by Sunniva Dee
John Eric Margerson’s street and zip code splatter over the wall, and everyone applauds. Wow, talk about support. “Can you cheer me on when I wrap Christmas gifts too?” I ask the room.
“I will, baby—I’ll always cheer you on,” Inga coos against my ear.
That’s when someone knocks on the window. He disappears as I look up, walking toward the entrance. “Who’s that? Santa?”
Arriane scurries to the door and opens. Her voice reaches us from the hallway. “Come on in.”
“Ah. Who could it be?” Inga pumps her chin up and stares at me in mock surprise. Then, her eyes go to the person entering behind Arria.
In strides…
Really?
Inga claps her hands in glee, and Lyric joins her, adding his mini-terror squeals of delight. “Welcome, Mister UPS man!” she shouts.
The poor uniformed man looks out of his element. A tug at one side of his lip pulls up an awkward grin. He scratches beneath the rim of his hat and takes a few more steps in our direction.
“This here,” Ingela says, pointing at my package. “You came just perfectly on time. Looky—it’s ready to be shipped!”
It’s been a month and a half since Cameron’s jump at the Cloud Bridge. A lot has happened since then. I look at my man sleeping next to me in the hotel bed. We’re back at Four Diamonds because I wanted this trip to contain good memories as well.
Yesterday, Cam had his hearing in court. It didn’t go very well. My love admitted to being fully aware of the illegal status of his actions and of how the area he landed on is sacred grounds for the local tribe. He didn’t want a lawyer but simply spoke for himself, explaining how his emotions had run off with him, causing him to make unwise decisions.
Neither of us expected anything less than what happened. Cameron got slapped with a 5,000-dollar fine he’ll have to take out a loan to pay, and he’ll be on probation for a whole year. My boyfriend will have to check in with a parole officer in Deepsilver on a monthly basis in order to prove that he’s not up to more illegal extreme-sport activities.
“I can snowboard, right?” he’d asked yesterday.
The judge’s eyes pinned Cameron to the chair. “Is the kind of snowboarding you intend to do illegal, Mister Falck?”
“I don’t believe so, sir.” Cameron’s gaze caught mine, a small smile on his face despite his nerves. “I want to take my girlfriend snowboarding at Bear Point come October. It’s the only extreme sport she lets me do now.”
“I won’t allow him to break ribs or anything—which, I guess, isn’t illegal anyway, right?” I said, and the judge instantly hit the desk with a tiny hammer to make me shut up. Snippy old man.
“Oh, and that’s not true, Cameron,” I added. “You can surf and even bungee jump if you do it with a company who specializes in it and not on your own.”
I jumped when the judge bludgeoned the wood with his mallet again. Boy, he loved using that thing. “Miss! Last warning or you’ll be held in contempt of court.”
Cameron bit his lip at me to keep from smiling.
Now, it’s seven a.m., and we’ve got another day in this gorgeous hotel before we have to leave. One of these days, I want to meet Cam’s benefactor, his elusive pilot brother. I doubt he knows the full extent of what Cameron’s been doing with all the points and free stays.
I want to make the best out of the remainder of our visit so I sneak out of bed and let a small stream of sunrise in through the curtains. Artificial light won’t do this morning, not with my urge to study my man, soak in all of him without him watching me back.
My thoughts stray to odd similarities. I think of my grief when we lost our first dog at home. A puppy could never replace her, I told my parents, and yet they still bought Peter, who was nothing like Carmencita. Sure, he didn’t replace her, but he did fill my heart and make me happy again. Petie helped me overcome the mourning. With him around, there was no way I could hold off on loving another dog.
I chuckle at the comparison I’m making. It’s between my dogs—and Bo and Cameron. Bo was my first “dog.” The grief I felt over losing him over and over, year after year, has finally vanished—because there’s a new top dog in my heart. And no one could be more different from Bo than Cameron.
I roll the covers down slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him up.
Strong shoulders, bare skin. A golden hue I wonder how he keeps year round. I study his nipples. Light areolas circle them, and I recall their texture on my tongue. As a matter of fact, I might give them a lick in a minute.
But first, I lower the blankets some more. Cameron sleeps the sleep of the innocent, and butterflies stir in my chest as I reveal that smooth six-pack and a golden trail I often tease. I do it now—flatten my palms on each side of short wavy fur and pet my way down until I’ve untangled my favorite beast from the fabric.
I suck in a quiet breath, because he’s even more beautiful than usual at this time of the day. Ignorant, unaware—still so harmless while I stroke him carefully. His member is thick, engorged with early-morning blood, rising from its posture along a hip. I bite my lip. I want to feel him. In my mouth. Inside of me.
Ah, the pleasures this man doles out.
The light snore Cam had going stutters as I move silky skin up and down over his cock. I watch the head disappear and come out again, marvelous, promising—narrow slit shining with liquid desire already.
I tip forward enough to lick him. It’s just a quick lap. I roll musky flavor onto my tongue, but then I can’t wait any longer and bring all of him past my lips.
Cameron usually takes a moment to wake up. Now his hips thrust up on instinct.
“Shit,” is the first thing he manages. No “good morning” or “where am I?” a typical question when he wakes up away from his own bed. I swallow then suck him deep against the back of my mouth.
He emits a surprised grunt. Strong hands fly out and grab my head. I can’t help smiling. My nipples harden at his hot response, and by the time he’s fully awake and draws me up over his body, I’m panting with need.
“Morning,” he finally mumbles, sucking on my mouth. “You. Are my favorite wakeup call.”
“I am?” I whisper. “Show me.”
It happens so fast he has me yelping. “What do you want me to show you, babe?” he asks, flipping me to my back. “Keep that whimpering up and I’ll ride you into oblivion. Are you hot enough—can you take all of me? Or do you want a kiss first?”
Oh, the “kiss” he’s referring to. I blush like a virgin. It’s not me to get embarrassed over sexy-talk, but he surprised me just now.
“I do enjoy your… kisses,” I say, “but I’m ready for all of you.”
“Hmmm,” he murmurs as he sinks down over me. With his index finger, he slides over my cleft, circles my clit until my hips rise from the mattress in search of him. He dips in, finds wet warmth, and as I let out a small cry of delight, he nods to me.
“Yeah. Seems I can make you horny even in my sleep.”
“Shut up, dork,” I whisper, my heated gasps not matching the words as he works me. “So not.”
“How did you want it again, you said?” he teases, but he’s not getting the satisfaction of another moment of shyness from me.
“I want you all the way and deep.”
“Like this?” He plunges in so hard that I squeal.
“Oh God,” I manage.
“Shhh, it’s just me,” he puffs, enjoying us too. “I don’t think God—”
“Douche-pack.”
He lets out a quiet hiss of a laugh, but then he’s silent, driving us upward, heightening our pleasure one deep thrust at a time. I’m so full of him, I can’t even think anymore.
“Fifteen inches, huh?” I stutter out, a weak attempt at a joke, the way we’ve always joked about his size.
“Honestly?” he murmurs. “Nine.”
“Whatever that means,” I manage to squeak out before I come like an avalanche around him.
“My kitty,” he w
hispers then, rocking calmly into me. “I love you so. So. So. Much. You are my favorite rush.”
I float down from my ecstasy, his words still caressing me as he loses control. Once he jerks over me, butt spasming in my hands, I whisper back everything that he means to me. “And I… I love you. You. Have quieted my adrenaline.”
Men fall asleep easily. They do. They do.
My sweetheart snoozes, weighty in my arms, while the morning does its thing outside. I smile to myself, relaxed in his hold, because I was wrong about love. Yes, see—
Love is lust. Love is desire. Love is the bliss of sharing oxygen. Love is courage. Love is patience. Love is no regrets ever and peace. Peace, peace.
Love is staring into ocean-green irises that are wondrous, calm, trusting like mine. My baby’s eyes, they’re amused. At ease and at home in our forever.
As a teenager, I learned lessons of love. Of them all, one still shines bright.
One cannot say “no” to love.
The last note of Emil’s scream vibrates out over the audience. It’s Inga’s song, the one that makes her cry. She’d rather we never play it, but what does it matter now that she’s gone? For the first time since we met, we’re irrevocably over.
The audience howls and claps. Some stomp to indicate their need for an encore. I push my hair behind an ear and look up from my guitar, scouring the heads bobbing in the venue we got to play as a favor.
Luminescence, a California band with a real following, plays next so the crowd is thick. Their style is similar to ours, which means this gig is good for us; we should earn a few new fans tonight.
We bow to the audience, and as I raise my head, I meet the eyes of a girl all the way in the front. She clutches a plastic cup brimming with untouched beer, and long dark hair flows over her shoulders. For an instant, milky pillows pushing against her cleavage draw my attention, but her physique isn’t what keeps my interest. Her gaze is.
I’m not an easy guy. I know this. For years, I made life hell for the person I cherish the most. Now, I’ve finally set her free. Over the last weeks I’ve checked on Ingela a few times, and the lightness in her voice tells me she’s content. There’s no more quiet agony. No yearning, no loss. Unchained from us, she’s happy.
I tracked down her boyfriend’s number and called him up. The two of them had just returned from a trip. I needed to confirm that I was right about him, because the last thing she needs is another slacker like me.
We shuffle back on stage. Fire up the first of three encore tunes.
Inga’s guy sounded genuine on the phone and started off spitting mad at me. I respect that. I probably would be too, if I owned the chops to love hard. He and I aired some shit out in a better way than during the fight at Inga’s house. I owed her this; I want her to know I’ll be around whenever she needs me, preferably without causing a rift with her guy.
My stare fleets to the woman below the stage again. Her eyes are too big for her face, deep wells of glittering secrets under the sweeping stage lights.
She has a friend with her, a blonde of the beamy kind who dances to every tune and raises her cup mouthing lyrics she doesn’t know. The blonde elbows the girl full of secrets and points at me, giggling. The look she sends me is one of adoration I’m used to while performing.
The eyes of the secret-keeper seek me again. They lock and hold, unafraid and unapologetic. There is no smile on her lips, no sign of a response to me. Still, it’s intimate, searching, like she’s trying to see beyond what little I’m capable of.
I frown. Concentrate on the guitar. Let it cry out the bizarreness of my life.
I’m young. Lonely in a new world. I’m on the starting blocks of a future only I can form. My existence is thrilling and fucking scary as shit.
But at least I’ve accomplished one unselfish deed I should have achieved years ago; it wasn’t for me that I let go of the only constant in my life.
It was for her.
Have you read Leon and Arriane’s story?
The man I’ve loved for years is going ballistic. Books, glasses, and candles ricochet off the walls and crash to the floor. The low growl contained in his throat unleashes as he hurls his stereo at the window, making the glass panes shatter on impact.
“She fucking left me for him!”
He spins and locks on me. When Leon stares at you, he consumes you. He traps you in a small, flustered vacuum where he’s all that matters. “Leon… you’ll be okay,” I begin, but my voice trembles.
I can’t wrap my mind around this meltdown. Nothing ruffles him, nothing surprises him; in all my years at the club, I’ve never seen fissures in the marble of my boss’ beautiful façade. With the exception of his girlfriends, everything he touches remains orderly, and yet he’s losing it so completely right now.
This state he’s in… It doesn’t rock my need to be there for him. I—
Am always close.
He’s my love. My unreciprocated love, because I am just Arriane, his left hand, the favorite bartender. Not one of the dolls he breaks.
Leon’s chest lifts and sinks with his turmoil. “I’ve never worked to keep someone the way I did with her. Fuck, I did everything I could while all he needed to do was barge into Smother. He fucking stole her from under my nose!” Angry tears glitter, drifting over surreally blue irises.
“Stole?” He’s delusional.
I’ve never seen a girl as distant with him as his ex. She wasn’t here for Leon. She was here for the party, for the escape. Yeah, this situation is bizarre. In my time at the club, Pandora is the first who has left him of her own, free will.
Once Leon knows what he wants, he’s all the way. He’s ambitious, he succeeds, and with women, his efforts begin when he’s over them. Because by then, they’ll do anything to retain his affection.
For the seven off-and-on weeks it lasted, I was here to witness their so-called “relationship.” In the end, since she couldn’t escape Leon’s territory—the club and his upstairs apartment—Pandora took refuge inside herself.
“Why…” I hesitate, unsure of how he’ll react if I ask. Still, I need to vocalize my thoughts. His gaze snaps to my mouth, watching me continue.
“Why did you insist when she always talked about Dominic?”
“Arriane! Didn’t you catch how perfect she is for me? Hell—I’m perfect for her.”
Leon’s parade of girlfriends is long. One after the other, they arrive and get booted. Like crack, he gets women addicted to him before he breaks their hearts with his rapidly cooling interest. Pandora, though? She turned the tables on him.
Leon is not boyfriend material. Leon is a heartbreak waiting to happen, in one stunning package. And yet I can’t stand that he’s hurting. I wish he handled this better.
I—
Ache to erase his pain.
“How long did she live with you, Leon? A week? She wasn’t perfect for you if she’s in love with someone else.” I keep talking. Knowing I should stop. “Don’t worry. The right girl will come around.”
Anger flashes over those flawless features I’ve memorized. “What do you know? Do you even date?” he spits out.
This outburst is not him. “Yeah, just… not lately,” I mumble, stunned.
“As in since you started working for me three years ago,” he prods.
With no deliberation, I nod. Because when I fall, I fall hard. I don’t recover my heart easily. A few months into my job at Smother, I already knew. Sure, I’ve had a date or two. Occasionally been sucked into an advanced make-out session, but—
“Ooh, that makes you quite the relationship expert,” he mocks in a tone he never uses, especially not with his employees. Eyes darkening, he stalks toward me on my post in front of the exit. I’m not sure of his intentions. To be on the safe side, I push at the door, double-checking.
Thank God. Still barricaded.
“What are you doing, Arriane?” His tone lowers into a silky drawl, promising a danger I haven’t been on the receiving end of b
efore. His words sound intimate, the way he speaks to his girlfriends at times, and I swallow, wanting to subdue both the fear and the heat rising in me.
I press my back against the front door, fanning my palms protectively over the wood at my sides. He could be strong enough to barge through for all I know, and I can’t—can’t let that happen.
I’m no match for him. My tiny body is all that keeps him from trying.
“Move,” he clips, but I shake my head, trying not to meet his beautiful glare.
I shiver.
“Arriane,” Christian, the second-in-charge at the club, calls from outside. “You sure about this?”
“Yeah, keep it blocked. I can do this,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound right, though. It quivers with uncertainty, and I wrap my arms around myself for comfort.
“Open the damn door!” Leon roars.
“Leon, man—sorry,” Christian replies from outside. “Arriane, this is bad. I don’t think you can talk him down. We’re coming in.”
No. What good would come of opening right now? If he makes it past them, he’ll take off on his motorcycle, and who knows where he’d end up?
I pull air into my lungs, inflating them. “Don’t do it, Christian,” I call out as loud as I can. The palms of Leon’s hands slam into the door by my temples, and a shocked yelp slips from me. He leans in, closer to my face than he has ever been, his nose almost touching mine.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, changing his tone so swiftly I freeze with uncertainty. “You were going to talk me down? From what, a ledge?” He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, and the ice in his shifts. “From a noose, perhaps?” He chuckles darkly. “No, Arriane, don’t you worry. No chick can make me jump.”
I don’t answer. My breathing speeds up as my heart pumps adrenaline through my veins. Leon is standing so close his hips brush against my stomach, and he is—
No way. With the mood he’s in, how can he be…?
But then, it’s true: he is hard. I’m certain now, because he aligns his body with mine and presses into me. The sensation of him rock-solid against my frame for the very first time is a rush!
In my sensory overload, my irrational mind hitches on how fit he is. Slender and made of granite.