High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  She lay on the table with her arms at her sides, her head slightly tilted, one leg pulled up. He kissed her stomach and she shuddered.

  “Wait a moment,” she whispered, her voice husky. There were goose bumps covering her pale skin.

  “Are you chilly?” he mumbled, following the tiny bumps with the very tip of his index finger, watching the thrill shoot through her.

  “A little,” she replied, which he took as an excuse to take her in his arms, hug her entire body to his bare skin. A desire to protect, and something else he couldn’t identify rushed through him. He nuzzled against her neck, held her even tighter, and then, just because he could, he stood up with her in his arms. He was strong, and embarrassingly happy to be able to demonstrate that to her. He hadn’t even known he was the type, didn’t usually show off in front of women.

  “I should be protesting this,” she said, but instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed into his chest.

  “Why?” he murmured into her hair.

  “Because it’s such a cliché. Plus, it’s only about forty centimeters to the couch.”

  “You want to go there? To the couch?”

  “Mmm.”

  Tom took the few steps into the living room and then sat down on the couch, with Ambra still in his arms. She was so soft he could barely think. He pressed her ass against his arousal, moved, groaned.

  “Are you grinding against me?” she asked with a laugh.

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  She moved in his arms, and he gasped for air. “You don’t want to have sex instead?” she asked.

  “I’d love to,” he said with emphasis. He paused a little, didn’t want her to think he’d planned this, but . . . “I bought protection,” he said.

  She laughed against his skin. “Me too. Just in case.”

  She licked his neck, bit his earlobe. Tom couldn’t remember when he’d last wanted anything as much as he wanted to have sex with Ambra Vinter in her tiny, colorful apartment. He would have given her the moon if she’d asked him to.

  Her bedroom was as small and colorful as the rest of the apartment, her green wrought iron bed just wide enough for the two of them. He joined her beneath the covers, which she held up for him. The bed shook considerably and creaked loudly every time he moved, but it seemed to be holding up.

  “It’s an antique,” she explained.

  He nodded, his focus on something entirely different. He discreetly rolled on a condom, turned onto his side so they were face-to-face, breast to breast, nose to nose. He kissed her eagerly, pulled her leg over his thigh, parted her, caressed her smooth skin, adjusted his position, and finally entered her. It was better than he could have ever imagined. He groaned as her warmth enveloped him, lay completely still, just allowed himself to feel her, to hold her in his arms, to be inside her, to be so near.

  “Tom,” she breathed, clinging to him, pulling him tight, wrapping her legs around him. He slowly pulled out and then pushed inside her again, and again, made love to her, as slowly as he could, as intimately as he could, until his wildness took over. He was too starved to draw it out, the feelings too raw, too intense, so he placed a hand behind her neck and the other on her ass, pulled her tight against him until he was panting against her skin. It was verging on unbearably good, and he came, hard and shaking, deep inside her. Lost himself and disappeared.

  “Tom?” He felt a soft hand on his cheek a moment later.

  He blinked, still completely overwhelmed. “Sorry. Am I heavy?”

  He shifted away, but Ambra followed him, wrapped herself around him. He kissed her smooth shoulder, heard the bed creak. Ambra laid her cheek on his chest, draped her entire body over his, and the most intense feeling of presence came over Tom. Here, in this tiny apartment full of tassels and small lamps and cheerful colors, he felt more at home than he had anywhere else. He stroked her fragrant hair. Played with a bouncy curl. She kissed his chest, ran an index finger through his hair. “Want to eat? I’m hungry again.”

  “Sure. Do you have anything here?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Candy.”

  He kissed her on the nose and pulled himself free. “Then I’ll buy candy. And I want to watch that program you were talking about.”

  Tom got dressed and went down to the store on the corner. He bought candy, freshly baked cinnamon buns, chocolate, and ice cream. When he came back, Ambra had lit candles and moved the duvet and cushions from the bed into the living room. They curled up on the tiny couch. She switched on Lyxfällan.

  “You like this?” Tom asked after watching, astounded, for a while. He didn’t understand a thing.

  She shoved candy hearts and chocolates into her mouth. “A lot.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s nothing you just like?” she asked, reaching for more candy. Tom followed her movement. You. I like you.

  “I don’t watch a lot of TV,” he said.

  “Because of all your secret missions and rescue operations?”

  “Exactly.” He continued to watch the strange program, kissing her skin every now and then.

  “Do you always have a beard?” she asked with a mouth full of candy.

  “I wasn’t born with one,” he said.

  “It tickles.”

  He brushed his chin against her face, and she gasped. “Stop, I’m so ticklish.”

  He playfully gripped her wrists. “You don’t like my beard?” he asked, bending down farther.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, so of course he dragged his beard across her entire body until she was shaking with laughter beneath him. Eventually, she twisted and squirmed so much that they both fell from the cramped couch onto the floor. He landed with a thud and pulled her on top of him. She straddled him, and he lay there perfectly happy to find himself in a position between her thighs, with her breasts right above him. She turned off the TV, placed a hand on his chest, touched the scars on his body, bent down, and kissed them. His hands were on her ass, and when she leaned down towards him he grabbed her waist and flipped her onto her back, ready to conquer, besiege, capture.

  “Caveman,” she said, but her eyes were glistening, and he took a light grip on her wrists, pulled her hands above her head, and started to methodically explore her body with his lips and mouth. She giggled when he kissed beneath her ear, squirmed when he blew on her neck, but started breathing harder the longer he continued. He carefully brought his hungry lips to her hard nipple, moving them forward and back, and then did the same with the other. Ambra moved her hips.

  “Tom,” she pleaded.

  “Shh,” he mumbled into her skin. “I need to concentrate. Lie still.”

  He reached a small scar and moved his lips over it as softly as he could. Was this just an innocent, forgotten injury? Or had someone hurt her on purpose? Her life had been far too hard. If anyone ever laid a finger on her, he would track that person down and tear them to pieces, bit by bit, with great enjoyment.

  When he let go of her hands, she turned onto her stomach. He studied her, placed his palm on her soft behind, stroked forward and back.

  “I like your ass,” he said.

  “Good to hear,” she said, giving him an inviting smile over her shoulder. Incredibly, he was hard again, so he didn’t take long to accept her invitation. He grabbed a new condom, pushed her legs apart, steadied himself on his elbows, and entered her from behind. He made love to her again, against the uneven floor.

  “Keep going,” she mumbled, pressing herself back against him.

  He hadn’t thought he would be able to come again, but in this position he could get deeper inside her. He thrust into her, gently to begin with. But she groaned, and mumbled, “God, that feels so good,” and he lost control slightly, thrust even harder, got lost in her tight warmth, allowed his hands to follow her spine, to move downward, and when she raised her ass toward him, pressed herself backward, he continued to pound away at her, harder now, again
st the floor. She panted and shifted beneath him, and he came again. He heard a roar echo through the apartment, maybe it was his. He pulled out, kissed her between the shoulder blades. She was soaked with sweat beneath him, and his heart was pounding away against her back.

  He lay down next to her, breathed out and studied her. “You didn’t come,” he said.

  “I did before.”

  “But not now?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t come from just . . .” She bit her lip.

  “From just?”

  “I have to use my hands.”

  He turned onto his side, interested in what she’d said. He had always assumed that women mostly came from the act itself. Right? He wasn’t sure.

  “It was still good, though.”

  “But don’t you want to come?” He had to say he wouldn’t want to have sex without an orgasm. And he had come twice now.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “It was great before. When you . . .” She trailed off, looked embarrassed. But Tom wouldn’t drop the subject. He wanted to know what Ambra liked. And then he wanted to give it to her. To see her come again.

  “When I licked you?” he asked, taking hold of her nipple and pulling at it.

  She panted and nodded. “And the other thing.”

  “Can’t you show me what you like?” he said.

  She seemed unsure, so he leaned forward over her, kissed her swollen lips, caressed her shoulder, and moved down toward her hips, in between her thighs, pushed them apart. He lowered his mouth.

  “No,” she mumbled. “Use your fingers first.”

  “Show me,” he commanded.

  She lay perfectly still. Then she moved her hands. Parted and caressed herself, in much wider circles than he expected, gently used her nails, rose up on her ass. He parted her until she was exposed and touched her tenderly.

  “Harder,” she said. “And don’t forget the area around it.”

  He smiled, liked it when she was bossy, demanding pleasure. And so he touched her the way she showed him, followed her instructions, heard her pants.

  “Tom, I’m coming,” she groaned, and he pushed one, then two fingers inside her, all while continuing to caress her with his other hand. She came against his hand, contracted and jerked until she brought her knees together. “Jesus,” was all she said. He laid a hand on her hip, disproportionately pleased with himself. He liked giving her orgasms. He wondered how many more he would get to give her. Could women come multiple times, or was that just a myth? He would try to find out.

  She shuddered again, beneath his hand. Maybe they should go to bed, or at least up onto the couch, but he couldn’t move. He was going to be thirty-seven, after all, not a teenager anymore. Instead, he pulled the rest of the bedding onto the floor.

  She leaned against his chest. Lay there while her breathing calmed. She played with his nipple. “Where’s Freja while you’re down here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “With Ellinor,” he replied without thinking. He regretted it the minute the words left his mouth. He felt her tense slightly.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Shit, shit, shit. “Ambra, I . . .”

  “No, no, don’t worry.”

  “Sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

  “Really, don’t worry.”

  He stroked her, traced the inside of her lower arm with his finger, wishing deeply he hadn’t said anything. He had never thought it was possible to have feelings for two women at once. But what he felt for Ambra wasn’t just desire, it was something more. He stroked her arm.

  “Do you want to go to a party with me?” he asked quietly.

  “A party?” she said against his chest, as though the word were alien to her.

  He caught her hand and turned it over, kissed her wrist. “I would like it if you came,” he mumbled into her warm skin. “My friend I told you about, David Hammar, he was pressuring me to go. And he told me to bring someone. Want to come?”

  She sat up and studied him. “You want to take me to a party? With your friends?”

  “Was it wrong of me to ask?”

  She frowned. “It’s just so unexpected.”

  “It’s an ordinary party, nothing special. I understand if you don’t want to,” he said.

  But she nodded. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

  Tom felt unexpectedly exhilarated. Suddenly, he had nothing at all against going to a party.

  “Turn on your program again,” he said with a wide smile, a smile linked to Ambra and orgasms and hopes for the future. He got comfortable beneath the covers and cushions and pulled her in close.

  “Sure?”

  “Definitely.”

  She turned on the TV and curled up next to him. He moved the bowl of candy in front of her, put his chin on her head, one leg over hers, embracing her. Sleepily he was drawn back into the bizarre program. With increasingly heavy eyelids, he listened to Ambra’s catty comments and enjoyment of the candy. Somewhere between budget charts, crying, debt-ridden contestants, and the rustling of candy wrappers, Tom realized he was more content than he had been in a long time. Maybe ever.

  Chapter 43

  Ambra looked at the rows of clothes with indifference. The light in the store was giving her a headache. Or maybe it was the heavy perfume in the air. Or the fact she had just left work and was completely exhausted. After a shift, she usually felt more dead than alive, even without the added burden of shopping. She wished she’d had the nerve to cancel this date with Jill, but she hadn’t.

  So, here she was.

  “But what does he mean? What do you think it means?” she asked Jill.

  This was what she hated. Not understanding what things really meant. Having to interpret what was hiding behind words, acts, and gestures.

  She liked Tom, and the sex was incredible. But sex was just sex. It was far too easy to read your own feelings and hopes into a smile, a hot kiss, a passionate weekend. Because the weekend they’d spent together was passionate. They’d made love and made love, and now she was full of feelings. But what did Tom feel? What would happen now? And what did it mean that he’d asked her to that party?

  “I think it means he wants you to go to a party with him,” Jill replied drily. She pulled out a dress, the fifth or sixth, or maybe tenth, Ambra couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted to think about Tom and sex.

  “What about this one?” Jill asked.

  Ambra looked down at the dress. Lace, with an open back. She pulled a face. “I hate lace.”

  “Maybe something more demure then.”

  The air was stale, and there were far too many people inside the store, whatever it was called. No matter where she turned, she saw upper-class girls with the same hairstyle, clothes, and body language.

  She didn’t want this, could feel it in every untreated pore and unwaxed body part.

  She glanced longingly toward the entrance, but Jill shook her head in warning. “Don’t even think about running off.”

  “Then can we hurry up a little?”

  Even in ordinary situations, Ambra wasn’t particularly keen on shopping for clothes, especially not in boutiques. But going shopping with Jill was even worse. A bit like going out with your own personal heckler.

  “We could if you would actually choose something.” Jill held up a glittery dress consisting of string and sequins. Ambra studied it suspiciously.

  “Are those feathers?” She shook her head. No feathers.

  With a look of exaggerated torment, Jill hung the creation back on the rack. “Should we do this another day, Miss Journalist?”

  She was going to a party with Tom (God, she felt a thrill just thinking his name), so she had to find something to wear. Plus she had promised Jill a shopping trip, so she might as well kill two birds with one stone.

  “No, I’ll do better,” Ambra said, trying to look energetic while a large part of her wanted nothing but to jump through the window.

  How cou
ld people enjoy this? Everyone in the store looked like they had just stepped out of a fashion spread. Even if Jill was the biggest celebrity in the room, Ambra saw several others. The reporter in her would have much rather been interviewing people and ferreting out secrets than trying on clothes that would just make her look like she was playing dress up.

  Jill ignored the stolen glances she was being given and held up two new dresses. One red and one yellow. Ambra shook her head.

  “You’re hopeless,” Jill said. She was starting to look irritated.

  “I’m tired,” Ambra protested.

  She had barely slept the past few days, just had incredible sex with Tom and worked like a madwoman. She got up early when she worked, and he had gotten up with her. Bought breakfast while she showered, made her sandwiches and coffee. Kissed her, walked her to work. Smelled so insanely good when they said good-bye. Acted irresistible.

  “The sex was amazing,” she said as Jill continued to search among the hangers. She pulled things out, studied them, hung them up again. Over and over.

  Ambra traipsed after her. She needed to talk to someone about this. She lowered her voice. “It was so damn hot. I’ve never come so many times, and the orgasms . . . Unlike anything I ever experienced.” She followed Jill. “Have you ever had an orgasm like that? One that feels like the best thing you’ve ever experienced, like you didn’t think existed?”

  “Mostly on my own,” Jill said absentmindedly, taking out a dress with a delicate pattern and frills at the bottom and studying it critically.