Sex Sessions: After The Cut (Camera Tales #2)

by Charisse Spiers

  She grabs my hands and places them firmly on her tits, only a thin piece of fabric in my way. I squeeze, because, well, I shouldn't need to give an explanation. They are self-explanatory. "See these?"

  She waits for my response like a toddler being scolded. The car is deathly silent. This could be a trap. Of course I see her tits. I see them every ten seconds at minimum. Confused as to what my answer is expected to be, I stall. But then I take the route of a man that wants to live—without his dick in time out—and nod my head dramatically with my mouth shut. "Restricted area. Access denied. Closed to viewing and hands on usage if you don't get your shit together. If you need a simpler explanation let me know."

  "That's blackmail." The words flew out without instruction. And the evil laugh that follows from her is a hint that it should have remained locked inside where it belongs.

  "Two can play this damn game. You keep giving them a hard time about having sex when they're two grown adults . . . well guess what, you don't get any either. You're being a pompous ass when this situation was in reverse a very short while ago. My brother saw us fuck. You only know about them. How do you like those apples? Would you want to be in Ben's shoes? Or are you comfy where you're sitting?"

  My mouth closes as I stare at her in her very angry state—noticeable by the quivering of her bottom lip—but then opens. Obviously my mouth won't just shut up today. "You couldn't. You wouldn't. This is totally different. I saw what he was doing with his dick before dipping it in my sister. Now, two seconds later, he's making his fucking rounds in our circle."

  She clamps that tiny little hand together at each side of my mouth, making me feel like a fish, and presses her chest against mine. Her lips sit right in front of mine. "Oh, but I fucking would, porn boy. Do you want me to bring up your priors? Hmmm . . ."

  Holy fucking shit. I lost my train of thought in the midst of her sarcasm. The ability to utilize my brain in a sarcastic or witty manner is malfunctioning. Bryant lets a laugh escape. I kick the back of his damn seat, my face not moving an inch. She lowers her middle onto my current problem from the raised straddle she was in, closing the space between her middle and my lap. "I see you're paying attention. Good. Let me put this in perspective for you, because you were dipping your wick in someone else and it probably wasn’t all that long before me. I still gave you my virginity knowing what you were. And don’t tell me. I don’t want to know the timeline. Not my point. It's so different, huh? Give him a break. He's the damn victim and you know it. Since you brought up the elephant in the room, let's elaborate for all parties to avoid confusion of his charged manwhore ways that you're accusing him of. He was seeing my best friend, but guess what, she ditched him for my brother when given the opportunity. She's been waiting years for it; an unfortunate circumstance is all it is. It wasn't meant to be like you and me. He's a good guy from what I can tell and she's fun to be around. Does it really surprise you that they ended up bumping into each other?"

  I nod my head, but don't speak. I could easily remove her hand from my face, but this dominant role she's playing is really fucking hot, so I'm going to play. "Well it shouldn't. Was it a little awkward at first, yeah, but move the fuck on. As far as it being different, you bet your ass it is, but not in the way you see it. We are by far worse. My brother had to come to terms with the fact that I lost my virginity to a porn star," she bites out. "A well paid one at that, so what does that tell you? And also that we film porn . . . together."

  Her hand drops from my mouth and she starts the animated waving of each as she speaks. "Sheltered virgin girl insecure in her own body. Scorned porn star that's probably dipped his stick in more women than I want to elaborate on for my well-being and mental sanity. And might I add, the same one that I wrap my lips around and let inside of me unprotected. Sounds like the ingredients to a damn soap opera if you ask me. Oh, but wait! We are actually in the middle of an uncensored television reality series and we fell for each other instead of acting. We are now about to be getting married. Beautiful. Romantic. Out of the ordinary. Also laughable. Stew on that for a while, but in the meantime, Ben got a lick off you for wandering into what he considers a 'no trespassing' zone and you got a hit off him for the same. Lay your sword of testosterone down and shut the hell up with your younger brother bitching, for all of our sakes."

  "Baby . . . " My hands tangle in her hair and I pull her closer. My mouth is dry, causing an offset in the way my voice comes out. "My dick hurts so bad right now. That was hot as fuck."

  "Saxton!" Tynleigh yells. "We can hear you!"

  "Don't listen."

  "Kind of hard right now."

  Everyone else doesn't matter at the moment. She stares at me. Her eyes are smiling at me even though she hasn't given her lips permission yet. "You say the worst things at the most inappropriate times," she finally says, a broad grin following closely behind.

  "But that's why you love me, right?"

  "Dude." I inch my head to the right just enough to give him one eye. "You better lock that one up until you have papers to prove she's yours, because that one wouldn't stay on the market long. She just burned your ass," he says, laughter behind it.

  "Shut the fuck up, asshole." I laugh. "May you burn alive in the very liquor that makes you money . . . "

  "Love you too, bro."

  "That's for taunting me with my sister. Next time get a room."

  "Noted."

  Kambry turns her head toward him and he winks at her. "I owe you a little credit, girl. You got that dick on a leash."

  He glances at me at the exact second I flip him the bird. "I don't know about you, but my mom taught me not to bite the hand that feeds me." He laughs, and instead of carrying on with this fucked up conversation, I grab her ass to pull her toward me. The fact that I'm in the very car with my own sister doesn't even faze me anymore. That fine line I've never crossed just got busted to hell and back.

  My eyes close as my nose gets close to her hair, the smell of her shampoo making itself known. Everything is peaceful, until her squeal sounds off like a twenty-one gun salute, making my ears ring. I'm going to assume we made it. Without even opening my eyes the nerves return. It's time to armor up. I'm not the first man to ever walk toward the face of death for a woman, and I'm sure I won't be the last.

  Kambry

  "Sax, are you alright?"

  We chose to come to Deno's Wonder Wheel Amusement park first, and we've barely made it past where he purchased our tickets. Tynleigh and Bryant wandered off to do their own thing once we came through the gates of Coney Island. It probably was the better decision due to the awkward tell-all couples' therapy session in the car, followed by the inappropriate phrases and groping from Saxton that followed. Conversation between them was most likely needed after that.

  The wounds of my embarrassment are still fresh and I need time to get past everything blurted from my lips as my frustration took over my brain. Everyone obviously thought my outburst was funnier than me. It took about two and a half seconds after I was finished to realize exactly what had happened. We were not alone like we should have been for that conversation. I'm pleading temporary insanity caused by his bad behavior.

  I don't think she was expecting to be more than a third wheel when this trip was planned, but now, here we stand alone. I guess it kind of worked out for the best.

  My excitement was tipping into the extreme zone until I got a look at him when we started moving toward the Wonder Wheel. His paling skin is worrying me. He shoves the tickets in his pocket. "Yeah. Why?"

  "You kind of look like you're going to throw up."

  He shakes his head. "Must have been the car ride. Occasionally I get car sick and left feeling nauseous if I ride backseat. I'm good."

  He starts to walk forward, toward the line to get on, but I side step in front of him and turn around, crossing my arms over my chest. He grabs my shoulders as he tries to halt suddenly instead of knocking me over. "What the hell?"

  I narrow my eyes at him. "You're
lying to me." My shoulders drop as the disappointment settles. "You never lie to me," I say in almost a whisper. "Is this a bad memory for you? Did you bring her here?" He looks like he's seen a ghost. A thought occurs to me when I take in his face again and my eyes flit from one direction to the other. "Did you see her? Is she here right now?"

  "Her who?" His voice is casual. Without a second's lapse his eyes widen and the color returns to his face. "No, baby. Oh my god. No. Stop it. Come here."

  He pulls me against his chest, my arms instantly wrapping around him. My body begins to melt. It always does when he holds me like this. Like they always do, the words just leave my mouth. I'm not sure that I could ever keep anything from him—not that I would want to. But the way he just draws things out of me is hard for me to understand when I've always been so quiet. "Then why won't you tell me why you look like that? Since we got out of the car you've been acting weird."

  The aftermath of my brazen attitude in the car is starting because of the change in his mood. I'm getting paranoid that maybe I embarrassed him or made him angry, or even made him second-guess us. My constantly surfacing insecurities make me feel stupid. This is the part of myself that I will always hate. "Hey. Look at me."

  I do as he says, waiting for him to continue. "I need you to trust me. I promise to tell you what's really bothering me later, but for now your enjoyment is more important to me. It's not any of the things you think. That I promise. Hint: you'll discover that men are stubborn. We hate asking for directions, we never need help, and we are always Tarzan. Always. Even on days we feel like Jane."

  My cheeks hurt.

  My teeth are in full show.

  The laugh escapes.

  I squeeze him tight.

  "You'll always be my Tarzan."

  "So what's first?" He lightly pushes me back to separate us and wraps his arms over my shoulders, before he begins to guide us along. "Because right now I feel like I'm living Tarzan's first encounter with civilization: the man's only downfall. Everyone is starting to stare."

  "That," I say, pointing to the massive wheel.

  "Alright. Well, let's do this."

  I take off, grabbing his hand as I do and tugging him along behind me. I can't take the temptation anymore. It's too much; like someone putting a cupcake right in front of your nose when you're dieting and daring you not to eat it. The end result is always the same: failure.

  Luckily the line wasn't horrible and we got on the ride in a time frame that wasn't curse worthy. When I sat down on that bench seat and the ride worker lowered the bar, all of my adrenaline started to rush through my veins. I've never gotten to go to a fair or amusement park in my life, or at least not since I was old enough to remember. This is great.

  It stops a few seats from us being on top—on top of the world. My adrenaline has died down a little since the start, most likely because we're only moving like one mile per hour at a time. Slowly we continue to ascend, one bucket load at a time until we're here. I can see the whole park from this point. The people passing look so small. This view is . . . impeccable.

  With each move of my head and shoulders the seat rocks to the slightest degree. "Shit. Fuck." The fear-filled whisper calls me. I turn to look beside me with the recognition of whose voice it was. He's clenching the bar so tight his knuckles are white. His eyes are tightly closed.

  He's scared.

  My heart plummets to my gut as everything weighs on my brain and finally makes sense. It's a funny thing; in the sense of being weird that is: seeing the strongest person you know at their weakest point. It's heartbreaking, but it's also comforting. It humbles you. I think as females we put too much pressure on men. They are supposed to be brave, have no fears, stand ten-foot-tall and bulletproof, and also be the one that sweeps us off our feet with romance and carry us into the sunset. They are supposed to be the shoulder we cry on and the humor behind our laughs. They are supposed to be perfect.

  But to me . . . this is perfect. I can see that his shield of bravery sometimes gets laid down, he gets scared, and sometimes he doesn't stand quite as tall. Bulletproof doesn't mean unbreakable. It means tougher than most. Occasionally they deserve a free break with no judgment that they're less of a man. Men should be entitled to a few days where they need the shoulder and they need the heart that causes them to laugh without any expectations in return. And because he's the man that did sweep me off my feet, I want to be that for him.

  This is real.

  I place my hands to each side of his face and turn his head toward me. He's stiff as a board. His eyes are still clenched tight to match his hands. "Don't rock it."

  My forehead presses against his. "Look at me, baby; only at me."

  His eyes slowly start to loosen and open, our eyes barely any distance apart. The slight slip of our skin tells me he's sweating. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

  "Pussies don't get the girl, and you're my world."

  "But, baby, this version of you is so much better. This is you. Real is always the best. I need you to remember forever that every superhero has a kryptonite." I'm not sure why I'm whispering, but I just feel like I need to. "And for your information, you'll always have this girl. Never keep your fears from me."

  "Prove it."

  Two words.

  One meaning.

  A single command.

  So I do in the only way I know how. I kiss him.

  The wheel starts moving in a constant turn, only going fast enough to blow a light breeze against our faces. Without my eyes open I witness something beautiful.

  He let go.

  His hands settle on me loosely instead of being death-gripped to the safety bar in front of us. A couple minutes worth of go-rounds and we are suddenly back at the top, waiting once again, seat by seat, to unload.

  The lips I've come to love so much leave mine. His arm outstretches behind me and he looks out over the park, but only briefly, before his eyes return to mine. "You know, there is no other man that could love a woman as much as I love you."

  I try not to smile and fail. "I bet there are a few men out there that would disagree with you. It's a great big world out there, and it’s full of women-loving men just like you."

  "Maybe, but their women aren't as good as mine, so it's not likely."

  "That's a matter of opinion, handsome."

  He looks at me for a moment, smirks, and then shakes his head. "No?"

  "No," he says. "I have the best. I know it. Years of living and aged wisdom tell me so. Only one can be the best. A singular being. The order in which things are labeled: good, better, and best. You never have more than one queen or Miss America because there will always have to be a best. That's just life. And when you have the best you love it the most."

  I love how he uses his fingers as he counts, like I need help counting one and then to three. "Okay fine. So let's say I'm intrigued by your theory. What is your process of elimination to get you to the answer?"

  "That you're the best?"

  "Exactly."

  "That's easy. You have everything on a man's checklist; not lacking one single thing."

  "What checklist?"

  Again with the fingers. "You don't bitch. You don't blow money. You don't lie, steal, or cheat. We get along. We have fun. You're funny and sweet but not a doormat. You love me. I can take you home to Mama and I can see you as the mother of my children." Those damn fingers. Not once did he mention . . .

  I grab his hand and pull it toward me, opening my mouth at just the right time. His middle finger enters and I close around the base, before lightly sucking with my tongue caressing the underside as it exits. "And you do shit like that," he whispers, before clearing his throat.

  It exits with a pop. "We have mind-blowing sex should have been at the top of that list."

  "And your willingness to explore sexually is a bonus. How could I forget?"

  "One freebie is all you get. Better not do it again."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "That's such a southern
thing to say, farm boy."

  "Baby, I converted to the south a while ago. Right after I experienced that mind-blowing sex you speak of. My mind has been fucked ever since."

  We finally reach the bottom and the worker releases the safety bar to raise it out of our way. Saxton unbuckles the belt that runs over our laps and we get off. I bump into him purposely as we begin to walk side-by-side. "And you haven't even seen me naked in cowboy boots yet."

  A few more steps and I realize I'm now walking alone. I turn around and his face is priceless. His mouth hangs ajar, his eyes are wide, and the hypnotic blinking pattern is making me want to laugh. "What's wrong?"

  My lips purse as soon as the last word exits, trying desperately not to laugh out loud. His hands robotically slide into his pockets and he scuffs his shoe against the pavement. "Can we do that?"

  I lose it. It's like a little boy passing by a sweets shop before dinner with his mother. All of the multicolored candy elegantly tucked into pretty glass is staring at him from the other side of the window. He wants to go in, but he knows there is a possibility she'll say no before he even asks so he doesn't spoil his dinner. He has one shot, so he asks in the sweetest, most innocent tone he can muster, hoping she'll feel guilty enough to give in. And I'll tell you, that dammit, the puppy eyes are more than I can bear.

  I grab his shirt in my fist and pull him toward me and out of the way. "This is a little surprising. You wanna fuck me in cowboy boots?" I ask in a taunting manner.

  "With every ounce of semen in my body."

  "Tell me . . . Has this ever happened before?" I'm enjoying this way too much.

  "No," he says, matter of fact. I note this small tidbit of information in the back of my mind, because every human being alive likes to be someone's first at something. I'm a fresh map on an open road. There are no little pushpins for me that marks where I've been prior to him, and with Saxton, the list is short. His map is worn and full of holes, but I accepted that with his love. Internally I sigh just a little, but then remember this is one more to add, and the perkiness returns.