Spark

by Erin Noelle

  Soft nuzzle, long swipe, hard suck…then repeat. Over and over and over again, my climax growing closer and closer with each swipe of his tongue, he teases and taunts me to the point I’m barely able to stand on my wobbly legs.

  “Crew, please,” I beg, tangling impatient fingers through his messy brown locks, “please don’t stop.”

  Peering up at me with an intensely ravenous gaze, his irises darkened to a deep hunter green, he catches my clit between his teeth, rolling it on his tongue. With a loud hiss, I yank even harder on his hair and grind my sex shamelessly against his mouth, unraveling into my own personal nirvana as I call out his name.

  Then, in one fluid motion, he scoops me up and flips me over so that my face and chest are flat against the mattress and my ass is angled up into the air. Still floating in a blissful daze, I faintly hear the sound of a plastic wrapper being torn open, and seconds later, with his fingers biting into the skin covering my hip, Crew sinks inside me with one smooth movement, my body more than ready for him.

  Holy fuck me.

  He leans forward and presses his lips to my spine while still fully buried, allowing my body a moment to adjust to his girth and length. “Tell me when you’re good, beautiful,” he whispers, skimming his palms up and down my sides.

  “I’m good,” I pant out, welcoming the tiny bit of pain I feel each time he enters me—an ache that lingers for hours after he’s gone, but reminds me where he’s been.

  As he straightens his back, his hands return to my hips and I brace myself for the ride. Watching him over my shoulder, I love witnessing the pleasure flash across his face as he claims my body time and time again, filling me with a sense of power and pride like I’ve never experienced before.

  Digging his thumbs into the dimples in the small of my back, I feel his release drawing near. Our eyes are locked on each other as he pounds into me, each stroke driving us both higher and higher to the peak of ecstasy. With one last thrust, we freefall together into a sea of euphoria, neither of us able to hold back our moans of ecstasy.

  We lie still for several minutes while our shallow breathing returns to normal and our pulse steadies. Eventually, he carefully slides out of me, and I whimper softly at his absence. Rolling me onto my back, his bright smile makes my heart flutter and his long, lingering kiss makes my toes curl.

  “My girl is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs softly before standing up to get dressed. “Without a doubt, Hudson is my new favorite flavor.”

  The days after Thanksgiving blur by in the blink of an eye. The resort is at capacity, the Green Halo can barely keep up with the holiday demand, and I have a major Lit paper due on Monday—tomorrow morning. Awesome.

  From the time Crew left for work late Thursday afternoon, I’ve been in a constant go-go-go mindset, only stopping to sleep when my body finally gives into exhaustion. Moving from the marijuana greenhouse, cultivating and packaging as much product as I have available, to the vegetable garden, ensuring we have plenty of produce for each morning’s breakfast, I continue to maintain my responsibilities for the family businesses, never wanting to disappoint my parents in any way.

  Each evening, I spend huddled in front of my laptop, brainstorming and writing page after page on the relevance of Soyinka’s Nobel prize-winning collection, Of Africa, and his claims regarding faith, medicine, and the healing of the human spirit to today’s Western culture. Little did I know when I chose this topic months ago that I would meet Caleb, whose miraculous turnaround over the last several weeks has become my primary source of illustration throughout the paper. I giggle aloud when I think about how he’ll respond when I tell him he earned me an A in a class. He’ll probably demand a kiss in the form of repayment.

  Unfortunately, Crew has been just as busy as I have, so other than playing text-tag, I haven’t seen or talked to him since he had dessert in my bed. Three whole days and I’ve started to have withdrawals. Maybe I’m the one with the addiction…

  Mary’s been putting in extra hours at the ski shop thanks to the holiday rush, so he’s been spending his days with Caleb, taking him to doctor appointments and helping him study his homeschool material. He’s also worked some extra shifts at the Half Pipe, claiming one of the other bartenders said he could make close to two thousand dollars for working Wednesday through Sunday of this week, and from what he’s told me via messages, he’s just a few hundred dollars shy with only tonight’s shift left to go.

  At a little after nine, I hit save on the document for the final time, my vision fuzzy from staring at the screen for so long and my fingertips numb from typing. Standing up from the desk chair, I stretch my arms high above my head and yawn just as Brighton walks into the study.

  “Finally finished?” she asks while grabbing some paper and a pen. “You’ve been working on that thing nearly all weekend.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’m really happy with it. I think I nailed it,” I reply. “What are you doing tonight? Wanna play cards or something? I need to decompress.”

  She twists her lips into a funny face and shakes her head. “Sorry, sis, I totally would, but I’m in the middle of an online XBOX tournament. That’s why I’m grabbing this, to keep track of our stats.”

  “Our stats?”

  “Mine and Caleb’s. He’s my partner in the tourney, but we still like to compete against each other,” she explains with a blushing smile, which really surprises me.

  My thirteen-year-old sister is anything but shy or bashful, but as I suspected may happen, I think she’s developed a little crush on Caleb. I don’t say anything, though, not wanting to embarrass or discourage her. If I could pick a single guy for either of my younger sisters to like, he’d be the one. Hands down.

  “Okay, well, have fun and make sure you kick his ass,” I tease her.

  “Why don’t you go hang out with Crew?”

  Sighing with frustration, I shake my head. “He’s at work again tonight. I’ll get to see him tomorrow after class.”

  “Call Kota or Nali to go with you to the bar,” she suggests. “Surely you can use one of their IDs to get in. I mean we all look almost exactly alike. You deserve a break with all the work you’ve been doing lately.”

  She kisses my cheek and flits out of the room as I contemplate her idea, thinking maybe I could go and surprise him at work. Yeah, I bet he’ll love that.

  Half an hour later, I step out of the shower with plans to pick up Dakota on my way to the bar, agreeing to be her designated driver for the night. I secretly hoped either Nali or Juno would go with us as well, since Dakota is known to get a little wild when she goes out, but they both have to be at work early in the morning, though Nali agreed I could use her license to get in. According to the Half Pipe Pub’s website, it’s open to the general public for lunch and dinner, but after ten o’clock, it becomes a twenty-one-and-over-only establishment.

  After I blow dry my hair, I recruit Cheyenne to help me pick something out to wear, and as we stand in my closet, she makes disgruntled noises and scrunches her face in disgust while thumbing through my endless plaid flannels and fleece hoodies.

  “Seriously, is this the only nice thing you own?” She holds out the black dress I wore the night of my date with Beckham—the night I first met Crew. “We really need to take you shopping. Sometimes, you dress more like a guy than guys do.”

  I snag the hanger out of her hands and return it to the rack. “I dress practical. I’m not trying to impress anyone while digging around in soil or cooking people breakfast.”

  “You do want to impress Crew, right? So unless you want to go tonight looking like the farmer girl you are, you’re gonna have to borrow something of mine,” she announces as she stomps out of my room and down the hall into hers.

  Minutes later, she returns with a pair of stone-washed skinny jeans, strategically torn and ripped to show a little skin, a fitted navy knit sweater, and an infinity scarf swirled with blue and cream. Throwing it all on my bed, she marches into my closet and sn
ags my knee-high brown riding boots and drops them on the floor.

  “There. Stylish and comfortable, but still a little sexy,” she states matter-of-factly, with her hands on her hips. “I’ll fix your hair with the curling wand and do your makeup once you put the sweater on so it doesn’t mess anything up. I can’t let my sister look homely around all of the other girls there flaunting their stuff.”

  Who said anything about homely?

  And what other girls?

  My phone buzzes with a text from Dakota that she’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, and I realize I better get my ass moving. The uneasy feeling Cheyenne’s words elicited pass along without too much thought as I hurriedly slip into the clothes she brought for me and follow her into the bathroom for my express makeover.

  After she curls all of my hair, bitching about the ridiculous length the entire time, and applies makeup to my fair-skinned face, Cheyenne moves out from in front of me, giving me the first glimpse of my reflection.

  "Holy shit! I look good!" I don’t bother hiding the astonishment in my voice as I closely examine my image in the mirror. My almond-shaped eyes look bluer than normal, framed with charcoal gray liner and dark, thick lashes, and the apples of my cheeks are highlighted with a shimmery glow as long, golden waves cascade over my shoulders. The sweater and jeans fit my body perfectly, enhancing the few curves I do have, and the hipster scarf completes the entire look.

  "You look amazing, not good," she retorts smugly, "and you can thank me by covering my dish duties after dinner this week."

  I flick her in the center of the forehead, harder than I intend, but it effectively wipes the smirk off her face. "You should try being nice without expecting something in return sometimes. It would really improve your likability around here, sister dearest." Then, before she has a chance to spout off some smart-ass comeback, I chastely kiss the red welt between her brows and leave her standing alone with a puzzled look on her face.

  Back in my room, I slide my feet into the leather boots, hiking them over the trim leg of the jeans, and take one last drag from my one-hitter, needing a little something to calm my nervous stomach. I stop by my parents room to let them know where I’m going, and after they gush over how nice I look and how happy they are I’m doing something outside the house, I grab my purse and make a mad dash through the bone-chilling air to my car.

  The short trip to my sisters’ apartment is filled with music by Trampled by Turtles, one of my go-to comfort bands, and as soon as I pull into a parking spot, I text Dakota, who barrels out their door nearly instantaneously. Skipping through the freshly fallen snow on the ground, she throws the passenger door open and glides onto the seat, beaming with excitement.

  “Eeeep! Look at you, hot little thing! I can’t believe you’re actually going out!” Her squeals are so loud I actually lift my hands to cover my ears. “This is gonna be so much fun, just wait. Oh, before I forget, here’s Nali’s ID,” she continues rambling while fishing the license out of her back pocket, and then hands it to me. “Remember your birthday is July twenty-third, which makes you a Leo, and—”

  “Kota,” I cut her off, holding my hands up in the air, “I think I know all my sister’s birthdays, and I’ve memorized your address. It’ll be good, I promise.”

  She sighs and pulls out a tube of lipstick from her purse, flipping down the vanity mirror. “Right…I forget you’re the smart, responsible one,” she replies while coating her lips in a frosty pink gloss. “So let’s get going. I bet it’s gonna be packed, and parking will be a bitch.”

  Neither of us talk much during the drive—me, because I’m anxious about seeing Crew, and her, because she’s busy texting the entire time—but as soon as we pull into the lot adjacent to the Half Pipe, she tosses her phone inside her purse and grins slyly over at me.

  “Let’s party.”

  I don’t bother correcting her that I’m not here to party; instead, I simply nod as I climb out of the Crosstek. We meet at the trunk, leaving everything but our IDs and a credit card, then turn to head inside. However, before we make it two steps, a familiar voice calls out from one of the nearby cars.

  “Hudson! Hey, Hudson, is that you?!”

  I spin around to see who’s calling my name, and I’m shocked to find Beckham getting out of his truck. “Beckham,” my mouth curls in a friendly smile, “what are you doing here?”

  He strides over to us, engulfing my thin frame in a tight embrace. “I think that’s the question for you. I thought you didn’t do the bar scene, or was that just your excuse for ending our date early?” His tone is a teasing one as he releases me and playfully tugs on one of my curls.

  “No, I still don’t drink, smartass,” I retort, poking him in the abs. “We’re stopping by to see a friend who works here. Oh, you remember my sister, Dakota, right?”

  He extends his hand to her as his head bobs up and down. “Of course, I never forget a beautiful girl. It’s nice to see you again, Dakota.” Then, he turns his attention back to me and says, “This is the place where I told you my cousin works. I haven’t been by in a couple of weeks, because of midterms, and I figured I earned a night off. Have you been here before?”

  Shaking our heads, Beckham holds the door open for us, and we trade the frigid parking lot for the warm exuberance of the crowded bar. He ushers us inside the warm, lively pub, and I shrug my coat off, handing it to the guy at the door, who greets Beckham with some weird guy handshake. Beckham introduces us, but I don’t catch his name, because I immediately begin to scan the room, looking for Crew, not wanting him to get the wrong idea about Beckham and me walking in together.

  The first thing I notice is how crowded the place is. I can barely see the tables, let alone the bar, with not one single stool left unoccupied, and every single person is attractive—like as in a beer commercial attractive. Laughter fills the air from the standing-room waiting area, and the sea of attractiveness overwhelms me. I say a silent prayer of thanks to Cheyenne for dolling me up, because the waitresses’ sleek midriffs are seriously intimidating. Loud music from the jukebox reverberates through the space, and many of the people can’t help themselves from either tapping their feet or swaying their hips to the contagious beat.

  “That’s my cousin right over there. Her name is Tasha. The one in the red and blue plaid.” Beckham points across the room as we loiter just inside the door, unable to move much due to the throng of bodies in our way.

  Following his finger, I catch a glimpse of the busty redhead leaning over the bar, who is about to spill out of her knotted flannel halter. She’s laughing and reaching for a drink from the bartender, who’s playing a game of keep-away with her, prompting a little more cleavage to be revealed with each stretch of her arm.

  I smile as I follow her outstretched arm, curious to see if her game is working on her target. And it looks like it is. Feeling the grin on my face morph into shock as I see Crew dangle the glass from his hand, two inches from blood-red nails, I realize I was wrong. Crew doesn’t look like he needs cheered up at all. In fact, he looks downright thrilled to play games with his hot, half-naked coworker. Maybe he likes her flavor too…

  Wanting nothing more than to get out of here as quickly as possible, I move to turn around, but Dakota catches my arm and yanks me close to her side. “Don’t you even think about it,” she whispers harshly. “You’re gonna march your ass over there and claim your man in front of Tits McGee and all of her clones. Don’t let her intimidate you. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  Beckham is already halfway across the floor, but as soon as he realizes we aren’t right behind him, he stops and waits for us to catch up. Not seeing any way out of it, I trudge ahead through the crowd with my sister on my heels, feeling nauseous the entire way.

  “Hey, cuz, come over here!” Beckham calls out, getting his cousin’s attention. “I want to introduce you to Hudson, the girl from school I’ve told you about, and her sister, Dakota.”

  Tasha prances over to us with a fake smile
plastered on her face, first hugging Beckham, and then shaking mine and Dakota’s hands. “So, you’re the weed girl. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says to me in the phoniest voice I’ve ever heard, making no effort to hide her judgmental gaze roaming down the length my body. “Why don’t y’all follow me to the bar? I’ll get my man to hook you up with your first round.”

  Her man?! What the serious fuck?

  Knowing damn well I’m about to lose my shit on this bimbo, Dakota squeezes my hand and shakes her head, which only pisses me off even more. I decide to play along with the charade, now wondering more than ever how Crew is going to react when he sees us. Silently, I pray he doesn’t disappoint me. I know we’re a long way from being in love or any of that shit, and it has nothing to do with me giving him my virginity; I just really thought we had the start of something good…something special.

  “Crew, baby!” she yells over the music to get his attention, her boobs jiggling with every word. “Can you get my cousin and his friends their first round on the house?”

  “Anything for you, T,” he hollers back, while grabbing a beer from the cooler for another customer. “Gimme one sec.”

  With a lighthearted smirk playing on his lips, he spins around to face our small group huddled at the end of the bar, and the minute his eyes meets mine, all of the color drains from his face.

  Obviously confused, he strides toward us and asks, “Hudson? What are you doing here?” Then, his attention swings back and forth between Dakota and Beckham. “Are you with both of them?”

  Offering what I know is a poor excuse for a smile, I shake my head. “No, Kota and I came to surprise you. Beckham was just pulling up in the parking lot at the same time we were. He came to see his cousin, Tasha,” I glance over at her listening intently to our conversation, “who you obviously know quite well.”