Burn With Me: New Adult Romance (Take Me Home Book 1) (Take Me Home Series)

by SJ Cavaletti

  And Drake…

  Isolde shook her head, listening, but seeming a distracted. Then she asked, “Would you like a baby wipe?”

  She made circles around her eyes, referring to mine. I hadn’t bothered to look. I knew they were smeared. Sometimes it’s better not to see the level of destruction.

  “If you have one. I’d really appreciate it. I just… left in such a hurry on Sunday.”

  Isolde gave me a sympathetic look. Or at least that’s what I thought her look meant. I wondered if Gina had told her about my Dad.

  Isolde ran back in the dome and threw me a pack of baby wipes. “Here. You can have the pack. I always have one or two to spare.”

  Appreciative as I was, I couldn’t help but think of why she had so many.

  “Do you know about the Laundro-man? At Pleasure Prick camp?” She asked.

  “Uh. No, I don’t.”

  “Well, it’s gonna be a long week without any sort of shower.”

  It was.

  “You can get showered there,” she added.

  That sounded good.

  “People give you a wash.”

  Not so good?

  “What do you mean? Like people wash me? Like they rub me down?”

  Isolde shook her head yes. Eyes innocent, like it was completely normal for a grown person to have a baby bath.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “It’s really fine, Maeve. Very respectful. Like you can tell them if you like, have temporary tattoos, or new piercings…”

  “But you’re naked, right?”

  “That’s the idea. How else do you get clean?”

  I said nothing. I wanted to get clean, and it’s not like I was a prude, but… Isolde got me.

  “Hon, you can wear your bottoms or whatever if you want. It’s about boundaries and trust. Learning to voice consent. Not a sexual thing… but most people are naked. Just so you know.”

  I looked out into the distance. The dust. Morning sweats. Only one little pack of baby wipes…

  “Where is Pleasure Prick?”

  “Around March and C Ring. Just follow our road. It’s on C. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks. And Isolde, thanks for the baby wipes, too. These are priceless.”

  “Anything you need, Maeve.”

  And I really felt she meant it.

  I had about a fifteen minute bike ride to re-think my wash. Was I really that desperate for a shower? The answer was yes. I wasn’t a high maintenance girl. Not really. Ok, little lie. I liked my clothes. Because I had a very specific style. Black only. No polyester. But I could toss the makeup, never got hair extensions or did anything more than paint my own nails black. But I needed to be clean. I was a sucker for all things that smelled nice, including myself.

  And there was something else. Though I would have taken my Dad back over anything this place offered, there were events and camps at Uyu that I hadn’t experienced since I had only before been with my Dad.

  Not that I wanted to enter the Kink Dome or get washed by thousands of hands. Not an explicit desire, anyway. But Uyu was about experimentation, and anything to do with nudity was definitely off limits with me and my Dad.

  I didn’t do the Critical Mass style bike parade where women tossed their bras for a day. I didn’t go to the Women-Only liquid latex painting event, which let’s just face it, the indie rock goth queen inside of me would have loved. But I didn’t want to walk around with my Dad looking like Mystique from the X-Men just came back from a bondage party.

  I wondered for a moment what he may have missed because of me? And would never now experience?

  He would want me to do this. To live my life without limits. So I was off to Pleasure Prick, dammit.

  The bike ride there, I never felt so free. Free to explore another side of me and step over this self-drawn borderline.

  Laundro-man was as far away from the motherland as I could get. Letting people I didn’t know touch me was hugely off piste for me. Like I said, I didn’t even hug Peaches for a year. Interestingly, human contact, and my apparent aversion to it, only applied to affectionate situations. I had no problems having sex.

  Just like many women my age, I’d fucked several boyfriends two ways to Sunday and even had a one-night stand. Which I did to him and not the other way around. I wasn’t a germaphobe or OCD or anything. It was just that, the moment in a hug where you are supposed to let your body go soft in the other person’s arms? I never seemed to exhale like other people did. I just stayed hard.

  And it wasn’t even voluntary. My body just wouldn’t soften and melt. The other person would go all squishy in my arms and I would feel that they really enjoyed the contact. My body must have felt like a wooden plank.

  Funny enough, last night, when Jasmine grabbed me, and Drake touched me, put his arm around my hip, I didn’t notice any rigor mortis. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was them. Maybe it was Uyu. I had felt instantly at ease with Drake and his tribe.

  I arrived at Pleasure Prick, feeling hopeful both about the budding friendships and cleanliness. I had the whole day ahead of me.

  I expected to see lines and lines of naked people and orgy-tastic hand caressing, but Pleasure Prick camp had the Laundro-Man set up discreetly. There was a long narrow corral, with opaque sides so I could only see heads and feet poking out the top and bottom. At one end of the corral was a gazebo where people left their clothing in individual plastic buckets, and at the end after the wash, a small marquee, completely enclosed, where people lingered about drying, protected from the dust. It wouldn’t take long to dry with this heat and lack of humidity.

  Parking up my bike, I headed to the undressing gazebo. In there stood a man in drag and a woman about my age dressed in typical festival gear. She had the face of an English rose from a Jane Eyre book. A pair like this put me completely at ease. They stood in front of loads of plastic boxes, some with clothes in them, some empty.

  “Hi Sugar,” said the drag queen, “I love love LOVE your bustle. So dark and witchy.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  The Rose smiled and handed me a plastic box. “Just put your clothes in here and we’ll look after everything. Cameras, whatever.”

  I stripped off quickly. There were a couple people waiting behind me. But I slowed down considerably when taking off my bikini top and then to a snail’s pace, considering my bottoms.

  The bikini top? That could go. I’d been topless on beaches in France. But the bottoms?

  “Can I leave these on?” I asked.

  “Of course, babe!” The queen exclaimed, “And if you don’t want anyone touching your boobies, just let them know when they ask.”

  “Thanks.”

  I walked over to the queue of about seven people, naked apart from a tiny slice of fabric across my vag.

  An inward chuckle.

  Only at Uyu.

  Standing behind a short man of about fifty, I hoped he didn’t turn around to talk to me. He didn’t. I closed my eyes and soaked in the warm rays, opening them only occasionally to make sure I moved up in the line when…

  “Maeve?”

  Oh, fuck me.

  Act natural.

  “Drake! Hi.”

  Are you fucking serious? Of all places to run into Drake! I put my hand on my hip and tried to act confident and natural, even though I felt awkward as hell. I would flash my tits in public. That wasn’t the problem. But somehow, I had hoped, if Drake ever saw them, he might see them in private, after ripping off my top with his teeth. Strangers seeing my boobs wasn’t anything like a guy like Drake having no more mystery involved in this… this…

  “I didn’t really think you were the type…” he pointed to the corral.

  “Well, I’m not reeeally. But I don’t have a shower, or almost any supplies. Needs must.”

  He eyed me. And I was pretty sure he did it on purpose to make me squirm. To make me wonder what he might have done with me if I had stayed last night.

  “Why are you here?”
I asked.

  “Pika and Joey.” He pointed to the undressing tent, and I saw Joey’s super white ass. I needed shades for that brightness.

  “I’m starting to see a trend with those two.”

  “Absolutely.”

  I wasn’t anywhere close enough to the entrance to run into him now. Were we going to make small talk, with me half naked, in a line of birthday suits?

  Drake pulled his lips in tightly, then let them pop out.

  “You know,” he said, “I think I’ll join you.”

  Stunned silence.

  “If you don’t mind?”

  I didn’t.

  And did.

  “Of course not. Not at all,” I said, and I’m pretty sure my voice cracked.

  Drake rushed over to the changing tent and somehow charmed himself in front of a few people with some words that made them smile and a gesture in my direction. As I watched him undress, I heard my name.

  “Maeve!”

  Joey and Pika, fresh as the day they were born, had joined the back of the line and waved at me. I lifted my hand like the Queen of England.

  Within moments, Drake joined me at the line. He had left his underwear on, too. Tight, black boxer briefs that stretched over his crotch like they were in pain.

  I knew what they felt like. So close and yet so far away.

  He turned to the two people behind me. “I was running behind today. Do you mind if I skip and go through with my friend?”

  Of course they didn’t. People were always obliging at Uyu. So he joined me, stood on tiptoes to get a look at what was ahead, all the while rubbing his hands mindlessly over his washboard abs.

  “Have you done this before?” I asked.

  “No. Seems fun though.” He rubbed his hands together quickly, as if about to choose something from a dessert buffet.

  We moved up in the line. We were next. A pair of volunteers, one tall guy and one tall girl, who appeared to be “wetters” or the people who got the bather ready for soap, came to me.

  “Heeee-lllo.” Said Tall Girl, “Would like to go in on your own?”

  Drake ran his fingers through his hair, and I watched him look down at me. A subtle smile. A sensational dimple.

  “We’re going in together.” I said, pointing to Drake. “If that’s okay?”

  “Of course. Two of us, two of you. Perfect,” Tall Girl said.

  She turned to Drake.

  “So, do you have any boundaries you’d like us to keep off limits? Body parts? Fake tattoos or glitter or makeup you don’t want washing off? That kind of thing?”

  “Do you guys rub everything if we don’t have any boundaries?” Drake asked.

  “Well… yeah,” she replied.

  Drake and I shared a glance.

  I spoke first. I would not play a game of chicken here.

  “I would prefer not to have my, bikini area touched,” I gestured downstairs, “I’m okay leaving that out.”

  “Ok, no prob,” she said, “When you go to the final spray off, if you want to get clean down there, you can have the sprayer do a quick blast in your bottoms.”

  “Ok, thanks.”

  Drake’s face, amused and smiling from ear to ear, looked at me.

  “And you?” Tall Man asked Drake.

  “Yeah, kinda the same as her. But can I get a squirt of soap? I’d love to get some suds down there. But want to do it myself.”

  “Yeah. Anything you want. Just ask the washers.”

  I felt shockingly comfortable after talking with these people. Like I was literally here just to get clean.

  Which I was.

  Before Drake got here anyway.

  Now it appeared I was here for a peep show.

  We walked in, looking like puritans in our chastity pants on, everyone else comfortably nude all around us.

  The volunteers used watering cans to hose us down. The man pouring on to Drake was tall enough to create a waterfall down his head. It ran through his curly locks, that caved under the pressure and smoothed down the sides of his temples, making his face look even more chiseled, without the distraction of his sexy hairdo.

  I loved everything about this face. Sultry bedroom eyes, strong cheekbones and a jaw with muscles I could see moving whenever a thought inspired them.

  The water trailed down his broad, brown shoulders, trickling along his collarbones. The tiny river teased me as it came together in the lickable space between his pecs. But it didn’t stay there. It trailed down his rocky mountain abs…

  His belly button, wet.

  His sharp, hard hip bones, wet.

  The top of his boxer briefs, wet.

  His underwear soaked in the water slowly, capillary action enjoying the patient saturation of his entire pelvic area. I hardly even noticed my own body becoming moist. Just the only part I asked no one to touch.

  Drake watched me, too. His eyes wandered down to my nipples where water now beaded off the ends of them, slow droplets letting go like dripping popsicles.

  I’d let him have a lick and by the look in his eyes, Drake wanted one.

  But we were done at that station.

  Next, the soap rub down. More of the same questions. More of the same answers, but I didn’t really hear either of us speaking. I just wanted to watch Drake’s body get lathered in bubbles and creamed with foam.

  The two new volunteers lathered liquid soap in their hands and smoothed it onto our bodies. Holy Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Like watching a porno, Drake’s volunteer started with his chest. I would have, too.

  I imagined it was my hands. My hands circling his pecs. My hands. They would clean and caress every ripple and nook and cranny in those abs of his. He’d be squeaky clean by the time I was done with him.

  Drake’s soaper made him lift his arms. A vulnerable look, Like being handcuffed to the bedpost. Why was I such a dirty girl?

  Shit. The soaper moved to his thighs. Strong, athletic. The volunteer’s hands rubbed up and down, and some perverse part of me wanted them to just flick his balls. It was like watching a porn where you wanted things to move along just a bit faster.

  How would I stay cool in here? My own tits were being creamed up at the same time, for God’s sake.

  All the while, Drake didn’t take his eyes off mine. And I didn’t budge an inch either. Like a western dual, we dared each other to look away. I didn’t. He didn’t. Even when my nipples tightened and his cock threatened those tiny boxer briefs even more. We didn’t break the stare.

  But when we were about to leave to the next station for our rinse, Drake finally lifted his lips into a cocked smile.

  Coy.

  Defiant.

  Naughty.

  He spoke to the suds man and pointed to the soap bottle. “Can I have a squirt of that?”

  “Of course.” The guy blasted some blue liquid into Drake’s hand.

  The double entendre wasn’t lost on me.

  Still looking into my eyes, Drake reached down under his elastic and grabbed his dick and balls in his hands. Giving them a good rumble with the soap.

  Then he winked. And nobody ever winks. It’s not something people really do in real life. That’s how I knew he was messing with me.

  “Do you mind if I have a squirt, too?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  A whoosh of bubbles and soap into my palm.

  I turned around, my back to Drake and the others, and reached inside my panties. I looked at him over my shoulder, rubbing down below. Then, of course, I winked.

  He laughed.

  “You’re a minx.”

  “It takes one to know one.”

  The volunteers pushed us through to the next stage where there were hoses with gentle streams of water. Cold. Icy streams.

  “Damn!” Drake jiggled, trying to force himself to stay under the arctic rinse rather than run from it.

  I laughed but was barely keeping myself looking cool. The entire experience went from sensual to the awkwardness of a premature ejaculation in an
instant.

  We giggled as the suds fell below under the pallets we stood on.

  Finally rinsed, just when it seemed there was nothing left to do but dry in the sunshine and smoke an imaginary cigarette, there was one station before the drying tent. The human squeegees.

  Multiple volunteers slid their hands from top to toe, quickly, vigorously, until there was very little moisture left to resolve.

  It was impossible not to burst out laughing.

  They gestured into the airing tent, feeling lighter than air. So much more than the dust of the Plain had washed off us.

  I smoothed my bangs the best I could back over my forehead, sure that they looked as disheveled as my heart felt.

  “That was an experience,” I said.

  “Yeah. Glad you were here. I wouldn’t have done it,” he replied.

  A woman who had been after us in the queue entered the drying area. And I thought about others to come.

  “Not to be like, prude or anything,” I said, “but I think I want to get out of here before Pika and Joey come.”

  “Shit, yeah. Goes without saying.”

  We walked back out into the blazing sun. We were almost dry already and walked to the undressing tent to grab our clothes.

  The English Rose asked, “Did you two have a good clean? Feeling refreshed?”

  “How could you not?” Drake asked.

  She shook her head agreeing and then said, “I wish I could have washed a couple like you. Caliente.”

  We both jerked slightly. But said nothing. Maybe she just meant couple as in a duo. Maybe she meant a romantic pairing. Neither of us sought clarification or correction.

  Getting dressed, I was glad that I only had a bustle, which would allow my panties to dry. Drake had a pleather kilt-like wraparound. BDSM does the Scottish highlands. Fuck, he was stylish.

  He took a black metal bottle out of his backpack. “Water?”

  He tilted the bottle toward me.

  “Thanks,” I said, wondering if the saliva of a shared drink would be as close as I ever got to a kiss.

  Suddenly, I wondered if he remembered what he said about my Dad’s ashes and being with me. A song. I didn’t want to bring it up. I didn’t want to make him feel awkward if it was just a booze driven offer he didn’t mean. After all, who would want to spend their last night at Uyu officiating a funeral?