Adrenaline: An Ode to Love and Heartbreak

by Sunniva Dee

  Water swells at the corner of her eyes, pooling, then sliding along her temples. “You’re not with him,” I tell her. “Stop, stop, stop.”

  “So easy for you to say.”

  I silence her with my lips. French her deep, strangling her thoughts and making them mine. I pause to stare at her, commanding her to shut the hell up and not think.

  The grief in her eyes, the confusion—

  I don’t want to think.

  I jerk her legs apart. She’s fighting me but her slaps are without conviction. I find her channel and ease two fingers deep, causing her hips to bend upward even though she’s still struggling.

  “Forget that son of a bitch.” I kiss her. “Stop destroying yourself.” I kiss her again. “I’m going to fucking kill the—”

  Inga smacks me across the face with her free hand. It burns and makes my hard-on rage. I drop her completely—

  To unzip my pants and pull my cock out. There’s no time right now to get undressed. I stare down at hot cheeks and eyes made of wildfire. The rush she gives me stabs like I’m suspended over a ravine.

  I stroke my cock. Show it off to her.

  “Dream on, jerk,” she hisses, glaring. She slaps my face again, stinging me. The sound throws a short echo back off the walls. I blink through each slap, let her hit, hit, and the rush sizzling in me grows louder.

  I situate myself between her legs. Inga’s not bowing out of reach. Bare angry skin brushes my hips from below. She smacks—slaps—I don’t care, because ah, I’ll make her happy.

  “You’ll come along,” I whisper, meaning now, meaning our trip. Ingela’s palms object, searing me over and over while her thighs beg, wide and wanting.

  She gulps in air and makes my head spin with the need to own her. I suck a kiss up her chin, sloppily finding plump lips. I lap at her throat, inhale her as she hits me hard.

  I’m in position.

  “Get ready,” I hum out, and then I rock in. Abruptly, so she’ll have nothing on her mind except me.

  She cries out when I shove hard. “You love it?” I grunt. “You want it?”

  Legs wrap around me, sucking me in. Arms fold, tighten, her pelvis digging up, taking all of me on each thrust.

  “I’m scared,” she whispers so low.

  “Don’t be. I’ll take care of you, baby. Forget about hell.”

  Dan ruffles his hair. Dude needs a shower and some serious dandruff shampoo. “Forget it, man. When’ve you ever worked to get a chick anyway?”

  “I don’t even know why I told you.”

  “Because you came home shitfaced?” He holds out buttermilk. Just the carton makes me want to hurl so I raise my hand flat against the view. “I thought you were working last night?” he prods.

  “Yeah, I was. Headed to Inga’s afterward, though, which is when things got bad.”

  “No love, huh?”

  “Oh, I got love all right.” I touch a kitty-scratch at my neck. “Best ever.” I groan out loud. “Damn me. I hate what’s going on right now.”

  “Waah-waah,” Marek whines from the door. “Cam’s pussy-whipped. Here’s him: ‘awww, I’m so paiiined over this slut I’m screwing.’ How ’bout you snap out of it and get your head in the game? Her backing out means you can cancel the fancy-schmanzy hotel thang you were gonna impress her with and spend the green on a helicopter with us. Virgin mountainsides, dude, waiting for—”

  “No,” I mutter. “She’s coming.”

  Dan’s grubby fingers go to his hair again, digging into greasy waves. “Hmm, you just said she threw you out and told you—”

  “Y’all ready?” I snap. It’s five p.m., our appointed departure time. We’re nothing but punctual in our plans.

  “Cam, I’m confused as shit, okay?”

  Ten minutes later, we’re at Ingela’s house. In the driver’s seat, Dan cheeks blow up with air as I shoot off a hand wave on my way in. He’s already over what I’m about to do.

  Thankfully, Ingela opens herself. The thinnest, most see-through white cotton tee I’ve ever seen slinks over her itty bitty breasts and accentuates her belly button. I’m instantly hard and ready to forget the entire trip in favor of locking us up in her bedroom.

  “Cameron.” She’s surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Having you again? This morning wasn’t enough, especially since you threw me out after the first couple of hits. C’mere.” I drag her into her room, wishing I’d have time to act on the promise. The expletives she fires off are for the books. Some English, some whatever—Swedish and poorly translated North Pole cusswords.

  She’s strong, but those skinny limbs of hers can’t resist me. It’s an easy task to slam the door shut with the two of us inside. The suitcase. It’s there next to her bed still. Does she ever unpack?

  “That your suitcase from Los Angeles?” The scowl in my voice is impossible to conceal.

  “What’s it to you?” All sparkling eyes and hard nipples, she tips her cute button nose up in defiance.

  “Hey, maybe you’re heading out west again. Getting ready for more punishment?” I slit my stare her way, and my arms cross on their own, mirroring her stance.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bitch.”

  “No, that’s a girl insult. Pick something else.”

  Ingela’s still mad, but soft dips at the corners of her mouth curve up even when she tries to subdue them. “Whatever, Cam, what do you want?”

  “You,” I say on impulse. “No, fuck it—just come with me, okay? The guys are in the vehicle.” I’m not above guilt-tripping her into it at this point. The van we rented for more space, the hotel, you name it. Once she’s at Bear Point, she’ll love it, and she won’t be killing herself over a jerk I want to murder with my bare hands.

  “No, I can’t, Cam.”

  “Oh, you can.” I don’t care what’s in that damn suitcase. I’ll worry later about the fucking red lace she wrapped herself in as a fucking sacrifice to a guy who has no fucking idea of the rare gem she is.

  I hook her luggage in a fist and haul it out. Inga’s objections ring loudly behind me. Then again, everything is loud with Inga.

  Sex.

  Is loud.

  Ah, okay. Focus.

  She screams when I throw the damn thing down the stairs. It halts on the first flight—it’s not like anything inside would be ruined—hardtops don’t do that. I smirk at the drama behind me.

  “You’re a cocksucker!”

  “No, remember? I suck pussy. Yours. And well enough to have you scream exactly the way you do right now.”

  Ingela gasps at my insolence just as an old lady with rollers in her hair—I thought those were black-and-white film exclusives—enacts a heart attack in her doorway and stumbles back into the dark. The door shivers and bangs shut, much like the jowls on the lady.

  “Really? Did I just shock you?” I push Inga back inside. Her waist tempts me, slanting away under soft fabric. I see her skin through it, and I drink her in while I back her up.

  “Pfff, no,” she murmurs, pupils dilated.

  “Get dressed.”

  “I can’t, Cameron. I have to be there for Bo if he needs me—”

  “On your own initiative? Hell no. Get. Fucking. Dressed.” I’m drilling my stare into her. Yeah, I can be funny, but when I know what’s right, I go for it and not much intimidates me. Least of all a little girl.

  I lift her shirt. Verify that she’s got panties on.

  “Cam!”

  My first impulse is to get the hell rid of them, but delayed and lasting gratification stops me. She inhales sharply when I cup both boobs over the fabric only to confirm that she’ll probably want a bra.

  “You’re coming.”

  She stares at me.

  I’m not backing down on this.

  I see when she gets it. Her irises, blaring defiance since I came in the door, calm into a smooth lake.

  “Cameron, I mean…” She trails off. I tug her shirt off so
she stands in front of me in those tiny panties only. The mild waft of perfumy soap makes me sigh. I’d stay here instead. I don’t even need snowboarding right now.

  “Wish I had time to give you something to sleep on, on the ride up there,” I whisper as I hand her some pants I find by the bed. She shakes her head. Grabs a different pair of even more ripped jeans from her dresser.

  “You’re not giving up on this, huh?” she asks. Her tone is brighter than it’s been since the ex’s phone call yesterday.

  “You got that right, Kitty.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What, you don’t think it’s fitting? You definitely lived up to it last night. Meow.”

  Her bangs are too short to cover mouthwatering lips. The Inga of always would be hacking from within a giggle fit over my raunchy comment. Now, for some reason, her goal is to hide that she’s entertained.

  “Can’t believe I’m doing this.” I sigh heavily and pull a bra out of her open underwear drawer. I cover my eyes, like I can’t watch her put it on. “Just promise I get to peel it off again in a few hours?”

  That gets her laughing. “You’re such a hot dog.”

  Whatever that means. At least her mood’s better.

  “Mmm or horn? Horn dog.”

  “Oh, uh-huh. Good job.” I reward her unprecedented auto-correction with the squeeze of a butt cheek. Unfortunately, I forget to dodge and get slugged between the shoulder blades. Hosed again. When will I learn? For a second, I consider acquiring a back brace or something, because at the right angle? Like now? The girl packs a serious punch.

  The pressure, the darkness, the fear. It lifted as soon as Cam threw me into the backseat of the van and jumped in after me. He locked the door, winking at me, and within fifteen minutes, the surroundings changed from buildings to houses and then to open landscape.

  I realize that Cameron took away my choice to stay in Deepsilver. Somehow he also eliminated the guilt of not being there if Bo needs me. As the altitude changes and my ears pop in and out from the pressure, the grip Bo has on my heart, the adrenaline making me weak for him, sieves out.

  Outside, the air crisps, lending a waft of freedom through the window whenever one of Cam’s buddies opens to hack out snuff or gum. Jesus. And yet I love how they’re not pretending around me.

  Marek snickers from the passenger seat up front. His attention is on us in the mirror, a mischievous glint in his eye.

  “Shut up, asshole,” Cameron mutters, preempting whatever his bud’s about to say.

  “What? Just admit it. So whipped.”

  “Who’s whipped?” I ask, interested.

  “Shhh, Kitty. Sleep.” He pats my head against his chest, purposely covering my ear and making the friction of his palm the only sound I hear. Cam forgets I have two ears, so I catch Dan coughing out “Cam’s in love.” And something about “pussy-whipped as shit.”

  “We’re here,” Cam yells a whole lot louder than necessary. I sit up, and sure enough, a sign promising—

  Bear Point City Limit

  Pop 4,793—Elevation 10,788

  —flashes by.

  The pine trees give way to a small downtown. Dan takes us straight to our hotel and yells, “behave, children,” and “we’ll be by at seven to use your shower.”

  I send Cameron a glance. He shrugs. “They’re going tent-style. At least we’ll keep the Jacuzzi to ourselves.”

  It’s late. I’m beat. And yet walking in through the log-cabin-inspired foyer of the hotel causes butterflies to flutter in my stomach. I’m left with only my snowsuit and my beauty bag to carry while Cameron rolls our gear to the elevator. His bag is long, irregular, and mountain-man-like. My scarlet suitcase is from a different planet altogether. I giggle.

  He’s so attentive to my moods. Now, he jerks a look over his shoulder, studying me. “What? You like it so far?”

  “Love it. Geez. We’re splitting this bill, okay?”

  “Naw, I’ve got this.”

  “Bullshit. You have no more money than I do. Plus, the van, everything, is not the way you gays go. In Sweden we always share, not sure why you call it ‘going Dutch,’ because honestly, it’s more like ‘going human’—or hey, ‘going fucking realistic.’”

  “Head,” he says.

  I frown, not getting the subject change. A mother with a sleepy child Lyric’s age enters the elevator too. She greets us politely, and we nod back. I wave at the baby. “Head what?”

  “You can pay me in head. Eight times. I think that’s reasonable,” he explains, voice low.

  The mother stares at the elevator buttons. She’s got two more floors. Then, it’s us next. Her ears suddenly burn red, which is how I get Cam’s reference.

  “Ah, as in give you head?” I can’t help laughing. “Weirdo.”

  “Shhh,” he says, blushing too. Strange how he always does this. He starts something, and then he’s embarrassed when I finish it for him.

  “I’d say that depends on how quickly you come,” I muse. “And if you expect me to swa—” Before I can finish, he covers my mouth with his, and it’s not because he can’t wait. No, I’m pretty sure he’s shutting me up.

  The mother with the baby seems in a hurry to get out when the door opens, and I shift from Cameron’s assault long enough to tell them goodnight.

  “Crazy girl. You’ll pay for embarrassing me.” The sounds he makes while kissing me are delicious. I might not be able to sleep without a piece of Cameron anyway, so I don’t mind paying up.

  His smell. Now I’m thinking of his dick again, his musk. Crap, my mind’s so dirty.

  “Woooh,” I scream through my hood and the scarf covering my mouth. I’m hauling ass down the slope with Cameron hanging low beside me. Around us, Dan and Marek fly over jumps and tree roots outside the track. They roll, nosedive, get up, and pass us again just to drop into another tumble.

  I’m fast as hell—I know I am. Sweden is big on snowboarding, and even among my own they call me “speed-blind.” These guys, though? They’re ridiculous.

  Cameron’s holding back for me. It’s sweet and super-annoying at once. So I speed up, fly over the studiously prepped bumps and don’t do curves I’d elsewise go for. I’m all about downhill snowboarding today. Anything to impress the buds and not hinder the fun for Cameron.

  I try to shake him by flying over two bumps in a row. I pull a half-twist in the air and end up rolling once, which efficiently slows me down. Cam instantly screeches to a halt, snow bulleting in a semicircle around us. He lets himself fall on his ass next to me, pulls a glove off, and brushes snow off my nose, the only part showing on me.

  “Cute. You okay?” he asks.

  “Uh-huh. Race you?” I ask, making him snicker.

  “Bring it.”

  Bear Point rocks. I love, love, love it here. In this instance, though, I’m so exhausted I’m about to croak: Cam, I, and the buds are in a small supermarket, filling up a shopping cart with everything we really truly want right now in this moment. Which means way too much food. We’re fresh off the mountain, starving and stomping around in ungainly snowboard boots.

  Cameron’s only half dressed. His snowboard pants are the kind with old-school suspenders, and he’s got them hanging to his knees, jacket open and the sweater snagged halfway up to air out his overheated stomach. He’s edible, and I’m not the only girl appreciating some washboard eye candy. I’m pretty stoked about being the one getting more than an eyeful tonight, though. That is, if I don’t pass out before I can take advantage of him.

  The drive down from the slopes took us all of five minutes. In that time, I fell asleep so profoundly the buds claim I “lumberjack-snored.” So not true. Now that my body is cooling down after eight hours on the slopes, I feel every bruise from every fall and muscles I didn’t remember I had.

  “Here, grab,” Cam says, loading two six-packs of beer into my arms. Why, I don’t know, because the shopping cart is just around the corner with Marek. My legs go weak from holding anything
besides myself—I can barely stand. I start snickering, and suddenly I’m about to keel over from the sheer weight of these bottles. Geez, this is so funny to me right now.

  “What’re you doing?” Dan arcs one brow high and lowers the other. That too is absolutely hilarious, to the point of me needing to put the beer down so I don’t drop it.

  “Um.” Marek rounds the aisle with microwave popcorn, and the only place they’d be able to pop it is in our hotel room. I imagine the stench we’ll be sleeping in—old buttered popcorn smells like feet—and suddenly I’m howling with laughter.

  “Dude,” I catch Marek say through my breakdown, crackup, whatever you’d call it. “Your chick’s losing it.”

  When Cameron swings to me, he’s got his victory smirk on, the one telling me he has scored big. He usually wears it whenever he outsmarts Christian at the club or gets the most tip money of the bunch. Today, I can’t begin to guess why.

  He gathers the beers from the floor and hikes me up in the same round. “There, there,” he soothes me, grinning wide. Kissing the corner of my lip, then my overly amused tears. “You. Are so beautiful.”

  The guys are in excellent form. Too excellent as a matter of fact.

  “Out. Out,” I say.

  Good thing we found an electrical outlet by the service entrance on the backside of the hotel. Now my buddies live the life, sleeping in the van that’s hooked up to our tent heater. They’re taking the leftover beer down there tonight, which isn’t an issue on this trip since we’re going what Marek calls “pussy-style.”

  Ingela has gained some serious points with my friends, though. None of us has ever seen a girl go the way she does on the snow. Swede genes, I guess. I turn to the bed where she’s splayed out.

  The entire room stinks of roasted chicken, fucking popcorn, and beer. Fully dressed because of our visitors, she’s sound asleep with the smallest smile on her lips. I deadbolt the door, turn off the bleating TV, and head over.

  Slowly, I undress her, because what, am I going to let her sleep in a bunch of uncomfortable threads? No, that wouldn’t be nice of me. A perk of the situation is I get to study every inch of skin coming into view.

  Golden. That tan that never seems to leave her can make a guy’s heart do double beats. Predictably, my dick’s watching as well. He stirs, so I let him bob free. Drop my clothes on the floor and snuggle under the sheets with her. She’s warm even though I covered her only a minute ago. Some people get warm just from sleeping, I randomly think.