by Donya Lynne
“For what?”
He grins. “For you to get shy on me.”
I giggle and tuck my face against his chest, making him laugh.
“Come on,” he says, “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve is waiting.”
There’s leftover seven-layer dip in the fridge, so we grab that, a bag of corn chips, and build a pair of sandwiches using corned beef cold cuts. Then we head downstairs to the theater room, where we snuggle in the oversized leather chairs. As we eat, we talk about anything and everything while watching the countdown to midnight. I share my New Year’s resolutions, and he shares his. We talk about school, sports, and music. The future. The past. No subject is off limits.
Kissing is a given. There’s a lot of kissing. And touching. And maybe some groping.
Both of us know how the evening will end. With only a couple nights left before he leaves, we’re not wasting any opportunity to explore the passion we’ve found with each other.
At five till midnight, we’re making out like mad. We vowed to wait until midnight before having sex, but it’s starting to look like we’re not going to make it. My blouse is already a pool of discarded fabric in the chair next to us, leaving me in only my bra, panties, and unfastened jeans.
Gunner withdraws his lips from mine, but keeps our foreheads nestled together. “It’s going to happen tonight.”
I lower my gaze. “I hope so.”
I still haven’t come during sex. I’ve been close several times, but I can’t quite get there.
“No,” he says firmly but gently, lifting my chin and kissing me. “It will. I promise.”
I want to believe him, but I’m not as confident as he is. For some reason, when we’re having sex, I get right to the edge of orgasm and stop. Don’t get me wrong, it feels incredible. I just want to feel what it’s like to come with him inside me. The orgasms he gives me afterward are intense and wondrous, so I can only imagine how they would feel during the act rather than as an afterthought.
As the countdown to midnight reaches one minute, we start peeling off the rest of our clothes. His shirt. My jeans. His jeans. My bra. His undershorts. My panties.
How are we going to do this? The oversized theater chairs recline, but they don’t recline to a flat position, which will make it awkward for him to be on top of me.
“Come here,” he says before I have long to think about it.
He grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto his lap as he sits back down.
Oh. This is nice. I’m straddling him.
I rest my hands on his shoulders. “Do you want me on top?”
He’s rolling on a condom he’d stashed in the pocket of his jeans.
“Yes.” He grips my hip with one hand while stroking up his shaft with the other, tugging the condom the way he always does to ensure it’s snug and that there’s a little extra left at the tip.
The countdown hits ten seconds.
He pulls my hips forward and rubs the head of his erection front to back, slicking me while sending fragments of pleasure through my body.
My legs quiver with anticipation, and my fingers curl on his shoulders.
At five seconds, he directs the head of his cock to my entrance.
We wanted to start the new year together. As in, together. Joined as one.
“Ready?” he whispers.
I swallow a moan and nod, eager to be with him again. “Yes.”
From the TV, I hear the crowd gathered in New York cheer. They shout the final seconds of the year, counting them down, ready to greet the new.
As fireworks shoot off on the TV, I know it’s here. I know the new year has begun.
Gunner pulls my mouth to his, and as we kiss, he thrusts upward as he drags me down onto him.
I gasp against his lips. This feels . . . different. He hits me at a new angle in this position. A more exciting angle. One that puts pressure on my inner muscles in just the right way. Maybe I will be able to come with him inside me tonight.
He’s breathing hard, his lips barely touching mine as our gazes lock together.
“Fuck me,” he mutters. “You’re in control.”
He says that like he likes me being in control. Like he wants me to do with him what I want. I can see the appeal. The tables have turned, and now he’s the one who gets to lie back and experience the physical pleasure being given to him.
I roll my hips, uncertainly at first. He briefly closes his eyes and drops his head back, moaning.
His hands grip my hips and help churn me on him.
Using his guidance, feeling emboldened by his response, I rock against him more forcefully.
Oh my God, yes. He’s hitting me just right. Exactly where I need him to hit me.
We find a rhythm, and within minutes I’ve gone from being unsure about this new position to riding him like I’m a rodeo cowgirl and he’s the stallion I tamed from the open range.
And I feel it. I feel my orgasm rising, pushing forward, fighting to break free.
“Oh . . . oh my god . . .” It’s right there. So close. Hovering.
He’s staring up at me, watching me with taut eyes, grinding his teeth. “Are you going to come?” he bites out. He sounds like he’s almost to the point of no return.
“I think so . . . I don’t know . . . I’m so close.” It feels like I’ll explode any second. Like I’m just one thrust away from climaxing. But then I don’t, and I’m one more thrust away. And then that one doesn’t shake my orgasm free, either. What more can I do?
Gunner leans forward and clamps his mouth over my nipple, sucking hard.
Oh, Jesus!
That’s it. That’s all I need.
Crying out, the tide rises abruptly, the pleasure within me spiking. A split second later, I detonate.
All I am is one keening, tremulous wail as my body splinters, contracting and releasing against Gunner’s cock.
Or maybe that’s him, because he’s coming, too. We’re coming together. Ringing in the new year with a tremendous simultaneous orgasm, the likes of which I doubt the world has ever seen.
When it’s over, I’m lying against Gunner like a dirty rag—boneless, motionless, and breathless.
His arms are around my back, holding me, keeping me close as he kisses my shoulder, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.
“I told you,” he says.
I can’t even muster the energy and mental acuity to reply. All I do is grunt.
I’ve never felt anything like that. Just . . . yeah, no words can do justice to what just happened to me.
I need a minute. Maybe five. Okay, ten.
And then I want to do it again.
Chapter 10
Two hours later, I’m on my stomach, my forehead resting on my hands on the floor in front of me, the weight of Gunner’s body slung over my back.
Yes, I just came again. During sex. While Gunner took me from behind.
And I think I just found my new favorite position.
“I liked that,” I say, still feeling the remnants of my orgasm ebbing and flowing through me.
“I could tell.” He kisses the back of my shoulder.
We’ve had sex three times since midnight. And all three times I came.
I know why we’re so desperate to have sex as much as possible. Neither of us wants to face his departure. But whether we face it or not, it’s coming. All we can do is build as many memories as we can to get us through until we see each other again.
He sighs and pulls out of me, sliding off the condom and wadding it inside a tissue while I put on my panties and hunt down my blouse.
I freeze as I hear a noise come from upstairs.
Gunner stops moving, and his surprised eyes lock with mine.
“If that’s Nick, we’re fucked,” he whispers hotly.
We scatter, haphazardly pulling on our clothes and gathering the spent condom wrappers from the floor.
“Cameron!” My mom’s voice comes from the top of the stairs, and panic sets in.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “It’s my parents!”
If he thought we were fucked if Nick found us having sex, we’re going to be crucified if my parents do.
We double our efforts to get dressed and clean up.
“Cameron, are you down there?”
“Mom? Is that you?” I run my fingers through my hair as I hear her high-heeled shoes thud dully on the carpeted stairs. God, my hair is all tangled. How am I going to pass off how I look?
Gunner stuffs the wadded-up condoms and wrappers in his pocket and points to the couch, indicating for me to lie down. He tosses me the pillow we used to prop under my stomach on the floor.
I catch it and collapse on the couch, tucking the pillow under my head while Gunner sprawls in the chair farthest from me, the bag of chips beside him and the TV remote in his hand.
A few seconds later, my mom appears in the doorway of the theater room.
“Mom? What are you doing home?” I lift onto my elbow and rub my eyes, pretending that I’d been asleep.
“Oh, hi, Gunner.” My mom steps into the room. “I thought you went out tonight.”
“I did.” He grabs a corn chip and stuffs it in his mouth. “Got back about an hour ago and came down here to watch a movie. Cami was crashed on the couch.” He winks at me. “The party animal.”
My mom laughs and grabs a corn chip for herself. “Yes, that’s our Cameron. Out by midnight every year.”
Not this year.
I brush my hair off my face and rub my eyes again, really playing up the act. “I thought you and Dad were going to be out all night. Why are you home?”
Mom sighs. “Looks like your dad is partied out, too. He wanted to come home.” She heads for the exit. “Honestly, I think he’ll be happy if he doesn’t see another party until next Christmas.” She pauses at the door. “I just wanted to let you know we were home. We’re heading up to bed.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night, Gunner,” my mom says as she walks out.
“Good night, Mrs. C.” He waves over his shoulder even though she’s already gone.
He meets my gaze but doesn’t say anything. Neither of us do until we hear my mom reach the top of the stairs and everything goes silent.
“That was close,” he says, letting out a relieved exhale.
“Too close.” I don’t want my parents to know I’m having sex, but I don’t want to keep my relationship with Gunner a secret from my family anymore, either. “We have to tell them,” I say quietly.
“What? Now?”
“No, but tomorrow, okay. Let’s tell them tomorrow.”
His expression grows troubled.
“Gunner, things are just going to get more complicated until we tell them, no matter what happens with my brother.”
“I know. You’re right.” But he doesn’t look any more convinced than he did a few seconds ago.
Did he even plan to tell Nick? My parents? Anyone?
“Then what’s holding you back?”
“Nothing.”
I don’t believe him.
He looks into the half-empty bag of corn chips. “I just don’t want any complications.”
“Neither do I. That’s why it’s time to tell them what’s going on between us.” Cold dread settles into my stomach. “Unless you’re too afraid. Or maybe you’re ashamed of me.”
His eyes shoot to mine, and his thick eyebrows carve hard into his face. “I’m not ashamed of you.”
“Then you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Aren’t you? You’re worried my brother will kick your ass. Is his opinion more important than mine? Is being scared of Nick and what he might do to you bigger motivation than how we feel about each other?”
He doesn’t answer. He just sits there staring at me. And that says all I need to know.
What started out as the perfect beginning for the new year has been ruined by my parents’ untimely return and Gunner’s reaction. Have I made a mistake pouring my heart and soul into loving him? I want someone who will fight for me. A man who will protect me. And I don’t just mean a man who will protect my body, but one who will protect my heart, my emotions, and every part of me.
Gunner has told me repeatedly that he’s afraid Nick will kick his ass once he finds out what’s going on between us. Is that more important than owning up to his feelings? Is his friendship with my brother more important than the love he claims to feel for me?
What others think shouldn’t matter. I could understand if he wanted to hold onto our secret because he wants to keep the magic of us sacred. To hold onto the enchantment we’ve found by opening up to each other.
But that’s not what he said. He’s worried about Nick’s reaction. He said he’s scared Nick will kick his ass. And if he’s scared of Nick’s reaction, he’s probably scared of my father’s, too.
I take off the bracelet and push off the couch. “You tell me you love me, but you’re sure not acting like it.” I drop the bracelet in his lap as I pass. “I’m going to bed. And don’t come to my room, either. I’m locking my door.”
With that, I leave him in the theater room. As I climb the stairs, I have tears in my eyes, but I don’t cry. Not until I reach my bedroom.
Then I let my sorrow flow.
Chapter 11
When I wake the next morning, it’s after eleven. I never sleep this late. Ever.
Then again, I cried until after three o’clock.
And don’t my eyes feel it? They’re swollen and gummy and feel like I took sandpaper to them.
It’s going to be a long day.
Part of me considers pretending I’m sick so I can stay in my room and avoid Gunner. Another part of me wants more than anything to see him so I can search for evidence that his night was as miserable as mine.
I give in and get out of bed. I’ll go downstairs, get the lay of the land, and if it doesn’t look good, I can pretend to be sick later.
Trudging to the bathroom, I bump into the door as I try to turn the handle, forgetting I locked it last night. Unlocking it, I push it open and switch on the light.
The bracelet is sitting on the marble counter next to the sink. No note. Nothing to indicate he’d been there other than the bracelet.
Tears instantly prickle my eyes, and I turn for the shower.
Playing sick is starting to look more appealing.
I dress in sweatpants and a sweatshirt and dump a bottle of Visine in my eyes. Then I stop at my bedroom door, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath, forcing a smile as I step into the hall.
Wendy’s bedroom door is open, and I take a quick peek inside. The bed is made. Gunner isn’t there.
Which means he’s probably downstairs.
With growing dread, I descend to the living room. Dad is dressed in sweats, and he’s watching pregame stats for the college football games that will be on later.
Nick is lying on the couch with his eyes closed. He appears to be sleeping off a hangover. Like Gunner, he’s not of legal drinking age, yet, but like me, he’s always been responsible. He wouldn’t have driven home if he was drunk, which means he drove home hungover this morning or had someone give him a ride. Since his car is in the driveway, my bet is on the former.
I find my mom in the kitchen. She’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which means she didn’t drink at all last night. Good for her. She’s putting together some kind of dip, and the crockpot is churning out the telltale scent of baked beans. She starts them in the crockpot then transfers them to the oven to finish. Her baked beans with pork are just about the best thing on the planet, and we eat them every New Year’s Day, along with homemade Reubens. Beans, pork, corned beef, and cabbage. She even bakes a special New Year’s cake. My mom goes all out.
I grab the Lucky Charms from the cupboard and round up the milk and a bowl on my way to the breakfast bar.
“Where’s Gunner?”
“He left about an hour ago,” Mom says, wiping off her hands.
“Said he needed to run a few errands before he and Nick leave tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I dump the cereal into my bowl, spilling some over the side.
“So, did you two have fun last night?”
My gaze shoots to hers. “Last night? What do you mean?” Does she know what he and I did?
She smiles and winks. “After I went to bed. I know you couldn’t have gone back to sleep knowing he was in the theater with you. And neither of you look like you got much sleep this morning.” She’s rattling on, bustling around the kitchen. “So I just assumed the two of you stayed up and watched a movie together.”
“No, Mom.” I bury my face in my bowl. “I went to bed. I just didn’t sleep well. I had nightmares all night.”
Ain’t that the truth?
“Nightmares?” She pulls the cocoa from the cupboard. It’s always been her cure-all for bad dreams. With my mom, it’s the little things no one else thinks will help that make a difference. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
I’m in no mood to argue. Besides, hot chocolate sounds good. “Thanks, Mom.”
Bring on the little things. They may be all I have to get me through my heartache.
* * *
Gunner still hasn’t returned by three o’clock, and I’m practically clawing my way out of my skin to know where he’s gone. At four o’clock, I can’t stand his absence, anymore, and have to get out of the house.
I go to Julie’s.
By the time I get there, I’m spewing tears like a dysfunctional water fountain.
“What’s wrong?” she says once she’s hauled me into her bedroom.
“Oh, Julie. Everything.” I spill the whole story. All of it. From the first time Gunner snuck into my bedroom, to the first orgasm he gave me, to giving him my V-card, to what we did last night. Then I tell her what happened after that. How we argued and I gave him back the bracelet.
After lightly admonishing me for not telling her sooner about losing my virginity, Julie pulls me into a hug. “Oh, Cami, I’m sorry. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
All I can do is cry. Sob, actually. I’m sleep-deprived, I don’t know where he is, and I feel like everything I’ve always wanted has caved in around me like a sand castle in a hurricane. If my emotional state isn’t comprised of a toxic cocktail right now, I don’t know what is.