One Match Fire

by Lissa Linden

  “So considerate,” I tease.

  He smiles. “Always doing what’s best for you.”

  I rest my hand on Paul’s ribs to steady myself as I twirl the melted sweetness around the fruit. With a toe on a chair, I hitch myself onto the table and pin him between my knees. He tenses when the chocolate hits his nipple, digging his fingers into my legs. “Too hot?” I ask.

  “So hot.” His fingers flex and relax, moving higher up my thighs. “Keep going.”

  My tongue reaches his pec and circles, slowly tasting the mix of chocolate and him. His chest stops moving and I increase my speed. I twirl my tongue around his taut skin until I’ve licked every trace of chocolate and left us both with the kind of high sugar can’t give.

  He bends down and eats the strawberry from my fork. “Lean back,” he rasps. Paul guides me onto the table with a hand behind my head. He squishes a marshmallow between his fingers, and spears a grape with a fork. “Close your eyes.”

  Warm softness traces my belly button and I can’t contain my giggles. “Oh god, that tickles.”

  But my laughter is cut short as he flattens his tongue and licks me from my navel to the top of my panties. He retraces his path with short flicks of his tongue. I squirm on the hard wooden table and he chuckles. “I’m just getting started, Amy.”

  He trails the soft marshmallow over the curve of my breast and drags it over my begging nipple. My back arches, but I slam back to the table with a gasp when the cold firmness of the grape follows its path. Paul teases me with softness and taunts me with hardness that isn’t his until my hips roll without input from me. Until my ankles hook around Paul’s ass and pull him close.

  His elbows hit the table on each side of my ribs and he sucks my nipple deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue over my chocolated peak and groaning pleasure against my skin.

  “More.” My eyes lose focus and my breath comes ragged. “More.”

  The fork clangs against the fondue pot and every nerve buzzes, wondering where he’ll hit next, silently begging for his attention. Paul gently unhooks my ankles from around his back, but before I can form any words of protest, my inner thigh jumps with victory and my legs fall open. He trails chocolate towards my melting core, following it closely with quick, firm licks. “Oh god,” I whimper. “I love your tongue.”

  He moves up one thigh and down the other, breathing heat over my already burning center. My fingers curl beside me but find nothing to grab. He draws his tongue over my panties, teasing my opening through the fabric. My muscles bear down, pushing me toward the edge of the table.

  The fork rattles onto the floor and he hooks his thumbs into my underwear pulling them up, tugging them into my folds and licking the skin they no longer cover. Shivers run through my sizzling body and I quiver in his grasp. He pulls the smooth fabric tighter, higher, and wedges it against my tight bundle of nerves, kissing and licking my outer lips as he uncovers them.

  I writhe against him and swing my leg, looking for a chair, for his leg, for any leverage that will let me raise my hips and get rid of the last barrier between us. “Off. Take them off.”

  He whips my panties down my legs and I barely hear the scuff of the chair along the floor over my own moan as my hand rushes between my legs, spreading my wetness over the nerves lavished by his tongue.

  Paul’s hands work his way up my thighs, rubbing and scratching the skin as my fingers find their familiar rhythm. His tongue darts inside me and my hand stalls. Creeps away. But he grabs my wrist and holds me in place. “Don’t even think about it,” he says. He kisses my inner lips, sucking on each side, and he presses my fingers back to my clit. He holds my hand in place as he tightens his tongue and traces my opening. My head hits the table and my fingers move beneath his hand.

  “Yes,” he says. The vibration of his voice against my skin is a torture only he and I can end together. He thrusts his tongue against my fingers. “Keep going. Show me what you like.”

  My heels dig into his thighs and I strain towards him, my fingers switching between smooth circles and hard flicks. His fingers dig into my ass and he holds me to his face, fucking me with his tongue, gliding into me and twisting pleasure from deep within.

  The pull between my legs pulses and stretches. It grows unbearable. My fingers work frantically while his tongue licks me like his favorite fucking dessert, but I teeter on the edge of pleasure. My head rolls from side to side and I moan in frustration.

  His thumbs rub my inner thighs. “What do you need?”

  “You.” The answer is quick. Instinctual. Spontaneous and unrepentant. “I need you to make love to me as sweet as this fucking chocolate, and as hard as I’m going to come when you sink balls-deep inside me. Okay?”

  “I fucking love you.” The chair slides back and Paul wrestles his cock from his boxers.

  He plunges into me before I can process his words. Before I can recoil, or flee, or tell him he can’t. And as he pounds my senses to their peak and soothes my fiery skin beneath his lips—as I come apart around him and cling to his back when his eyes roll back and his voice moans my name—only one thought is left in my drained and charged body.

  “I fucking love you, too.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Take this.” I hold out a sandwich, but Amy doesn’t stop pacing in our kitchen, and I immediately regret making her the super sweet coffee that she did accept. I pry the mug from her hand and replace it with the sandwich. “Come on. You need to eat something.”

  “No,” she says. “What I need is for those damned buses to get here.”

  I chew my mouthful of cheese and bread. “You’re nervous.”

  She turns on her heel and stares me down. “No, I’m not.”

  “Good,” I say. “Because you’re going to be great. Now eat my cooking.”

  She glances at the food, then back out the window, like she’s expecting the buses to arrive any second. And, in reality, they might. But she’s going to have a hell of a day wrangling campers on only two cups of coffee—especially after the workout she’s had this morning, both in bed and on the ropes course.

  “Come on.” I pop the last of my lunch into my mouth. “Cook’s coming up on the bus, so this is the last time you’ll get to enjoy my cooking. You know, unless I’m staying. You do fucking love me and all.”

  I mean for there to be a joking quality to that statement, but I can’t quite pull it off. I haven’t been able to pull off much since last night, when Amy drew pleasure from all parts of me and I couldn’t hold back the emotion—the driving force behind my need to give her whatever she needs, and the complete body orgasms that rock me when I give all of myself to her.

  But hearing her say it back was more than I could have hoped for. Having her muscles clench and relax on my most sensitive part while she gasped out the words that were pure fantasy only a week ago was enough to melt every part of me but one.

  The corner of her mouth turns up and she takes a bite of her lunch. “Don’t get any ideas, Paul.”

  “Too late.” I kiss her cheek.

  She picks at the bread and rolls the crumbs between her fingers. “You know I’m still thinking, right? About you staying?”

  I push a hand through my hair and turn away. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

  She circles my waist with her arm and leans into me. “It’s just—”

  But I don’t get to find out what it is. The rumble of diesel engines and crunch of gravel cut her off as the first bus passes under the archway. Amy grips my chest with her free hand, kisses me quickly, and pulls away, wearing the type of smile I remember from when we were kids—the thrill of camp incarnate.

  Her grin sears me with the knowledge that although I’m the one bringing her this joy, it’s because of what I gave up before she got here, not what we’ve found since she arrived.

  “Go on.” I pluck the lunch I made from her hand and the bread folds in my grip. “Meet your campers, Director.”

  Kids pile out of buses while I toss her mang
led lunch in the compost. Amy greets the counselors, all united in this year’s camp shirt, while the younger campers break into some kind of game that looks like tag combined with gymnastics, but could just be their reaction to having sat still for the two or more hours it took them to get here.

  The older campers head straight for the stairs, eager to get camp underway. They know the routine.

  Or, they did.

  My eyes stay with the older campers—the kids I’ve watched grow up. The pip-squeaks who have turned into the teens I thought I’d be working alongside in a couple years. The dedicated young people who were enough for me until I was finally as alone as I always thought I’d been, and couldn’t stand it anymore. They turn to look at Amy as they pass and she raises her hand in a wave they ignore. I flick a crumb from my plain blue T-shirt and wash my condiment-tainted hands.

  Outside, Amy’s corralling the younger campers toward the stairs. It’s a slow process, but she puts the counselors on it and it’s under control for the most part. But a couple of kids dodge the roundup and crouch down behind the campfire logs in a one-sided game of hide-and-seek.

  I leave the house and make my way over to them. “Leon,” I say when I’m close enough to recognize the kids. “Eric. Planning to sleep here instead of in a cabin this year?”

  Eric’s cheeks erupt in pink patches. “We thought you weren’t here.”

  I cross my arms. “Well, looks like you thought wrong. And cabin assignments are about to happen over there. So unless you plan on roughing it every night…”

  The boys jump up and sprint toward the stairs. Amy spins at the sound of their incoming footsteps and her eyes dart to me. She pops a hip, taps her pen against her clipboard, and damn if the nerves in my palm don’t itch from halfway across the field, wanting to curve around that hip and hold on. But I throw her a salute instead. She nods and says something to Leon and Eric as they run by.

  I jog up next to her. “Leon and Eric. They like to think they’re jokesters.”

  Amy takes a step towards me, mouth tilted up, before she freezes. She shakes her head and clicks her pen, dropping her eyes to the clipboard she holds. “Right. Thanks.”

  I dart my gaze to the campers and staff collecting on the stairs and lean towards her. My lips brush her ear on the side hidden from everyone else. To them, it should look like I’m sharing camp secrets, but her breath catches when my tongue teases her earlobe.

  Her voice shakes. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to relax you.” My breath cools her taste-dampened skin.

  She raises her eyebrows. “Definitely not relaxing me. Save it for later, Harding.”

  With a half-smile in my direction, she heads to the bottom of the stairs and I slink to the side, leaning against the storage shed. A hand claps my shoulder hard. “Hey, man,” says the attached voice. “Someone order a lifeguard?”

  Cam’s full beard hides the college kid I met when I took this job five years ago—when I wasn’t much more than a kid myself. “Jesus.” I give him a thump in return. “When did you get so haggard?”

  “Same time as you, my man.” He grins. “So who’s the new hottie?”

  My eyes trail from Amy’s boots to her ass. God damn, that woman makes jean shorts something out of a centerfold. I shove my hands in my pockets and clear my throat. “That would be your new boss.”

  Cam lifts his eyebrows. “So Fred hasn’t finally eaten one too many questionable mushrooms? You’re actually leaving?”

  Amy blows a whistle that sounds more like a goose than anything else, and waits for the campers’ attention. But she has all of Cam’s, which makes me want to punch one of the best guys who’s ever worked here—especially since I can’t answer his question, and I’m definitely not okay with that. I cross my arms. “Amy’s the new director.”

  If he notices my evasion, he doesn’t comment. He rests his hands on his hips and watches as Amy blows her bird whistle again. “What do you know about her?” he asks.

  The newer campers give her their attention and elbow the people next to them, but the returnees look to me and continue catching up with their friends. Amy reaches for her sound maker again, but my heart picks up speed for her and I can’t bear to see her lose control of them so early in camp. I push off the wall. “I know enough to be damned sure I’m about to piss her off.”

  I stick a finger in each side of my mouth and blow. The sharp whistle immediately quiets and directs their attention to me. Amy’s glare bores into my temple and I send her a silent apology that doesn’t unfreeze her stony face. I paste on a smile and clear my throat. “Hey, campers! Who’s ready for the best two weeks of summer?”

  The kids stomp their feet and cheer—old, young, it doesn’t matter. They’re all into it. “Some of you remember me as the guy who holds the clipboard around here, but, guys? This is Amy. She has the clipboard of power now.” Her jaw is locked closed and it takes her a moment to rearrange her mouth into a smile for the group. I take a deep breath. “We used to be campers here together, and she can kick any of your butts at pretty much anything around this place. But aside from being pure awesome on about a thousand levels, she’s also your new camp director. So, any attention that you’d normally give me needs to go to her. Got it?”

  The campers murmur their agreement and I risk looking at Amy. Her muscles have relaxed and she gives me a small smile that lights up her eyes before she takes over and gets the counselors to introduce themselves one by one.

  I head back to where Cam’s holding up the wall. “That beard doesn’t hide your shit-eating grin, you asshole. Say it.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “How many of those thousand levels are between the sheets?”

  My eyes follow Amy as she hypes up the crowd. “In the sheets. Out of them. The woman is made of awesome.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I balance the portable stereo on the bench. Smooth down the duct tape holding the battery cover in place. “Ever consider replacing this?”

  Paul’s arms circle me from behind. His closeness seeps through my fleece top. “Never,” he says. “It’s a piece of camp history.”

  The CD compartment pops open and I push it closed while Paul presses his lips to my neck. I tilt my head for more. “You better watch it, Paul, or the morning dew won’t be the only dampness around these parts.”

  His thumb sneaks into the waist of my shorts. “We could give them a sleepin day.”

  “On the second day of camp? Not a chance.” I spin in his arms and join our lips. My tongue traces the seam of his mouth and he opens for me. His hands run over my ass and squeeze it tight. Then I hit play.

  Heavy metal from the eighties blares from the speakers and Paul laughs into my mouth. “Well played, Director.”

  I slide my hands down his chest and look over his shoulder, waiting for cabin doors to open. For sleepy kids and sleepier counselors to stumble out. “You still good with the plan for the day?”

  Paul pulls me closer. “Absolutely. This is your job.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but the staff and the campers need to know it, too.”

  He tugs on my ponytail and my stomach flips. We’ve gone from dampening my panties to comfortable affection before a morning zombie has time to emerge from the first cabin. And it’s nice. Nicer than I thought it could be. Than I thought I could have. Or deserved.

  “I know that they need to know,” he says. “I’m going to spend the entire day too busy for them to even ask for my help with anything.”

  My teeth bite into my lip. “And if they do? Like yesterday, when that counselor went to you because a camper had forgotten his sleeping bag. That should have come to me. I should have grabbed him a spare.”

  “And I shouldn’t have. I know. I was just trying to help.” He runs his thumb from the corner of my mouth and my lip rolls out to take the contact. “Today, I only help with the things you’ve asked me to. No more stepping in if you don’t need it.”

  A cabin door slams sh
ut and I drop my hands from his chest. He gives my ass one last squeeze before we pull apart, and my body leans toward his before I can stop it. He opens the door to the rec hall. To leave me. And my heart pounds with the loss of contact. “Hey, Paul?”

  He pauses, one foot over the threshold. “Yeah?”

  “I…” I press my palm to my sternum. Take a breath. But the air only feeds the fluttering inside me. “I need you to be patient. With me. While I figure this out.”

  He lets the door fall closed. “You’re doing great, Amy. I mean, I’m sorry I stepped in yesterday and I wish the staff had read Fred’s email better, but—”

  “No.” My fingers fist and I dig my knuckles into my chest. “I mean love. Relationships. They’re complicated. For me.”

  His fingers weave through mine and he pulls me into the rec hall. The door slams closed behind us and his body holds mine against the door. Our fingers stay locked and he wraps his free hand around the back of my neck, kissing me deep. Deep enough that I feel him in my mouth. My skin.

  My entire being.

  He pulls back and I reach for him, but he rests his forehead on mine. “Say I can stay, Amy. We’ll get good at this. We will.”

  My unreliable heart hammers in my chest and I bite my tongue before any words can spill out. Before I can say yes. Shout yes. Tattoo yes across my chest.

  “Hey, Directors,” Cam’s voice echoes through the rec hall. “Interrupting something?”

  Paul holds up his middle finger and shuffles us away from the exit.

  Cam slips past us with a laugh. “And good morning to you, too.”

  The doors click shut and I step away from Paul. Smooth my hands over my head. Tighten my ponytail like it will squish my weakness and Cam’s plural greeting from my head. “I better get out there. You’re good for today?”