending a chilling yet fiery sensation over my body. He pulls up my dress and lays his hot hands on my skin.

  “Quinn,” I moan into his neck, needing more than his hands caressing me.

  “Come on, we’ll get eaten out here.” He pulls on the doorknob behind me until I shift to the side.

  “I was right?” My heart jumps in my chest. Alligators.

  “Eaten by mosquitos.” He laughs.

  “I was joking.” So was not. I tug at my dress and it falls into place. “What is this place?”

  “Lately, my bit of serenity.” He holds the door open and I walk under his arm.

  He moves around the porch as if he knows every corner by heart, as if he’s done this a million and one times. He shuffles through a drawer in a small piece of furniture. A lighter flicks on, and a minute later, the room glows in soft yellows and oranges as bright as the fireflies over the water. Candles cover every available surface; they’re grouped in sets of threes in the corners and several outline the perimeter.

  Two screened walls overlook the swamp. The other two are solid, thrown together with rustic scraps, each gnarled and knotty—perfect in their own way. Kind of like us. Windows propped open with sticks, line the wall over a makeshift bed.

  “This place is amazing. Sleepovers, keg parties . . . hookups.”

  “My sisters and I kept it private. Otherwise people would be out here all the time whether we were with them or not.” Quinn pulls a sheet off an old sofa and wing chair facing the water. “Come watch the swamp light up.”

  I skirt around the couch and plop in the center. When he joins me, he pulls me toward him. I kick off my heels and tuck my legs to the side, using him as a perch to lean against, loving the way I mold into his side, how my ear and neck conform to his shoulder’s curves and my forehead nestles against his neck, my hair catching in his stubble. How strangely right this feels. Like he’s formed a barrier between me and the outside world. Me and my past. Me and everything but him. Safe.

  A croaking frog interrupts the cicadas, but they keep humming their song, sawing the air with a reverberating buzz that echoes in my chest. I slip my hand over my heart. What if this isn’t from cicadas?

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers against my forehead. He smooths my hair away from his chin.

  “What happens after?”

  His jaw tightens, hardening against my crown.

  I stare through the screen at the dancing fairies skimming the water, playing chicken with fish who’d swallow them whole in milliseconds, just like this relationship could do to me. Here today, strong and capable; gone tomorrow, desperate and dependent.

  “After what?” He pulls my hand from my chest and flattens it against his leg, tracing between each finger, over and over until my muscles stop fighting what I’m feeling.

  “After you? After I leave?” I relax against him and close my eyes. “Because of my past, I always look forward, always project my end goal so I know I’m moving in the right direction. But with you . . . I can’t draw up a clear image.”

  “You never look at the past?”

  I shrug and pick at my hem.

  “When my sisters bring up Dad or my five-year hiatus, my mind stumbles backward. I keep reliving the worst days.”

  “A great reason not to look back.” I sit up and tuck my hands between my knees.

  “Then it will catch up with you like mine did.”

  “Because you came back? Because of reminders?”

  “Because I stayed.”

  “Because of me.”

  He laughs a quiet laugh. It shakes his chest and I readjust my cheek against his shoulder. “You were on the kitchen counter dueling Crockett. I thought you were crazy, but you were determined to win the right to be in the kitchen as much as him.”

  I roll my lips in and squeeze my smile away. “And that made you stay?”

  “If a girl can wield an oven mitt and a knife at a turkey, surely I can handle my sisters. Baby steps, right?”

  I laugh. “No, not baby steps. To succeed you have to leap.” Shit, I sound like my mom. “You have to say you’re going to do it and come out on top. Jump. Leap. Fly. But no baby steps. And no looking back.”

  “Then take the leap.” He pats my arm, pulling me closer with each pat. “With me. We’ll look back together and my demons can meet yours and have a party.”

  I totally set myself up for that. I meant success, the big picture, not relationships. “I leap when it counts. This is different.”

  “You’re looking at it all wrong.” He holds
his right hand palm up. “Leap alone or don’t leap at all, either way, your past will torment you.” He holds out his left hand the same way. “Or leap with someone who knows a thing or two about damaged goods.”

  I stare at his makeshift scale. Am I a walking contradiction if I don’t try?

  Preston had been the X factor in my “life’s ambitions” equation. We’d graduate, find jobs, marry, start a family. He worked in my equation as long as the other variables were certain, but then he foiled my plan, lost my trust, and love became an improbability. I rewrote the equation, made an X factor unnecessary to reach my goal. And it was a perfect equation. Until Quinn.

  He makes the X factor necessary because he’s taken into account the other variables, too. Sure does make a difference when two people agree how to solve the same equation.

  “You’ll make me eat my words if I don’t leap. So guess what?”

  He leans forward on the sofa, staring at his hands.

  I slip my fingers between his. “It scares the shit out of me—the not knowing—but I’ll leap . . . with you.”

  His grip tightens over mine.

  “But,” I add, “only because we’re broken in the most screwed-up perfect way.”

  He leans back and lifts me onto his lap, tucking me in the crook of his arm. Candle flames reflect in his eyes, dancing like the fireflies outside. He spreads my fingers until they mirror his, then paints his lips across mine, brushing lightly. Chills spread over my skin.

  My heartbeat accelerates, keeping time with the tree frogs. He clutches my dress. The hem slips toward my waist leaving me exposed and the cause of the terrific smile inching across Quinn’s face. His fingertips brand my skin as they slip between my legs.

  “Panty-free?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  His kisses claim the hollow of my throat. I lean my head sideways, granting him an all-access pass, and fidget with my dress, hating the interruption between my skin and his. I tug at his shirt.

  He reaches behind his head and grabs his shirt. I straddle his lap and lift the front, exposing his tan, tattooed muscles. Ripples of sexy flesh, ink and perfection.

  I comb my fingers through his hair, he pulls mine to the side, twisting it over my shoulder, drawing it across my throat. Shivers. Bliss. God, it feels so good being with him.

  In seconds, he has my dress unzipped and pushed down around my waist. I cross my arms over my chest, guarding my heart from inspection.

  He scoots to the edge of the couch and lifts me until I’m standing between his legs. With one finger, he unhooks the dress and it slips to my ankles. A puddle of clothes, modesty and apprehension lay at my feet. I kick it aside. Especially the apprehension.

  His fingers paint up my legs, swirl over my thighs until they grip my ass and pull me toward him. Soft kisses land on my stomach, chased by his warm breath, bringing an ache to my skin. A desire to be touched and kissed all over by this man. I want to know what it’s like to be worshiped. How is it different than lust?

  I lower to my knees between his legs and, keeping eye contact, drag my hands from his shoulders to his waist. In the low light his tattoos are shadows, whispers of the past. Right now, it’s just me and him. No room for anything else.

  Pushing him back with one hand, I unzip his pants with the other. He lifts, making it easier to work his jeans down, and when he’s as naked as I am, I stroll my fingertips from his knees to the sweet little crease at his hips.

  “Do you have a condom?”

  His lips track from one shoulder to the other. He lowers his chin, dragging his tongue toward my cleavage.

  Shit, he’s good. He’s undoing me and I’m, ugh, I can’t think.

  He reaches to the floor and grabs his wallet from his pants. He tosses a silver packet onto the cushion beside us.

  Taking that shiny square as permission to enjoy his body, I dive toward him. I suck his tongue into my mouth, feeling his lips brush against mine, soft at first, then harder as we both deepen our desires for each other. Our needy breaths, claiming touches and the silent hiccups between desperate kisses drowns out the swamp sounds.

  His fingers work over my breasts. Mini explosions occur when his wet tongue dances across my nipple. It hardens, giving away my pleasure.

  Bolts of electrical, lust-filled currents surge from my nipple to the friction taking place between our hips.

  “More?” he asks.

  “Mmmm,” comes my reply. Everything. All of it.

  “Tell me, baby.” His fingers press into my ass, maneuvering my wetness expertly over his hardness.

  “I’m close.” I push my hand into his chest, slowing his movements. “I want you inside me. I need . . . you.” I pant.

  I reach for the condom and rip the edge with my teeth. Rolling it into place, I rise to my knees.

  His lips press against my breast and suck in my nipple. His teeth graze the sensitive skin as I guide him inside and lower slowly over him. Holy mother, I won’t last long. My insides wrap around him, encouraging him deeper, releasing my hesitation to accept we’ve taken our relationship further.

  He settles his hands on my hips and locks me down over him, preventing me from moving. “Just remember you said you need me.” He lifts me slowly then settles me back over him, and ohmigod, ohmigod, the tremors working through me, holding me on the edge.

  I rest my hands on his knees, arching back to force him deeper, needing to completely wrap around him, to find the release. It’s right there. Just beyond reach. Dear Jesus, how is this so fucking perfect? My head lolls back and my breath, staggered and desperate has him scooting forward and lowering his knees, pitching me at an angle that gives me full access.

  Hands dancing on skin, scalding fingers, wet, beautiful kisses, we work fervently toward orgasm. Cupping my head with one hand and aligning his other arm with my spine, he scoots off the couch and lowers to his knees. I wrap my legs around him as he lays me on the sheet he’d pulled off the sofa when we first came in.

  Candlelight reflects in his eyes as he shifts to his elbow and rocks into me. Slow, perfect strokes. Slow, perfect sex. As if he’s memorizing me, he pulls out and glides deeper with each thrust, allowing me to savor the curvy ridges of his pulsing cock. Allowing him to drive me absolutely mad.

  My lips, swollen from our deep kisses, are unstoppable, begging for more, kissing his neck, his shoulder, anything I can get my lips on. He whispers my name as he presses his mouth against my temple. The vibration sends me thrusting upward, searching for the bliss I can’t quite reach, as if he’s keeping it from me on purpose.

  “I want to see your eyes when you come.” He pulls a tray of candles closer. “I want to see what I do to you. How I make you feel.” He gathers my hair and smooths it under my head away from the flames. “I want you to see me.”

  Watching him makes my heart trill in my chest. “I’m going to so need this tomorrow. Need you.”

  His lips slip into a proud grin. His dimple dances with excitement. “I think I can accommodate.”

  I pretzel my legs around him, drawing him back into me. “I’ll always want more.”

  “I’m yours, whenever, wherever, promise.” He pushes deep.

  I open my heart, lift my chin, and peer into his eyes. I let him give me exactly what I’ve been missing as I give him exactly what I’ve held on to for too long. Trust and faith.

  We climb the hill together. I close my eyes, his name on my lips and leap. My hips jolt upward, claiming the orgasm he’d teased me with the entire time. He shudders against me, breathing my name. Making me want this again and again.

  Gravity moves in and my spent muscles cave to its call, lowering me to the ground. Quinn rolls to my side and pulls me close. I straddle my leg over his and savor the euphoric bliss.

  I wake up feeling estranged and lost. Blinking to get my bearings, Quinn’s chest comes in to focus. At some point during the night, we’d moved to the bed. There wasn’t much conversation between us, but the silence wasn’t awkward either.r />
  I pull the sheet under my arms and slip to the edge of the bed. I should wake Quinn, but this is so nice . . . being tucked away from everything and everyone.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get my work done earlier. If I want more Quinn, then I best be trucking to the house. One snafu and Mrs. Covington will have me on the first bus out of her.

  Quinn rubs my back and I smile, turning to take in the muscular mountain lying beside me.

  “You want to head back, don’t you?” he asks.

  “I want to stay, but Boss Lady asked me to sketch new bridesmaid dresses. Can you believe it? She asked me to do something I’m good at. Of course I’m still trying to grasp the fact it’s okay to wait until the last minute to have new dresses made. Guess Covingtons don’t have to plan ahead.” I squint through the dark and the dying candle light for my dress and spot it draped over the couch.

  “If Mom works the way she did five years ago, she has a team of backup seamstresses for issues like this. Ellie’s the worst. She went through five dresses for her debut. Mom probably has a plan B, C, and D.” He tickles my lower back with kisses. “Stay another hour.”

  I run my fingers over his flawless skin below the ink wrapping around his side.

  He rolls to his stomach, reaching over me toward the floor and lifts a candle. He slides it onto a stool beside the bed. The cool shadows stretching across the bed turn warm, pale yellow, like we have our own personal sun circling us instead of the other way around. “Come here.” He pulls me over him, straddling me across his hips.

  “Another hour of this? I’m game.” I lean in for a kiss but he slips his palm over my hand and guides my pointer finger up.

  He places my fingertip on his heart. His gaze slips to mine as he draws two corkscrews before tracking up his shoulder and down his arm. “This one was for Kat,” he says.

  Oh, shit. I swallow hard. The pain-laced mass on his chest is a conglomeration of sharp points appearing to squeeze into his heart. I imagine the pain would be similar to being crushed by a boa constrictor who swallowed a hedgehog. Sharp. Long lasting. Unforgiving. Yet his beating heart pumps on. Untouched.

  He moves my hand back to the start and follows a spiral going toward his left side, across his ribs toward his back.