by Lissa Linden
Her hips move from side to side and my eyes follow the curve of her ass peeking out from her short shorts. “I’d be into that.”
“And prepping this food got me thinking about meal times. What do you think about doing some themed lunches or dinners? Something like beach lunch on the rainy days where I can play a bunch of summer songs and everyone can wear sunglasses. Or a monk lunch if they’ve already had their weekly movie and the staff just need some peace.”
I drop the condoms on the floor and kick off my shoes near the mess of pillows and blankets. “Monk lunch?”
She uncaps a marker and scribbles something on paper the size of a playing card. “Yeah. A lunch where nobody can talk.”
“And what if they do?” I crawl into the blanket nest and it crinkles under my weight.
“I don’t know. Maybe they lose something. Their fork, maybe?” She looks over her shoulder. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I make a valiant attempt to swallow the laughter bubbling from deep inside me, but some sneaks out. “Did you make a love nest by wrapping futon mattresses in a tarp?”
She caps her pen and joins me in the nest she built for us. “Sure did. Had to use what I had available. But at least I covered it with my sleeping bag, so it’s a little less, you know.” She makes air quotes. “‘Rustic.’”
I thread my fingers through her hair and pull her lips against mine. “You’re going to be a great camp director.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. The way you pulled this together and came up with kick-ass ideas at the same time? You’ll put your stamp on this place real fast.” My hand smooths over the curve of her ass and the tip of my finger dips under her underwear. I drop my voice. “But that’s not all I’m thinking about right now.”
She pulls her shoulders back and cocks her head. “You don’t say. What else is on your mind?”
“You said to wear pajamas. And these,” I tug at the spandex, “are not your pajamas.”
She rises to her knees and leans over my lap on all fours. “They are today.”
And she’s right. It’s still day. But she’s manipulated time like she alone controls the ticking of the clock—the rise and fall of the sun. And inside the rec hall, a sultry night has fallen. I slide my palm over her spine and she arches into the touch.
Amy looks back over her shoulder. “You haven’t even seen the best part.” She reaches for the papers she left just outside of the love nest and hands me five handwritten cards. “Sleepaway Camp Truth and Dare, copyright right now. Whenever you see something onscreen that matches your card,” she settles in next to me and pulls a square from her pile, “camel toe, for instance. You call it out and the other person has to do a truth and dare of your choosing.”
I read through my cards. “Isn’t it supposed to be truth or dare?”
Her eyes flash. “It could be more fun this way. So, hit play. And toss me some snacks.”
We work our way closer as we balance veggies with sugar and watching the movie with sneaking none-too-subtle glances at each other. I’m enthralled by a mole just below the underwire on Amy’s left side when she lunges forward and holds up a game card.
“Yes! Whining camper means it’s my turn.” She crunches on a carrot while she thinks. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
I unscrew the cap from the wine, half hoping she asks the questions I want to tell her, but not wanting to say a single word that would make her pull away. I take a sip straight from the bottle. “Lay it on me.”
“Cheeseburger or steak?”
I pass her the wine. “Homemade, or eating out?”
She shrugs and raises the bottle to her lips. “Either or.”
“I’m going to have to go with cheeseburger.”
“How come?” Her eyebrows knit when she takes a swallow of wine, and she turns the bottle to read the label before taking another sip.
“You’re not going to take ‘because they taste good’ as an answer, are you?”
She puts the wine on the floor. “You are correct.”
I run my hand through my hair, and I swear she tracks my every move. “I don’t know. There are just so many ways to have a cheeseburger, you know? There’s one for every mood, but it all starts with the same basic ingredients of meat and cheese.”
“So what you’re saying,” the corner of her mouth turns up, “is that you’d choose the potentially complicated burger over a straightforward steak.”
“If you want to read that much into food,” I say. “What about you? Cheeseburger, or steak?”
“I’ve always been a steak girl. But I have to admit that you do make burgers sound pretty appealing. Now.” She leans back on her hands and her soft curves strain against their lace constraints. Blood flows to my dick and I’m really, really happy for the extra room in my pajamas. She rolls her lower lip between her teeth. “Ready for your dare?”
The low-budget audio screeches from the speakers, but every fiber in my being is tuned to Amy. To her shift from the predictable to the potentially messy and the way the darker skin of her nipples shows through her bra. I lick my lips.
“Mmm,” she says. “Good idea. I dare you to lick me. Let’s say, from my hip to collarbone?”
Our eyes meet and a slow static charges the air between us. I crawl toward her and lower my face to the waist of her panties, never letting her eyes go. I slip a finger under the elastic and pull them down just enough so the tip of my tongue flicks over her ink before flattening against her soft skin and drawing a trail across her pubic bone. Her eyes flutter closed and I rise up on my knees, tasting the curve of her stomach and drawing circles around her bellybutton. Her breath catches when I blow on the trails I’ve left, and I draw my tongue up her side, tasting every molecule of her, and feeling her chest expand against my chin with each controlled breath.
I drag the tip of my tongue over her mesmerizing mole and along the wire under the curve of her breast, before lazily licking up the lace. My tongue catches on the texture and I work my way up with quick licks, drawing the hard point of her nipple between my lips. She makes a sound of protest when my mouth moves on, and works its way over the swell of flesh straining against the lace. I complete my dare with a lingering kiss on her collarbone and her head falls onto her shoulder.
She sighs. “Yep. Truth and dare. Definitely both.”
I chuckle and reach for a cereal treat. The first bite of snack is still on my tongue when she squeals and lunges for another card. I swallow in a hurry. “Again?”
She smiles and nods. “I may not have mentioned that I’ve seen this movie at least eight times.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Eight?”
“Yep.” She pulls herself onto her knees and rests her butt on her feet. “I used to watch it every year before coming up.”
“Why?”
She takes a swig of wine. “Why not?”
“It’s a movie about people getting killed at a summer camp. Why would you watch that before going to summer camp?”
“Because it was hilarious. Camp was never like that.” She creeps forward on her knees. “But then again, it was never like this, either. Now. Truth time. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
I force my throat to swallow the cereal treat. “Nowhere.”
She runs a thumb under her bra strap. “You have to choose somewhere.”
My palms smooth down my thighs. “No. Because your question implies that I’d have to leave here. And there is literally nowhere else I want to be right now.”
Her eyes flick up to mine. “Not even Paris?”
“Are you in Paris?” I raise my eyebrows.
She gives a small shake of her head.
I shift to face her. “Then definitely not.”
“What about the Rockies?” She folds her game card in half, and in half again. “You’d like it there.”
“I have always wanted to go to Yellowstone.” My fingers wrap around hers and still the folding.
“But are you still here?”
Amy looks up from our joined hands. “Yeah.”
“Then hell no.” I pull her into my lap and tuck my chin onto her shoulder. “This is the only place in the world I want to be.”
Her pulse hammers into my cheek and her chest stops expanding with breaths. Her voice is small and quiet. “Paul?”
My lips trail down her shoulder. “Mmm?”
“I dare you to suck my tits.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I straddle him before he can respond. With a hand on the back of his head, I push out my chest and guide his mouth to my nipple. His hands slide up my body. They rest at the sides of my breasts, lifting and pressing my softest parts to his face.
Our shadow dances on the wall in front of me. And it’s bigger than life. As big as the rolling in my gut and fluttering in my chest. As big as the realization that I don’t want him in Paris. Or Yellowstone. Or anywhere else in that damned mountain range. I focus on the looming image of our bodies pressed together in a single form and breathe in slowly. But with each burst of oxygen this is more real. This link between past and present. Between dreams and new beginnings. Between mouth and breast and floating and falling.
He drags his teeth across the lace and my nipple strains toward the vibration. I gasp and pull him closer, clutching him to me. His tongue circles my pebbled nipple and my thoughts run together as a coil curls through my belly. He works his hand toward his mouth and rolls my nipple between his fingers as he nudges his way to my other breast. I relax my grip on his head and let him take over, licking and pinching and sucking me into a frenzy through my bra.
I shift my hips and clumsily seek out any hard part of him. He groans onto my breast when I brush against the erection his pajamas can’t hide. So I slide my knees apart and lower myself as far as I can without pulling my tit from his teeth. I brush against his hardness. Once. Twice. But I can’t grind against him without giving up the furious need he’s sucking from my nipples.
His heat radiates toward my core and I writhe, searching. Paul sucks me deep into his mouth and my cries bounce off the walls. My knees shake when his teeth nip the sensitive skin and my legs take over on instinct, spreading farther apart and dropping me closer to what I need. Paul’s teeth tug against my bud, warning me that I’m about to lose his caress. And I can’t take it. Frustration and need rumble in my throat. I need more. Now. With a groan, I force a hand into my panties and my entire body shakes as my fingers slip across my wet folds. “What are you doing to me?”
He chuckles against my chest and spreads a hand between my shoulder blades, holding me close. Paul leisurely draws his tongue from one breast to another, and clamps his mouth around my nipple. He sucks hard, twisting his tongue around my peak. My finger slicks through my wetness and circles my clit. “How. How are you doing this to me?” I gasp.
The point of his tongue draws every nerve ending to the surface. He hums against my skin and reaches for the clasp to my bra, snapping it open and taking his mouth off me for just long enough to peel the lace from my swollen breasts. The smooth wetness of his mouth soothes my abused nipples and I moan into his neck.
He pinches my nipple and rolls it between his rough fingertips. “What am I doing to you, Amy?”
I grip him by the wrist and urge his fingers into my underwear. “This.” My voice is breathless. “You’re doing this to me. And you’ve only touched my fucking tits.”
His fingers swirl over my wetness and I pitch forward, gripping his face to my chest. He licks the swell and lingers on the peak, circling his fingers in time with his tongue. I weave my fingers into his hair and press into his hand. He seals his lips around my pebbled nerves and presses hard on my clit. I cry out and roll my hips against his hand, rubbing my sensitive bud against his calloused fingertips. He moves to the other side, sucking me deep and circling his fingertips hard against me. I rock back and forth on his whirling fingers and my gasps and his sucks drown out the sounds from our forgotten movie.
My hips slow and the pressure from his fingers increases, taking over for the movements I can no longer get my body to make. He releases my nipple with a pop and presses his swollen lips to my panting mouth. I grip his jaw and he catches my scream in his mouth as his fingers keep time with my shuddering, slowing to gentle pets as my release subsides.
He kisses along my jaw. “Why do you think I do that to you?”
“I don’t know.” My shaking legs give out and I sink to his lap. His cock lodges itself against my sensitive core and I nudge into the crook on his neck, tracing it with my tongue.
He holds me to him and we lean together as he pulls a card from his deck. He nods toward the screen. “Truth,” he says. “If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?”
“Here,” I breathe in his ear and shift in his lap. “Right here.”
He draws in a breath through his teeth. “Dare.”
I nod into his neck.
“I dare you to let me stay.”
I freeze while the words fall through my post-orgasm haze. But they hit me hard and my head shakes so fast that my vision blurs. “No.” I crawl off his lap on wobbly legs. “No. I can’t.”
He reaches for me. My hand doesn’t escape fast enough. None of me escapes fast enough. “I was leaving to find this, Amy. What we have.”
I tug my hand from his. Grip it with my other. Press them into my lap. “What we have is an arrangement. A deal. You can’t stay.”
He forces his hand through his hair. “Why not? Give me one good reason why I can’t stay a little longer—why we can’t see what we could be together.”
“Because.” My voice catches. My heart is still racing from coming on his hand. I can’t control my breath. “Because I don’t have dreams, or goals, or hopes. Not like you do. That’s why I’m here. To strip everything away and see what I miss. What I actually give a shit about.” I find his eyes. “But you. You know what you want.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I want you.” He runs his hand up my arm and I jerk away.
“You want me to break your dry spell. I want you to take the edge off before a dry summer.” The blankets blur under my stare. “That’s the deal.”
“We’ve changed the deal before.”
“Not like this.” He sweeps my hair off my neck and I have to flex every muscle in my body so I don’t lean into his touch. My voice shakes. “You’d never be able to handle staying here if you weren’t running camp. You’d get bored.”
“There’s always stuff to do, remember? I could chop firewood, or be your muscle when teens try to sneak out, or make sure you never run into another skunk. I could do whatever you didn’t want to do.”
“But that’s the point.” My words shred over the tightness in my throat. “I want to do it all. I need to do it all. Alone. So. Thank you for the orgasm. I owe you one. But you need to go. Now.”
“Don’t do this, Amy. Don’t shut me out again.” His voice takes on a roughness that tears my insides. “I’m telling you that I want to stay. That I don’t want these days to end. That I want to take you to bed at night and wake up with you in the morning. That I want—”
“I know what you want. You want the impossible fantasy. Your camp and your woman. But camp isn’t yours. Not anymore. And I’m not her. I can’t be.” I pull my knees to my chest. “Please. I need you to go.”
A high-pitched scream screeches from the speakers and I train my eyes on the screen. My teeth clamp together until it hurts.
“Amy…”
“Go, Paul!” I dig my nails into my legs. “Just go. Please.”
The tarp crinkles when he steps out of the nest I built for us. I can pick out each of his footsteps under the surround-sound shrieking. I tangle my hands in the blanket like cramming it in my fists will somehow fill the hole in my chest. But the door thuds closed behind him. And I stay empty.
Chapter Twenty-Four
There’s a ton of stuff they never told us in teacher’s college. Like
, for instance, that being called to the principal’s office will always feel like a huge deal, even if you’ve just set foot in the school for the first time and have never even seen the inside of the office before. None of that matters. You’ll still end up feeling like you’ve screwed up and are about to have your ass handed to you.
Which would be the second time in less than twenty-four hours, and I somehow doubt that Jerry, Laurie’s rugby-player-sized boss sitting across the desk, would give me any glimmer of hope after expelling me. There’s no chance that this uptight guy in the three-piece suit would sneak into my house to leave his car keys next to a note saying the camp van would be a pain in traffic, and to take his car.
A note that ended by telling me I’ve got this.
But the only thing I’ve got are the shattered remnants of the denial that had me thinking these few days with Amy could possibly be enough. Which reminds me that being in this office, sitting at this highly polished solid wood desk, is in fact a huge deal. Because, to her, those days are all she needs. They’re all she wants of me. So in less than a week, I really will be unemployed, in the city, and living on a couch.
My throat tightens at the thought of Amy in our bed, without me, and—Shit. He’s stopped talking. I run a finger under my collar as if it’s actually my tie that’s choking me. “Sorry,” I say. “Could you repeat that?”
He rests his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands. “I was asking about your classroom teaching experience.”
“Right.” My leg bounces. “I did my student teaching in public school biology and phys ed classes.”
“Good. Good.” His thumbs meet above his interwoven fingers. “And was it a successful practicum?”
The grommets on my boots tick against the leg of my chair. “I like to think it was. You received the report I emailed last night, right?”
Jerry shifts his eyes to the desk. “I did. But I’d rather hear it from you.”
I cough and shift in my seat. “Right. Okay. So, uh, I used a variety of assessment practices. Classroom management is something I was working on, but those were bigger classes than what you have here, and I’ve definitely mastered bigger ones since, if you count running a summer camp.”