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

by Charisse Spiers

  "Honey, the wow factor is in the back."

  She takes the hanger off of the door and turns it around. There is a lot of missing material up top. The fabric looks like it multiplies just above your bottom, bunching and creating a cascading effect down the center to the floor. "You were right."

  "It'll be beautiful on you as light as your hair is."

  "Tynleigh."

  "What?"

  "That's a fancy dress. Where exactly is he taking me?"

  "Do you want to get me killed? I've been threatened with my life if I so much as drop a hint. I'm not sure my lips could utter the words if I tried."

  I stare at it in her hands. Nowhere back home does a girl dress like that except prom. I wouldn't know a whole lot about that, though. I only got to go my senior year and my parents didn't like it. I begged for months, did everything possible they could think of, and even agreed to let Mom take me dress shopping. I ended up being the most clothed girl there and had to be home be ten thirty. Looking back now I'm not even sure it was worth it. "Please. Just give me something. I've never gotten to dress like that."

  She stares at it, and then back at me. "What? Formal?"

  "Yeah."

  "Did you guys not have winter formals, proms, or charity balls?"

  "We had prom. I went once. I never got to wear a dress anywhere remotely close to that."

  She hangs the dress back on the door and walks toward me. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me to my feet and walks me toward her full-length mirror, before moving to the back of me. She talks through our reflections. "Leave behind everything you knew before. We can't make corrections on our past, but we can write our future. If you never let anything else I say to you stick, hear this. There is no greater feeling to a woman than watching her man see her for the first time at her best. Watch him. The second you walk out watch his expression. Even if you think he's staring at the girls and being a total perv, watch him. Then, and only then, will you know exactly how he feels about you."

  "You're not going to give me a hint are you?"

  "Kambry, all that matters is that he told me he felt like he had a lot of making up to do with you. I know he feels like things are in reverse compared to a lot of couples. But one thing I'll never forget is when he told me that most girls don't deserve to be courted based on their behavior, yet they get put on a pedestal, and the one girl that deserves to be treated like royalty was a modern day Cinderella. You really caught this one, sweet girl; so let yourself have a magical night. Let him romance you, even if that dress still ends up torn after the clock strikes twelve." She winks. "Most guys don't give a damn whether they're fucking Cinderella or the bitchy, less attractive stepsister until they have nothing left to do but settle down."

  Suddenly I'm more nervous than I was originally. Dates with us have always been things like goofy golf or club nights, and now things like concerts have been added thanks to this week, but I haven't gotten a chance to go to the ball. "Will you make me pretty?"

  "No." I nod, just before her smile appears. "I'll make you breathtaking."

  "Well, on a scale from one to ten, I'm what?" That question has become our thing, so I’m sticking with it.

  I stand in the center of the living room as she stows away the flyaway hairs and blends spots on my face with her fingers. The dabbing of lipstick starts as she alters two different shades of red. "Give me a second."

  I wait patiently as she finishes painting my lips. “This lipstick is smudge-proof and waterproof in case you were wondering. You can kiss him without leaving it behind.”

  She has my hair pinned at the back just before swooping over my shoulder, where it’s been trained to stay. My hair has rarely seen clips and bobby pins. Usually it's up on top of my head, down straight or in manmade curls. I've never been good at the art of hair. Wrapping sections around a large-barreled curling iron is as extravagant as I've ever been able to do. This feels . . . foreign.

  She puts away the lipstick and holds out a small, velvet, drawstring bag, pointing at it with her other hand. "Repeat these words after me. I, Kambry Rivers, future Mrs. Saxton Maverick Cambridge, will not come home alive without these very earrings still in my ears."

  "What earrings?"

  "Repeat now, questions later."

  I roll my eyes and do as she says. "I, Kambry Rivers, future Mrs. Saxton Maverick Cambridge, solemnly swear to not show up at this apartment without the earrings I know nothing about in my ears."

  "I guess that'll have to do . . . Continue. And if someone holds a gun to my head in demand of these earrings, I take an oath to sacrifice myself before letting them go."

  I stare at her.

  "Overkill? Fine, scratch the last part. I would not want you to die. But seriously, look at me. Tough love time." She alters her index and middle fingers into a V, pointing the double end back and forth between her and I. "Inherited gems. Imagine my best Dory fish face. Say it with me slowly. In-her-it-ed. These have been passed down since my great, great grandmother. They are irreplaceable. I've had them since Mom gave them to me on my twenty-first birthday. I'm letting you borrow them as my sister because you two hopeless, horny lovebirds deserve it, and I will equally beat your ass as my sister should you decide to be careless with them. Are we on the same page?"

  "That's really sweet, but I don't have to wear them. That makes me nervous being responsible for something that valuable. Besides, you're a little scary right now. I'm not sure I'd want to chance getting in a fight with you."

  "No, no. Rule number two of dress up: you do not rock a dress like that without diamonds somewhere on your body. Remember: black—diamonds. Red—diamonds. Two colors in formalwear you should not wear out without bling. Pretend my bark is mild compared to my bite, wear them, enjoy them, and bring them back. That's all I ask."

  A knock sounds at the door. Suddenly I feel like I want to throw up. "Hold on," she says loudly, as she takes each diamond solitaire out of the bag and places it in my earring hole, securing it with the back. She grabs the bottle of perfume on the table and sprays me, just before tossing it down and running around me like a mad woman, touching and tugging, fixing and dusting.

  "Can I look at myself?" I feel sick. I just pray my skin doesn't start getting splotchy from the nerves. Hives are not attractive.

  She runs into the bedroom and comes out with a body-length mirror, holding it far enough away from me I can see my entire body. Who is that girl? She looks nothing like me, but then she looks exactly like me: two contradictions that both make perfect sense. I take a deep breath, taking in my cleavage as it rises and falls: not too much and not too little.

  I turn, following the curve of my bare spine until I reach the bright red fabric just above my tailbone. Another knock sounds. "Hold your horses! We are out of time, princess."

  She sets the mirror aside and walks toward me, her hands following her eyes without touching me. A smile spreads across her face. "You, my dear, are off the Richter scale."

  She pulls me in front of the door and positions me, placing a clutch in one hand without making another sound. When I'm where she wants me I suppose, she grabs just below my lightly shimmering shoulders and gives me air kisses like royalty. "Walk slow and with grace and you'll have no problem in the heels," she whispers. "I'm going to my room to shower while you two do your thing. You'll knock his socks off." She winks at me, but this time it's with different meaning than before. Instead of it being in humor, it’s packed with the most sincerity.

  I reach for the doorknob as she disappears into her room, nervously, and open the door. He turns toward me from the backward facing stance he's in as I do. My mouth falls in surprise when I take him in. This feels like a dream, and one too good to be mine. I can't breathe. "You're so handsome," I whisper, almost so low I can't even hear myself.

  He wore a tux . . . for me.

  Saxton

  "You're so handsome," she says, but I almost missed it. Damn. This is like seeing the Seven Wonders of the World for me. My hand goes
to my chest. I work to get ahold of myself. I need all cylinders firing to get through this night without screwing it up.

  I thought long and hard about tonight. Long and hard. Thoughts repeated, ideas came and went, and I got aggravated a few times because nothing seemed good enough. Over and over I brainstormed ideas, mad when I couldn't figure out what the perfect first date would be. God knows she deserves it. I'm ashamed it's taken me this long. It finally dawned on me at no particular point in time this week.

  One phrase I remember my dad saying when it was just he and I stuck out. He wasn't one for a lot of unnecessary words, so when he spoke you listened. He wasn't much of a softy either. He got awkward when it came to sex and always backed away from Mom when we were around. He was private. I never saw him in an inappropriate moment with her. A kiss on the cheek was all we ever witnessed. I joked around with Kambry, but if Dad ever knew either of us had heard them in the most private moments of their lives he'd probably be mortified until the day he dies.

  So one day my curiosity got the best of me and I asked how they had been married for so long, immediately followed by the debonair phrase—in case I ever want a girl. It was in my puberty phase when all I could think about was how many different girls I could kiss or sneak a feel of something inappropriate. The thought of one woman forever was not cool to a boy hyped up over his own appendage hanging between his legs.

  I'll never forget the look on his face. Those dimples that he passed down showed up for the conversation and he put his glove-covered hands crossed over each other on top of the fence post we were fixing. His answer was as simple as he was. "It's easy. You romance her, son."

  That helped about zero fucking percent back then, but it came in handy all these years later. I figure our generation doesn't really know much about the ways of romance anymore, geared more toward sex than any before, so old school it had to be, and with her rather broad yet specific interest the choice became easy, so here I am in a tux, picking her up at the front door with a single red rose in hand. "You look beautiful," I finally say, after having to pick my jaw up off the floor to speak, holding the rose out for her.

  She takes it and brings it to her nose, her eyes closing as she inhales. "Thank you," she says. Her eyes open and she takes a step forward.

  I lean in and kiss her cheek, pulling the door shut as she walks out. "You ready to go?" A blush appears on her face. "What?"

  "I just can't believe you're mine tonight. I've never seen you like this . . . all dressed up in a tux."

  "What do you mean tonight? I'm yours every night." I look down when my hand touches the small of her back and it's bare. I finally get a glance at the back of her dress for the first time since she opened the door. I owe Tynleigh a hell of a lot for this. "And I could say the same about you."

  "Some hot girl could always come steal you away." She laughs to downplay her comment, but the paranoid undertone is what I caught.

  I grab her hand, pulling her body against mine. The subtle gold shimmer dusted on her chest to match her shoulders catches with the light, making them a focal point, as if her breasts need any more attention to what they will already get in that dress. "You never replace an original with a reproduction, and you obviously have no clue about your worth."

  My finger automatically traces along the heart-shaped neckline. I groan, wanting to pull it down. "You, beautiful, are a masterpiece. I'll never let you go. No one or no amount of money can change my mind."

  Her full red lips dive into mine, smashing them against each other. Her tongue never enters my mouth and she never makes an attempt to move or deepen the kiss. It's as if she just needs to know they're there when she wants them.

  Moments later, after she's had her fill, she leans back. The pad of her thumb rubs roughly against my bottom lip. "We really need to go, baby."

  "Okay, handsome. Lead the way."

  Kambry

  The door opens and I stop walking, my hands immediately going over my mouth, only to drop seconds later. "You didn't have to do this."

  Waiting for us is a black limo, the driver standing in a suit with the door open to fit the part of every movie I've ever seen. "Of course I did. It's your birthday. I'm still a little insulted you didn't want me to share this with you."

  "This is why." I'm fighting hard not to cry. I don't want to mess up the makeup Tynleigh spent so long perfecting. What part of this not being a normal girl's birthday does he not get? A gift and a card, maybe even a cake, are what I'd always expect to come out of someone making a big deal over my birthday. This doesn't happen to girls like me. "You've done so much already. This is too much."

  He grips his hand on the side of my neck, his fingertips pressing into the back. "Says the girl that's never been on a real date. Let me show you what you should expect when someone truly loves you. Even though I admire that you're not a brat, there are times when you deserve to be treated differently than you are on a daily basis. Let me spoil you, Kambry."

  "I thought that's what you were doing by bringing me here."

  "No, that was us coming to visit family. Stop doing that shit. Every action is because I love you and refuse to exist in this life anymore without you. You're going to be my wife in two days. Everything we do is equally ours, so get your ass in that limo, drink some champagne, and enjoy your birthday outside of the box your parents were keeping you in."

  His bossiness is such a turn on. I grip his jacket lapels in my hands and pull him toward me. "I'm so getting drunk sex in the limo on the way home," I say, and then walk past him like the good little fiancé that I’m pretending to be and get in the car, nodding at the driver as I get in. If the eyes were the windows into the mind mine wouldn't be quite so blue, because the thoughts running wild up there right now are filthy.

  The ride was pretty uneventful once I got over my kids-first-time-at-Disneyworld facial expression. I've never actually seen the inside of a limo. It still amazes me that there is such an amazing thing in existence. It gave me a tiny taste of stardom. Every time I've ever seen one driving around, my first and only thought was—I wonder who' s in there and where they're going. It was pretty cool being on the inside looking out in such an amazing city.

  He poured us both a glass of champagne at the start of the ride just as he said he would, sipping less on his and watching more on me as I downed mine like Kool-Aid.

  My third glass down the limo pulls up to the curb. I lean my head back against the leather seat, waiting for him to get out, and staring at the overhead lights that line the ceiling's outer edge. The slightest glow is created by my tipsy mental state.

  I roll my head toward him, watching as he places a glass half full of champagne—his first one—into the holder. "You're not allowed to do that."

  "Do what?"

  "Let me get tipsy or wasted on my birthday and you be completely sober. It's no fun that way."

  "It's your birthday. Someone has to watch out for you."

  Without hesitation, I pull my dress bottom up enough that I can move my legs freely and straddle him. "No sir." He stares at me, his hands disappearing under my dress as he finds my thighs. I grind my center against him and lean closer so that he has a better look at my cleavage. I've learned they're my greatest weapons against him. "It's my birthday and I want you drunk."

  I place my palm on the outside of his hand and guide it further up my leg, pushing the tips of his fingers beneath the edge of my panties. "Do you want this?" I ask as his fingertips enter the moist center.

  "Do you really have to ask?" His breath is short, his words choppy.

  I grind against him once more, feeling more of him than I did before. "Today we made love, twice. Tonight I want to fuck, here in this limo, with no thought but each other. I want you to want me so bad you want to rip my dress open. I want you to devour me. Give me my memory of backseat fucking in cars, Saxton. Get your ass drunk, enjoy the date, and then give me that dick. This is my birthday wish. Don't screw this up for me."

  Without another
word I pull the handle of the door. It opens easier than expected, pulling me forward. The driver was obviously waiting for the cue that we're ready to get out. I stand, with as much etiquette as possible. One word catches my attention as I try and fix my dress before anyone can see me: Jazz.

  I blink over and over like an idiot as I read the four letters on the building. He couldn't have known. I try and recall every conversation, every slip of the tongue, and every rambling of words between us since we met. There isn't a time I can remember that we discussed this. My love for music, yes. We've discussed songwriting. He knows I want to learn the guitar. But not once has he met this part of my soul. It's a part that doesn’t surface often.

  I turn to face him. He's just now getting out of the limo, his eyes locked on me. "How did you know?"

  He looks confused. "How did I know what?"

  "That I like Jazz. How did you know?" My voice betrays me, flashing the emotions I'm trying to hold back. "Tell me how you knew this."

  He stares at me like I've gone nuts. "Kambry."

  "Tell me right now. Not even Meredith could have told you this."

  I've never seemed to totally fit in. It's like I don't belong in this era. My body acted like a host to a foreigner on most days. I was disguising a poser with the innocent little good girl I never wanted to be. I've always felt like my soul somehow got lost in a time it's not meant to be in. If I wasn't a Christian born and raised, believing it's the truth, I might believe in reincarnation, because all of my life I've believed my soul was old; older than the body it resides in.

  There was only one place I truly felt like I fit. On days I needed to get away but had no place to go, I went there. A world filled with Big Band and Jazz music was my hideaway. Swing dancing was something I longed for. The early days I visited in dreams. I wanted the simple life they had back then. The days of technology we know now didn't exist. Pearl Harbor was my favorite movie. It wasn't because of the tragedy that it represents and all of the innocent people that lost their lives, but the time in which it happened.