The Replacement

by Wade, Rachael

  He groans against me, his tongue thrashing harder and harder. I’m going to explode. His neighbors, nearby park rangers, and all of Snow White’s little animal friends are going to find pieces of me strewn across this tent, because he’s turning me inside out and I can’t fucking hold myself together.

  I resort to begging. “Please,” I cry, shamelessly guiding his head against me, “oh please, please, please.” I feel the thrum of a laugh deep in his throat—a smug, really fucking sexy laugh that reverberates sublimely against me, causing a desperate gasp to rise from my chest. A beat passes before he increases the friction of his tongue while thrusting a third finger inside of me.

  An explosion of light sails over me and I free fall into a blanket of clouds and stars and pale moonlight. The universe wraps its arms around me and wrings me dry, until it has taken every last drop from my veins. I shout Ryder’s name and jerk beneath him. His hands turn ironclad on my hips, the pressure of his mouth unyielding as I seek relief. I twitch and twist from left to right, and the warmth of his mouth finally lets up. I hear the tear of a wrapper and another zipper, and his coarse hands slip underneath the small of my back. He tenderly lifts me up and guides me back onto his lap, his hand grasping the nape of my neck.

  Our eyes meet.

  “You’re dangerous,” Ryder says. “Bad fucking news, baby.” He draws me up and then sinks me slowly down, until he’s buried deep, stretching me completely. We both release an unrestrained breath, adjusting to the sensation. He grasps tighter at my neck, bringing his forehead to mine. I’m able to hold his gaze longer this time, relishing in the way he prompts me to ride him. His fingers dig into my hips and urge them on, rocking them back and forth. Moaning, he tilts his head to suck at my neck.

  My rhythmic waves are fast, the soft graze of Ryder’s teeth on my flesh drawing a long, feral moan from my throat. “Damn it,” I hiss against his shoulder, taking him deeper and deeper with each new wave. It’s then that my eyes begin to drift shut, and I begin to grant myself the luxury of allowing my head to fall back. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too preoccupied with his tongue and his teeth, and his hands are frantically gripping at my back, grasping at me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.

  “Slow down, baby,” he works to ease the roll of my hips, “let me watch you. I like to watch.”

  I’m burning from head to toe, and my body has taken the reins, but I focus on slowing my pace. It’s worth it to watch him watching me. If that’s what he wants, it’s his.

  My waist rolls and I rise, then glide back down in descent. His chin drops slightly, his eyes crawling up and down my silhouette as I move, his jaw slightly agape. With blazing eyes, he leans forward every few seconds to steal a taste, drawing my skin into his mouth and sucking hard. He especially likes my breasts. He can’t keep his eyes or mouth off of them, and I have no problem with his obsession, except for the fact that it’s speeding up the simmering pool building low in my stomach. My inner thighs are buzzing, my clit throbbing painfully with the impending release.

  “Let me hear you again,” he says gruffly, running his nose up the length of my exposed throat. “Come for me.” His words are a siren, and I surrender to them, holding nothing back. I let go, allowing sensation to slowly unravel me. I’m just about there.

  Flashes of Nate pinning me to his apartment wall pierce my thoughts, followed by visions of the few times Christian let me ride him. His hands were strong, his words powerful, but no matter how careful he was with me, I was never fragile in his arms. Not like this. Not like I could shatter into a million pieces.

  My mind quickly expels the images so intent on steamrolling me. They rush forward at a hundred miles an hour, relentless and showing no mercy, but I hit them like a dam and they crash. I focus on the delicious sounds Ryder’s making beneath me: pained moans and tight, low growls as he pumps deep, mouthwatering thrusts into me, over and over again. The gentle determination of his hands distracts me further, and I realize I’m in trouble. He has it all wrong.

  He’s the dangerous one.

  We both come on loud, stilted shouts, and it takes a few seconds for me to roll to a complete stop before I can manage to catch my breath. I teeter to the side and fall off his lap. He sighs and flops onto his back, letting his legs go slack against the sleeping bag. He lifts his head and slides his arm underneath, propping himself up. I move to lie next to him and snuggle up to his chest. His arm drifts down and lands perfectly around my waist, like a puzzle piece that’s been missing. Our breathing begins to even out and Lana Del Rey’s soft, sensual vocals continue to play as we lie there quietly, listening. The music begins to lull me into a deep rest. Sleep finally takes me, and I gladly give in.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  A slicing sound shreds my thoughts, cutting deeply.

  “Darling, please,” my mom’s voice splinters through, claiming my full attention. “Don’t make her do this. It’s cruel.”

  “She has to learn, Elena,” my dad says sternly. His face appears and I realize I’m sitting at the vanity table again, facing the mirror like I always am. My mother stands to my left, her arms crossed nervously across her chest. She’s biting her nail, her brow and lips pinched in concern. My father is directly behind me, his reflection forming a halo over my golden blonde hair. “Get rid of it, Elise.”

  “But Dad,” I cry, feeling my body shake on a sob, “you always tell me my hair is perfect. Don’t you want me to be beautiful, like Mom?”

  “You’ve forgotten what a gift you have,” he replies, his hand hovering over my shoulder, handing me something sharp and shiny. “You want to spend time with dykes? Then it’s time you look like one.”

  “Please,” I choke, unable to rip my eyes from the large pair of scissors he’s forcing into my hands.

  “Darling,” my mom says with urgency, “this has gone far enough. You’ve made your point.”

  “Keep quiet, Elena. Don’t tell me how to parent my daughter. She will do this.” His cold, clammy fingers hit mine, shoving the scissors into my hands. He closes my fist, forcing me to grip them and I squirm, trying desperately to pull my hands away. “Elise,” he barks harshly, “that’s enough. Either you do it, or I will.”

  His words are so callous, I try appealing to his paternal side. I drop the scissors and swivel around to reach for him, grabbing and pleading for him to hug me. If he’ll just touch me, just hold me. “Dad, I love you. Please, don’t do this to me. I’m sorry you’re upset with me—please!” I manage to wrap my arms around his waist, but he peels them off and pushes them away, bending down to snatch the scissors up from the floor. His fingers dig into my hair, grasping at the roots, then clamp down hard as he turns me back around to face the mirror.

  “Darling, no!” my mom cries, jolting forward to intervene.

  “Elena, get out.” My father blocks her and gathers up another fistful of my hair. “Get out now, before I do something I’ll regret.”

  “I’m begging you, darling, stop. Please, please God, stop!”

  Snip.

  I cry out at the first cut. My mother covers her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this?” she sobs, her hands trembling.

  “I said get out, you stupid, hideous whore. Out!”

  My mother finally breaks, her entire frame caving in on itself. She flees from the bedroom, leaving me at the mercy of my father. He grabs another fistful of hair, then another, each slice more frantic than the first. His movements are rough and erratic, my head being yanked every which way as he hacks at my long locks. My hysterical cries have been replaced with deep, internal wails, sobs that can only be heard on the inside, beating their heavy drum at my soul. My heart is thrashing against my rib cage and I pray for it to be quick.

  Someone or something must hear me, because my father’s hands let go.

  The scissors drop to the vanity table with a loud clatter, and a cloud of blonde hair hovers all around me, strands floating down to my shoulders. Chunks tumble off my chest
and arms, plummeting to the carpet. My father looks at me once through the mirror and then stalks away, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him, as if he didn’t just manhandle me and massacre my perfect blonde hair.

  In less than a minute, his and my mother’s screams commence.

  I drown them out, rocking on the stool, my gaze frozen on the reflection staring back at me. My hair is slaughtered—choppy and uneven, misplaced and abused.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  The sounds still puncture my thoughts, but I’m coming around, feeling balmy, compassionate hands rubbing up and down the sides of my arms. “Elise?” Ryder’s voice slips through the cracks. “Wake up, Elise.”

  I begin to stir, shifting in Ryder’s arms. My eyes flutter open and I stare up at him. I freeze and blink, then bolt upright in the sleeping bag, grasping my hair. I tug on the long blonde waves, rolling the ends between my fingertips. My cheeks are damp and my chest is heaving.

  “Hey,” Ryder says soothingly, “are you okay? You were crying in your sleep.”

  I drop my hair and bring my knees forward, pulling them tightly to my chest. “Yeah,” I sigh, “just a bad dream.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No,” I answer quickly. “What time is it?”

  “Just past seven.” His concerned expression softens when he sees me begin to calm down.

  “Wow.” My voice is groggy as I process the time. We’d slept the whole night straight through. I hadn’t woken once.

  “I was beat. You wore me out last night.” He chuckles deeply, and the smooth, sexy sound ignites a tingle deep in the pit of my stomach. Thankful for the distraction, I push out a tired breath and crawl on top of him, straddling him and brushing myself over his cock. He’s hard and ready. “Damn,” he groans, letting his head fall back onto the sleeping bag pillow.

  “I’m not done with you yet.” I smirk and lower myself down his body, bending to tease him with a lick straight up his shaft. Feeling him twitch against my lips wakes me right up. “Mmmm, can I have more?” My eyes roll up and lock on his, and he’s enraptured, staring at me, dropping his gaze from my eyes to my lips, then down to his cock, willing me to make the connection.

  Damn, he’s beautiful.

  He answers by lifting his hips, bringing the tip to my bottom lip, slowly thrusting himself into my mouth. He watches the action and gives his cock a slight roll, rotating himself around with indulgent exploration. His smile is lopsided and he has absolutely no shame in using my mouth for his pleasure.

  I twirl my tongue around the tip and then dip to take him all the way, sucking hard as I pull back, drawing a deep groan from his chest. His eyes drift shut and his jaw clenches. “Oh, fuck yes. Damn, baby.” I repeat the motion and a surge of wet warmth swells my inner thighs.

  He is singlehandedly the most sexy, gentle man I have ever laid hands on, and he is completely oblivious to who and what I am.

  That thought should be a buzz kill, but instead, it only heightens the urgency of the moment. Who knows how long I’ll get to be with a man like Ryder. This could be the last time I ever feel this way in someone’s presence. I feel utterly spoiled and wrapped in luxury, and any second, it’s going to be ripped from my grasp.

  I suck and take him deeper.

  He exhales harshly through clenched teeth, and his fingers are pressing into my scalp now, urging me on. At the feel of his climbing desperation, I flatten my tongue for a few strokes, and then roll and suck, roll and suck, creating a pattern designed to drive him to the brink.

  It’s working.

  “Elise,” he chokes, “shit, if you keep that up...”

  I increase my speed, humming against him. The vibrations resonate from my throat to his hot, sensitive skin. His waist jerks at the sensation and he bucks his hips, trying to pull free from my mouth, but I give him a taste of his own medicine and latch onto him, pinning him to the sleeping bag while closing my lips harder around his cock.

  No way in hell is he going anywhere.

  My hands glide up his strong torso and dig into his skin, my pace unyielding. His frame stiffens beneath my fingertips and a garbled moan spills its way from his throat, riding a wave all the way down his body. His hips continue to jerk and he convulses, coming hard in my mouth. I make most guys wear a condom—even repeats, like Christian and Tim. Especially Brad. The thought doesn’t even cross my mind until Ryder is coating my throat.

  My inner thighs are drenched now, and I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him inside me right that moment. I swallow and moan in pure gratification, reveling in the feel of him hitting the back of my throat as he pumps hard.

  “Damn it, Elise!” he sighs, lifting his head to peer down at me.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask coyly as I pull my mouth away and rise to sit up on my knees. I stare down at him triumphantly and totally brazen, still completely naked from the night before as I drag my wrist across my mouth. My tongue darts out and sweeps across my bottom lip, licking the last remnants of him away. I savor those last few drops.

  “Every time I go to kiss you now, all I’m ever going to be able to think about is what you just did to me with that lush mouth of yours.” His breathing is still heavy, his brown eyes glazing over with satisfaction and something else, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It jars me for a moment, but I quickly brush it away when I’m reminded of the ache between my legs.

  “Are you saying there will be future kisses?”

  “Do you want there to be future kisses?”

  My playful smile droops a bit. I clear my throat and roll off of him, sprawling out onto my back. I run my hands down my neck and breasts, lingering at my nipples for a beat before letting one hand wander down to the junction of my thighs. I rub my fingers over the moisture and I look over to find him doing exactly what I want him to. What he likes to do.

  Watch.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asks quietly, with that husky lilt. He turns onto his side, leaning up on his elbow. His hand snakes out to touch me where I’m touching myself, but I bat him away and grin deviously.

  “Showing you what you do to me.” And giving him what he wants. I’m compelled to now that I know what he likes.

  “Elise,” he warns teasingly, “I’m a weak, weak man.” He makes another reach for me, but I bump his hand away again, quickly covering and cupping myself.

  “Just watch,” I whisper, closing my eyes and purposely arching my back. He swallows hard, the sound filling the quiet tent. Even though my eyes are closed, I can feel his gaze crawling all over me. I press down and then give myself a stroke, rubbing up, back, and forth. My legs fall open and my other hand lands on my breast, exploring and groping. “Do you see?” I ask, letting my eyes drift open into narrow slits.

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathes, “I see.” His lids are hooded, eyes smoky, flaming with desire. His whole body is tense as he restrains himself from pouncing on me.

  My fingers increase their friction, gliding with more precise, intense strokes. Quiet whimpers fight their way from my throat and the buzzing between my thighs is becoming unbearable. I won’t last long. Going down on him was my foreplay, and I’m ready to rupture. I call on the memories from just seconds ago: taking him in my mouth, watching him grin wickedly at me as I tasted and sucked, feeling him swell at the back of my throat.

  I’m so turned on, so close to tipping the edge that I don’t register the light brush of more fingers grazing my inner thigh until my hips lift in anticipation. The sneaky bastard.

  I smile.

  “You’re so damn beautiful,” Ryder murmurs at my ear. He’s moved closer, still sitting up on his elbow as he looks down, enjoying the show. He’s rapt with attention, grazing his fingers along the insides of my thighs, his knuckle bumping mine as I work myself. His words smack into me and then bounce off, ricocheting to some unknown, lost place.

  There’s a lag in my building orgasm and I flinch, wiggling away from his touch.
<
br />   Ryder’s mouth meets my shoulder, kissing me like I’m golden. The touch is so sacred, so benevolent, I can’t concentrate. “Shit,” I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I can. His fingers touch my forehead and delicately brush my hair back, and once again, I’m afflicted.

  I wiggle again, opening my eyes and scrunching up my forehead to escape his fingertips. I stop touching myself and release an exasperated sigh, dropping my arms to my sides. I wait a second before looking at him.

  His brow is furrowed in confusion and his expression is a baffled one.

  “I don’t think I can do this right now,” I say, moving to sit up. I immediately start scrambling for my clothes. I need air, and I need it now.

  “Wait, what?” Ryder sits up, too, bringing his body up on the sleeping bag in a half crouch. His dazed eyes are darting everywhere, looking back and forth, between me, my clothes, and something in the distance, as if it can offer him an explanation.

  “Sorry, I just…I can’t right now. I gotta go. I have to work this afternoon.” I throw my clothes on and grab my bag, checking to make sure I have everything I need.

  “Elise, did I…did I do something? What’s the rush? Hey.” He reaches for me, but I yank my arm away coldly, not missing the hurt that flashes across his face. He backs up and drops his head, his jaw flexing.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are… you were amazing. Thank you.”

  “You’re thanking me?”

  “Yeah, I had a great time. I’ll see you later, okay?” I start for the zipper on the tent door but Ryder speaks again, causing me to fumble with the flap.

  “Let me drive you home. You can’t walk all that way. It’s cold out there.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t know the way.”

  “There are signs. I’ll figure it out.”

  He’s quiet for a beat. I have him there. I vaguely remember seeing signs along the main path that direct you around the campground.

  “Hey, I don’t know what’s wrong, but please don’t take off like this. Talk to me.”