by Sunniva Dee
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah? After work, I’ll show you ridiculous.”
“Really. I foresee…” I make a show of predicting. My brain’s still with Disney, apparently, because mean stepmothers with mirrors come to mind. “…someone cursing more than making love.”
“Do I look ready?”
He does. Only his body’s all beat up. I feel strange about this. Cameron… beautiful, silly, obnoxious, sweet—ah. This boy. He’s on my bed, on his back, pillows accommodated around him because that’s what I do to him lately. I’m a total nurse with him, and God knows where that came from. It’s so not my style.
Carefully, I scoot all blankets away from his skin. He sighs, happy, soft eyes following my moves. I went gooey and lit candles while he cleaned up in my bathroom. Again, I’m doing strange things around this man.
Yellow and flickering, the illumination seems to caress him. He’s a different shade of beautiful like this.
“Yeah, you do look ready,” I agree. Let my gaze caress his long, strong neck, wide shoulders slanting on the pillows, and small nipples waiting for my touch. His stomach… all those ripples. They’re for me, and I can’t—don’t—imagine them for someone else.
He’s for me only. I’m getting weird, and it scares me on a daily basis. Tonight, though? Right now? I’m letting what’s left of my wall down.
I dip in over him, smelling his throat and kissing. He laughs under his breath. He’s all sensation, I can tell.
“You enjoy it when I smooch you like this?” I drizzle love over his skin. Under his ear first, then down his neck and his chest to his stomach.
I love how his abs contract beneath my mouth. He hisses in air through his teeth when I lower farther. Nose deep in his happy trail, I find skin beneath. I lick.
“You’re… so…” Cameron loses his train of thought. He lifts an arm, trying to get to me, but we’ve tried this before, and I know it’ll hurt for him to sit up.
“Shhh, this’ll be different,” I whisper. “Stay still.” So I locate him, the part of him that waited and needed me at Smother all night. Silky hard and ready, Cam wants me with no time frame.
This man. He makes me feel wanted. Never does he push me away. Never do I feel like I’m not enough. With Cameron, everything is different. I’m different.
I shut my eyes, sucking soft-hard into me, the best food and the sweetest love. His groan is loud, and I love that he tells me what I do to him. “You—make me crazy.”
“You want to come this way?” I whisper what I’ve never asked. He doesn’t realize, wouldn’t know, that this is me offering something I haven’t given to anyone before.
“No.” He exhales a slow response. “I need you. Let me have all of you.” He makes to get up again, but my fingertips tap him down.
“Stay, poor boy,” I tease, but I’m also serious. No one, nothing can stop the way I’ll make him feel tonight. He flicks a glance to the nightstand. His pack of rubbers awaits.
“Baby.” I’m not a nickname girl, but he’s so much tonight. The glow on his skin. That gleam in his eyes when they meet me from the pillows. “Are you… um. Clean?” I ask.
To me, his slow blink is so sensual. If I were a vampire, a werewolf, some sort of predator, I’d eat him up.
“Yeah. You trust me?” he asks, eyes wide and unbelieving.
I force my smile to remain small. Sometimes, when things are good, I don’t want to jinx stuff by overreacting. “I do.”
And so I climb in over him. Straddle him. I sink over his hips, caressing his penis with my cleft. I glide—we glide—and he shuts his eyes, unable to take us in with all senses.
“Lie still,” I remind him and watch his lids flutter open and sink again. Arms come around my waist, craving. Kissable lips pucker below me as he inhales.
“You hurting, baby?” I murmur.
“Not exactly.”
I let out a quiet laugh as I position myself. I press my opening against the head of his dick. I tease, tease, and then I sluggishly swallow all of him.
“Ahh,” he starts. His hips tense on the mattress in delight. “Fuck, that’s—”
“What?” I’m in control now. When he opens his eyes again, they’re dark with pleasure.
“Shit, Inga—you—are so amazing. This—”
“Yes?” I prod, rocking back so only a part of him is inside of me. Then, I sink down slowly, engulfing him.
“—is… so… good.”
I laugh quietly at him. He’s sweet. Sexy. Thoughts run through my head—how guys like him lose out by never being in exclusive relationships. Not that Cam and I are. Although I guess we have been, unconsciously. Either way, his response makes me think it’s his first time without a condom. And I’m so happy to be the one.
I don’t let him move from this position. I need to see him come, fill me; I want his thrill, the amazement, his absolute pleasure in the moment it happens. If I were a photo-snapping kind of girl, I’d be at the ready.
He bucks when he comes, lost in pleasure, eyes white and corners crinkled with the pain from injuries he can’t shield from his orgasm. “FUCK!”
I curve in over him, kissing him through his release. Absorb every inch of this beautiful, crazy man deep inside of me. “Yes,” I sigh. “Yes. Yes.”
“Inga, I—”
“Hmm?”
“Love… you.”
I’ve never told a woman I love her before, and I have no idea why it slipped out last night. Must be because my orgasm was so intense. Sure, I’m fucking nuts over Inga and want to hang with her all the time, but it doesn’t mean I love anyone.
My ribs were killing me, and she rode me so slowly, it’s like she was prolonging everything until I couldn’t take it anymore. And then, when I finally came, I was just overwhelmed.
Wow. How lame does that sound?
“Hey, you,” she says from the doorway. “You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you up.” Her eyes shimmer. She’s calm, chest rising slowly in my shirt. My work shirt. I chuckle. That is so sexy and really stupid at once. It’s wide but brushes close around her hips, slinking low over bare thighs. Being Inga, she’s got no bra on, and at least four buttons are open.
“Damn, are you hot. But you’re taking on some serious stink, there. What the hell were you thinking grabbing my bar shirt?”
That beautiful little smile on her mouth grows as she shakes her head. “No. It just smells like you.” Her tone of voice makes it sound like she enjoys my scent. Wow, she really is so… serene this morning? I don’t know how else to describe it.
“You want coffee?” she asks. Of course I do. I crook my finger at her from the bed.
“Can we drink coffee and do more of that stuff you came up with yesterday?” I ask.
“Not sure I remember. Wasn’t that memorable to me.” She fights a smile and crawls up over me, thighs on each side of me like last night.
She bends to kiss me. Sets steaming coffees on the nightstand and cups my face. The way she does it is softer, much softer than before. When I look back up into her eyes, I realize she’s happy. That’s what’s different. She’s not plain playful, horny, devilish, or any other perfectly awesome thing. She’s happy.
Shit, that makes me feel about a million feet tall. Because as far as I know, it has just been us since the change in her happened.
Ingela is happy because of me.
“How are you, kitty cat?” I tease between her little kisses.
“Great. I’m really great.”
I’m about to broach a scary subject, but I’ve never been a coward, and I’m not starting now. “How come? Why’re you great?”
“Someone told me something last night. I… sort of liked it… a lot.”
Vague, but I’m fucking relieved. I guess I won’t be taking my words back. When I look at her now, I think they might have been true too. Maybe I didn’t say them because I was coming so hard.
I snicker at myself. Then, I catch on to how she didn’t say
it back.
Well then. Not sure how I feel about this.
Then again, am I going to turn into a veritable sap, clamoring for equality in exchanges of I-love-yous? I think not. Thankfully, the thought is easily erased.
“Did someone tell you they liked you?” I ask.
She sinks down next to me and steadies her chin in a cupped palm. I trace her cheek with a finger.
“No.” Her voice lowers into a soft purr. She stares me down, daring me to contradict her. “Someone told me he loved me.”
“Love, love.” I tip my head sideways a couple of times. Pull the corner of my lip up, considering. “Meh, no biggie. And it probably was ‘liked’ anyway.”
“Asshole,” she whispers, voice so silky she might as well have said she loves me. Her cell buzzes from the bathroom, her favorite and stupid place to charge it.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she commands as she leaves to answer it. I fold my hands beneath my head, stare up at the ceiling, and take a deep breath. It’s what I’m supposed to do with the broken ribs. Apparently you get pneumonia if you don’t breathe right.
Wow, I think I’m fucking happy too. She’s so crazy. I’ve got a huge grin on my face when I realize she must be speaking Swedish in there. It’s a sing-song sort of language I don’t catch squat from.
I do however catch it when she starts crying. Oh hell no. This better not be that dick of an ex calling and messing with her head again. The guy needs his ass kicked so hard.
“Inga?” I call. She’s quiet in there. Then, her pitch grows into a keening sound. No words come anymore, just that low, sad crying. I get off the bed as fast as I can. Stars shoot behind my eyelids. I swear my ribs break all over again. I make it to the bathroom and see my girl bent over the sink, water running and her eyes running too.
“Baby. What’s going on?” I turn her head and force her to look at me. Lips quivering, she tries to break away, to go back to grieving into the sink. “Is it that asshole again?” I’ve got enough sense to hiss it out instead of yelling it, and I’m glad I did when she whispers, “No.”
She holds up a finger to me, tacitly asking me to wait. Then, she speaks into the receiver again, tells the caller goodbye, and hangs up. My Inga accepts my arms. Cuddles inside my embrace and lets me kiss her hair. I marvel at how fast she went from really happy to really sad.
“It’s hard to be so far from home sometimes,” she sniffles.
“Family?” I ask. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah. But my sweet doggie… we got him when I was ten, and he slept on my bed every night. Waited when I came home from school. He was the best, very best doggie anyone could’ve ever had, and now he’s… he’s…”
She can’t say it.
“How old?” I ask. For the second time today, I’m relieved as hell. There’s no ex bugging her, and her family’s safe. It’s just the dog. And she’d slug me if I said that out loud.
She coughs a derisive sound. “Don’t be stupid. You know how old I am, right? I just told you I was ten when we got him. Do the math.”
“Oh, you’re being a smartass with me? Want me to calculate shit myself, now?” My girl has such a great sense of humor. This might work.
A tiny chuckle escapes her, but then she’s sad all over again. “Peter was the sweetest dog,” she repeats herself. “So, so sweet, you have no idea.”
“Wait, you guys named him Peter?”
That’s definitely a giggle. “Yeah, after my grandfather.”
“What in the world?”
“You don’t understand.” She’s trying to remain serious, hold on to her grief, but she gets that it’s a wild name for a pet. “When we got him as a puppy, he looked exactly like Grandpa. Wrinkles and puppy eyes and everything. Even his snoot was the same giant size. So he became Peter. We called him Petie most of the time, so as not to mix them up.”
“Right, must’ve been easy to confuse the two,” I state dryly.
She snorts out a laugh against my shoulder. I take the opportunity to slant her face up for a kiss—just when her damn phone rings again. This better not be more bad news. My cunning plan was to derail her from the dead puppy, but at this rate, it might take a while.
“Hello?” she replies, blue eyes on me. Then, they dim. She moves out of my arms and turns her back to me. Now, I’m hoping it’s about Peter. Because anything else making her do that would be the worst news ever.
“Inga, are you okay? I heard.” On the phone, Bo is so close he might as well be in the room with me. I can’t do this, not with Cameron next to me.
“God, Bo—Peter. Can you imagine? He was supposed to live forever. I was going home for Christmas this year… he was going to sleep in my bed.” I start sobbing all over again.
Cam’s hand is on my shoulder. He rubs once and then drops it when he hears whom I’m talking with. He shuffles behind me, waiting.
“I know. He was an old man, though,” Bo whispers. “It was his time, you know?”
“Yeah, but still. He was my little old doggie man. I shouldn’t have left.”
“Shhh, don’t be silly. Of course you should. This is where you love being, remember? Petie had your mom and dad. He had the cat.”
He sure had our cat whipped the last years, sleeping next to him and everything. I smile at that.
Cameron leaves me to the phone. It feels incredible to speak with Bo. It’s been a long time since we chatted for any period of time. After a while, we’re even joking. He works so hard to make me remember good things about Petie and not dwell on his death.
I chuckle as Bo reminds me of what a duvet-hogger my dog was. How he gave us away when Bo snuck in for a sleepover when I was too young for such things. So many memories. Once, I tried to dress him in Grandma’s old wedding gown, and Petie was so mad, he bit me.
I’m in the bathroom with Bo on my ear for thirty minutes. By the time I’m done, Cameron is dressed and standing by the window, shoes and jacket on too. He turns when he hears me come out.
“You better?” he asks. There’s a heaviness in his eyes that wasn’t there before Bo called.
“Yeah. Bo knew Petie really well. We relived some moments.”
“I figured,” Cam says, gaze floating over my face. He takes a step toward me, but I don’t move into his arms again. I can’t explain what’s going on inside of me right now. All I know is it would be weird to go from Bo and straight into Cam’s arms. Cameron reaches for my cheek and rubs a thumb over it. Moves down to touch my lip, his stare following.
“You. Are…” He sighs. “Be good, okay? Call me if you need anything. I’m meeting up with the guys.”
He’s leaving.
“See you later? Work, right?”
“Yeah, Inga. Work.”
Cam is sad when he leaves. I know why. It’s because of Bo, because I didn’t accept his embrace, and maybe even because I didn’t reciprocate his “I love you.” Sometimes I wish I could say things even if I’m not sure.
Bo’s voice on the phone, his brand of comfort: it’s what my future should hold. My brain has accepted that it will not happen. My body, scared and addicted to the dark trembling adrenaline Bo produces in me, still believes.
I sink to the mattress, suddenly weak-kneed. My phone lights up with a message. We’re playing Talco again next Saturday. They asked us back. Hope to see you. Xx
And with everything in me, I know I’m going.
I’m not sure what Ingela and Arriane are thinking. It’s none of my business—I’m just the idiot who professed his love the other day—but they want to hide how they’re going to Talco for a show her ex’s band is doing. Fucking how many times can they play Talco in just a few weeks?
Arria is against it. She’s upset with Ingela, thinking she’s destroying herself by going. I hear it all, because they only shut up once I’m in the same room as them. Girls don’t understand that “out of sight” doesn’t mean “not there.” For instance, I’ll be in the hallway before they see me enter the main bar. I’ll wash my
hands in the restroom when they’re talking right outside.
She’s not sharing with me so I’m not objecting. We’re not dating, and it’s her life. Hell, Inga never said she loved me. Obviously she does love the jerk who makes her run wherever on a whim.
How did things get so messed up? First, you go from fun times to bliss, thinking you fucking adore someone to no end. And before you know it, you’ve dug yourself into this hole full of shit. Or jealousy. Same thing.
Yeah. It’s driving me insane. We slept together without a condom for Christ’s sake. To me, that means so much more than just having a twosome slumber party. We freaking made love.
I haven’t spent the night at her place since the douchebag called. In two days, she’ll be in Talco. Arria’s childhood home’s there, so their plan is to sleep at her mom’s. Fat chance of Ingela doing that. She’ll be busy getting fucked by the Swede.
Life is rotten. I feel rotten.
And to worry about this crap is not me. I need to get back on track.
“You’re an idiot,” Marek says when I tell him my plan. “Your ribs aren’t healed yet, and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“I’ve got my pain meds. I’ll make sure I don’t feel a thing. You comin’ or am I doing this alone?”
“Right, you won’t even feel if you die, huh? Handy.”
“Not planning on dying. What’s wrong with you and Dan lately anyway? Since when did I have to convince you?”
“The sissy trip to Bear Point? We thought you were over your death wish phase.” He exhales through his teeth, eyes narrowing. “This some chick business again? Haven’t seen your kitty around lately.”
“Don’t fucking call her that!”
“Jesus, you’re sensitive. What am I allowed to call her, then?”
“Ingela is her name.”
“Fine. Ingela. Where is she?”
It’s Saturday night, and I’m working. No one was available to step in for me on such short notice. It’s the last thing on my mind to stay here, watching other people get drunk. I’d be on my way to Red Boulder Canyon right now with a wingsuit if it weren’t for work.
I’m not giving up on that. Just—Dan’s right. We do need to do more research. Get it all set. The guys don’t think selecting the four-thousand-foot high Cloud Bridge is a good idea, but hey, we’ll see. Right now, thinking about it gives me a small rush. I checked and yep, it’s illegal. The last guy who did it had to pay the fine of the century. I think he even was on probation for it.