The Way We Are

by Shandi Boyes

  “How are you here?”

  Is she here?

  Savannah’s teeth graze her cracked lip before she murmurs, “I snuck out of the hospital. When they wouldn’t let me leave, I found my own way out. I really needed to see you.”

  The mirage in front of me sounds like Savannah, and the cheeky glint in her eyes while admitting to her daring escape seems like the Savannah I’ve always admired, but with my mind still in a mess from the crazy sixteen hours I’ve just had, I’m fairly certain she isn’t Savannah.

  I stop urging my brain to wake up when Savannah asks, “Are you disappointed I’m here?”

  “No. Never,” I reply, not needing time to deliberate. Even if this is a dream, it's erasing the torment plaguing my mind so effectively, I’ll accept a mirage over not having her here at all.

  “Are you sure? I can go if you want,” Savannah double-checks, put-off by my lack of excitement. I’m excited as fuck on the inside, but the shock of seeing her standing in my room is stealing my words.

  It's only when I spot the thin red rope twisted around her delicate wrist as she sweeps a bunch of unruly hairs from her face do I realize I am awake. That’s the bracelet I placed on her wrist last night. She's here. The girl of my dreams is here.

  I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the situation.

  Savannah’s breath leaves her mouth in a hurry when I push off my feet. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

  After smiling in a way that does weird things to my insides, she nods before matching my steps stride for stride. We meet in the middle of the room, our eagerness to reach one another so frantic, our torsos crash with force.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobs when my fingers weave through her silky mane and glide down her face. “For what I did. What I said.”

  Her tears are absorbed by my skin when I mash our cheeks together, craving the scent of her skin on mine. If I were still doubtful she's here, all skepticism is now squashed. There's no way I can deny her smell. Rosy. Fresh. Familiar.

  Happy I’ve soaked up enough of her scent to last me a lifetime, I pull back to scan every inch of her beautiful face. There was a time yesterday I was worried I’d never see her again, so I’m not going to waste a second getting my fill.

  God—there isn’t a word in the dictionary adequate enough to describe her. Perfect. Unique. Striking. Cheeky. Mine—I hope.

  Savannah’s ravishing eyes absorb my face just as enthusiastically. Her attentive stare makes my tired eyes fresh, transforms my grimace into a smile, and smooths the worry etched between my brows. She stares at me for what feels like years but is mere seconds before she balances on her tippy toes to seal her mouth over mine.

  She kisses me until I once again doubt my sanity, a kiss so perfect I’m confident I’m in heaven. Savannah’s kisses are like wishes from a genie: wicked enough to consume you with greed, but playful enough you’ll risk the burn of your gluttony. I agree with Isaac—anything amassed without effort isn’t worth having—even love. It's the greediest and most obsessive claim to ownership any man has. We seek it; we crave it, but we are also scared shitless by it. That's what makes the challenge even more rewarding.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did, but I didn’t want to die without you knowing that I love you,” Savannah whispers against my mouth, her words rushing out in quick succession.

  I take a step back, stunned by her comment.

  “I don’t regret saying it. I just wish I had told you under better circumstances,” Savannah admits, mistaking my retreating step as one made in anger.

  I’m not angry; I’m ecstatic. But I’m also devastated. Hearing her believe she was going to die... fuck. That utterly destroys me.

  “I would have never let you drown, Savannah. Never.”

  Savannah giggles. With how much tension is hanging in the air, it should sound foreign, but it doesn’t. It's perfect.

  “Did you say down or drown?” she questions, her voice husky with both laughter and tears.

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Both. I said both,” I lie before cupping her jaw with my hands, so I can wipe away her tears with my thumbs.

  She's here—she is really here. With me.

  Once all her tears have cleared, Savannah fists my shirt in her hand and pulls me even closer to her. We are standing so near, our chests compete with every breath we take. “It was you, wasn’t it? You saved me?”

  “Yeah,” I croak. “With help.”

  I want to say more, but since I refuse to cry for the second time in my life, I keep my mouth shut. The image of her trapped in Axel’s car will forever haunt me, but for now, that doesn’t matter. She's here, standing in front of me. Everything else can wait.

  Savannah’s face scrunches up as she battles to hold in fresh tears. “I knew it was you. I just knew it. I could smell you on me. On my skin.” Her tongue darts out to replenish her dry lips before she whispers, “On my mouth.”

  When she loses her battle to keep her tears at bay, I sweep my hand across her cheeks. “Please don’t cry,” I beg, as unappreciative of her tears as I was of mine earlier.

  Smiling to assure me they are tears of gratitude, she gives it her best fight to stop the moisture dribbling down her cheeks. Her attempts are borderline.

  When a big salty tear falls onto her collarbone, I follow its trail with envy, jealous it's gliding past sections of her skin so flawless I’m afraid my hands will taint it. Savannah’s skin is so perfect, it's as if she was painted by the world’s most prolific artist. I wonder if that's why Savannah’s dad responds to her paintings more than her photos? Because he too sees every perfect stroke as well as I do.

  I’m about to return my eyes to Savannah to inform her I am aware of her dad’s condition, but the image of her tear being absorbed by the collar of my unbuttoned shirt steals my focus. It isn’t the dangerous amount of cleavage she has on display that has me eating my words; it's the mottling of purple on her chest.

  “Did I do that? Was that me?” I fall backward, landing on my bed with a thud.

  When Savannah remains quiet, I want to lock my eyes with hers and demand an answer, but I can’t force them away from the purple bruise gleaming off her beige skin. I marked her. My hands marked her.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  Fuck!!

  “No, Ryan,” Savannah replies, her voice strong enough to break through the torment swallowing me whole. “The mark isn’t from you. It was from where the seatbelt latched onto my body during collision. You didn’t hurt me. You’d never hurt me.”

  I want to believe what she's saying, but I can’t. The bruise is right near the area I compressed her chest.

  “I knew I was pushing too hard! I should have stopped! I should have left it to the professionals.”

  It dawns on me I said my inner monologue out loud when Savannah says, “Then I’d be dead. If you didn’t keep blood pumping through my heart, I would have died.”

  I cradle my head in my hands, her statement too honest for my guilt to stomach. Several nurses and doctors said the same thing last night, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Hurting her as a means to save her is still wrong. Isn’t it?

  I want to say no, but the guilt caving in on me isn’t letting me believe that.

  “Look.” Savannah unravels the knot in my dress shirt before fanning open the material. “See. It wasn’t you. It’s just a mark from the seatbelt locking into position during collision. It will be gone in a day—two at most. It doesn’t even hurt.”

  She waits for my eyes to absorb the belt-width bruise stretching from her right shoulder to her left hip before pulling my hands away from my face to straddle my lap. Just like the night she comforted me in this very room, she hooks her thighs around my hips and curls her arms around my thrusting torso.

  “You didn’t hurt me, Ryan. You’d never hurt me,” she assures, whispering in my ear. “You are not your dad. You will never be him.”

  She continues issuing reassurance after re
assurance for the next several minutes. I don’t know exactly how much time passes, but it's long enough the weight on my chest eases, but not long enough for my body to understand now is not an appropriate time to respond to her closeness.

  She just left the hospital for fuck’s sake; I should not be getting hard.

  It’s not entirely my dick’s fault, though. Savannah’s last four whispered reassurances have been accompanied with nips to my ear, neck, jaw, and cheek. The one she's giving now is complemented by her lips brushing mine.

  Her flirty attention shifts the air from devastation to lust. It's so vivid, it is almost palpable. It makes me completely forget where we are and how we got here. It makes me forget everything. Everything but her.

  “Savannah—”

  Her name barely leaves my mouth when her tongue slides between my lips. Just like the kiss we shared in the middle of my room, this one leaves no doubt I am lost, swept in a wave greater than the one that tried to take Savannah away from me yesterday.

  She kisses me like I’ve always wanted to kiss her—like she can’t breathe without her lips on mine. I return her kiss with just as much eagerness, as I can’t breathe without her lips on mine.

  By the time she withdraws from our embrace, all my turmoil has been forgotten, and I’m having a hard time remembering what day it is. The uncomfortable hardness in my jeans triples when Savannah slips off my lap at the same time my shirt slips off her shoulders.

  “Savannah...” My words fade into silence when her bra closely follows the direction of my shirt.

  She dumps it on the ground with a silent whoosh before tackling the black leather belt curled around her waist. I watch her, mesmerized and in a trance. My god, she's beautiful. The generous swell of her breasts distracts the deviant part of my mind well enough it fails to register the bruise I got so worked up over earlier, and the sweet curve of her hips quickly reminds me I am without briefs. I’m also grateful for the sting of metal biting my dick, as it's most likely the only reason I haven’t made a fool out of myself. The visual... Fuck... Better than any wet dream a man could conjure.

  Holy shit! I’m not the only one missing undergarments. The glistening mound of Savannah’s practically bare pussy is thrust in front of my face when she slides my trousers down her thighs before kicking them to the side. If it weren’t for the faintest strip of blonde hair running down the middle, her pussy would be as naked as she's standing before me—completely and wholly bare.

  While peering at something over my shoulder, Savannah inhales two deep breaths before returning her focus to me. It's the fight of my life not to jizz in my pants when her lustful eyes lock with mine. I’ve never seen her eyes like this—not once. They are wild, possessive, and utterly consuming.

  In silence, her eyes bounce between mine. I don’t know what she sees reflecting back at her, but it must be good, as the most devastatingly ravishing smile creeps across her face mere seconds before she falls to her knees in front of me.

  With the determination of a starved woman, she tugs at the button of my jeans and yanks down the fly. My erect dick springs from my jeans before my brain clues in to what's about to happen.

  When Savannah’s eyes rocket to mine, shocked by my commando state, I attempt to babble an excuse about Brax and Chris forgetting to pack me boxers, but my words entomb in my throat when her tongue licks the crown of my dick.

  “Fuck...” I want to say more; I have a hundred million words running through my head about how good it feels having her lips circling my dick, but there isn’t a better word to describe this feeling than the one I just used. Well, except perhaps one: heaven.

  I should be stopping this. Savannah just went through a life-altering ordeal. She shouldn’t be sucking my dick. But I can’t seem to stop her. I’ve dreamed of this day for months. No. Correction. Make that years. I’ve dreamed of this day for years, so there's no chance in hell I’m going to stop it.

  I begin to pant when Savannah eases her hand up and down my shaft, adding to the sensation gripping every inch of my sack. Her mouth feels as heavenly as it looks. The plumpness of her lips cushions her frantic sucks, and her tongue has a mind-blowing amount of control—control I’m struggling to hold.

  Maybe if I close my eyes, it will lessen my desire to cum?

  Nah, fuck that. The visual of Savannah on her knees, sucking my dick like she’s never been fed ensures that's never going to happen. I just need to concentrate on breathing and forget that her eagerness to lap up my precum encourages more to seep from my dick, that the velvet texture of her tongue as she tickles the base of my shaft doesn’t drive me wild, and that her sexy little moans mean nothing.

  Easy, right?

  No. Fuck no.

  Hold it back, Ryan. Hold it fucking back.

  Savannah’s moans vibrate my knob when I fail to rein in my excitement. Cum rockets out of my dick in raring spurts, coating her mouth and throat. She continues working my shaft like a pro, not the least bit concerned that my cum is pumping into her mouth at a faster rate than she can swallow. She peers up at me while gobbling down every drop as if it tastes as sweet as candy.

  The slight bend in my dick from exhaustion is soon forgotten when Savannah stands from her crouched position. The wetness slicking between her legs leaves no doubt her excitement is as excessive as mine. The lips of her pussy are drenched, and they have made my mind blank of thoughts.

  Not thinking, I scoop my arms around her waist and hoist her onto my bed. Her girly giggle booming through my ears is replaced with a moan when I bury my head between her thighs, so I can drag my tongue up her wet slit.

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” Savannah whispers in a moan when my tongue glides up the crease of her pussy, eagerly gathering all the goodness waiting for me.

  My internal monologue matches hers, but with a few more swear words thrown in. She tastes as good as I anticipated—sweet as honey and as heavenly as her gorgeous face. I eat her with the same eagerness she devoured me. My tongue flicks her clit on repeat before sliding it down to worship the rest of her throbbing sex. My fingers are itching to join the party, but my mouth is too selfish to grant their request.

  Just as quickly as my orgasm blindsided me, Savannah’s arrives without warning. With her hand clamped over her mouth, she shudders beneath me. Her muffled mouth can’t hide my name being torn from her throat; it's as desirable to my ears as her taste is to my tongue.

  Even once all her shudders have been exhausted, I continue sliding my tongue up and down her pussy. I’ve been waiting for this day for years; I’m not willing to give it up just yet. She tastes just as good if not better than I expected.

  After ensuring I have enough of her seductive taste on my tongue I’ll remember it for eternity, I slowly climb up Savannah’s body, being extra attentive not to come close to the bruise slashed across her mid-section.

  “Hey,” I greet her, glancing into her massively dilated eyes. “You alright?”

  She's breathing so heavily, she seems moments away from having a panic attack. “Yeah. That was... ah...amazing. My god, Ryan. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

  When she brings my lips down to hers by the back of my head, I crank my elbows, ensuring my weight stays off her torso. She kisses me without constraint, not the least bit turned off that her arousal is still coating my tongue. The unique palette of her mouth adds to the flavor I’ve just finished sampling, making me more determined than ever to taste it again and again and again.

  The longer our kiss progresses, the closer our hips align. The crazy notions filling my head when she was sucking my dick start up all over again when the wetness of her pussy slides against the crown of my dick. She grinds against me on repeat, finding a rhythm satisfying for us both. It’s like the corny dry hump most of the teens were doing at Bronte’s Peak last night, but in a naughty, risqué type of way. Probably helps that we neither of us have any clothes on.

  “Condom? Do you have one?” Savannah murmurs against my
lips a short time later.

  I nod a little overeagerly.

  The heat on Savannah’s cheeks doubles when she laughs at my shameful stumble out of my bed. Forgetting that my jeans are still wrapped around my ankles, I nearly kill myself while moving for the box of condoms I keep in my closet.

  Her blushing cheeks enflame when I bend over to untie the laces of my shoes so I can remove my jeans.

  “Damn, Ryan. You not only have the hottest ass in Ravenshoe, you have the entire package.” Her overenunciation of the word “package” leaves no doubt what section of my anatomy she's referring to.

  My dick thickens even more, appreciative of her praise.

  Once my shoes and jeans have been removed, I dart across my room to my nearly empty closet. If I were a man, I would run away from this situation just as quickly. But since I’m only a teen, and my hormones are as out of whack as my emotions today, I’m back in bed with Savannah before a case of the guilts can make itself known.

  Besides, this feels right. Not wrong. Not slightly okay. Right.

  With a condom in place and a smile on my face, I lift my eyes to Savannah. The wind is let out of my sails in one fell swoop when I spot the panicked expression crossing her face. She tries to shut it down the instant she sees my devotion, but she isn’t quick enough for my eager eyes to miss it.

  “We don’t have to do this,” I assure her. “Today went above and beyond my wildest dreams, so it doesn’t need to go any further than that. I don’t want you to do anything you’re going to regret.”

  “It’s not that. God—it’s not even close to that, Ryan,” Savannah replies, glancing up at me with glistening eyes. “I want this. I really really want this.”

  After replenishing her dry mouth with a quick swallow, she stammers out, “I’m a ... a ... virgin, and I’m pretty sure taking a man of your size is going to hurt.”