Cards of Love: Knight of Wands

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Why would you move to LA?” My voice trembles as he walks closer to me.

  “I’d go wherever you are. That’s,” he kisses my forehead, “why,” he kisses my nose, “I’m here.”

  His piercing eyes stare at me for several beats before he speaks again. “For you.”

  The world stops as he leans in slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. My heart flips eagerly, my entire body tingles as the anticipation increases until he slams his lips to mine nearly knocking the wind from my lungs. Yet, I feel alive.

  He presses his tongue to the seam of my lips and, at my acquiescence, delves into my mouth. My arms reach up and tangle around his thick, strong neck. He pulls me up to his broad chest. I moan as his body heat burns mine through our clothing. His hands drift to my hips, settling there while our tongues swirl together. Oliver devours me, like he’s been starving.

  “Come home with me.” He breaks the kiss, nuzzling my neck.

  “I don’t think—”

  “No, Kit Kat,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. Be with you.”

  I should push him away, but the fire in his soul numbs the logical side of my mind. In no time, we’re out of the restaurant and in his car heading to his house. We remain silent the five minutes it takes to drive home.

  “We could’ve stayed in the restaurant,” I protest when we enter his room.

  “I don’t want to push you,” he stops in the middle of his room, looking at me. “We don’t have to do anything.”

  “This will complicate everything,” I sober up from the passionate kiss we shared at the restaurant.

  “Our being together isn’t a complication.” He takes a step closer. “Our relationship is casual. No … the word I’m looking for is simple.”

  Simple, I repeat to myself. No strings.

  He takes me by the waist, his loving eyes look at me with such tenderness I can’t remember why we shouldn’t be in his room. Instead, I raise the hem of his shirt lifting it up his torso. His arms lift, going over his shoulders as he yanks his shirt over his head. I stare at his chiseled torso while his fingers fidget with my clothing. This is crazy, a voice in my head whispers. But I let him, and the passion that’s been burning inside me since the moment he came back to town, lead me.

  Oliver’s head angles slightly to the side as his lips come closer to mine. My mouth parts as his brushes against it. Our breaths mingle, along with our tongues. My heart flutters as his arms encircle my warm body. This wasn’t our first kiss, but it obliterated every thought. For the first time, my mind is locked into the moment, locked into us. His body so close to mine, his hands slowly peeling away my clothes. I wish the kiss would never end.

  The intensity of our kiss rises. It’s raw, and my heartbeat intensifies as his hands touch my bare skin. It’s been too long since someone has touched me, longer even that I’ve been wanting his touch. As his fingers brush my soft flesh, my hands slide upwards across his hard chest.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asks, as he pushes me closer to his bed.

  I stare at him for a few moments, fighting my conscience. This is wrong, because you’re feeling things for him that he’ll never feel for you, says one voice. Do it. You finally get to live your fantasy, says the other one. It was a fantasy when I was younger. Today it’s the pent-up energy accumulated from watching him working in the restaurant. How he casually caresses my hand as we exchange trays, or glances at me from across the room. The sweet smiles, the soft words while we're having lunch.

  Oliver is the first person who's cared for me since my parents died. No one has eaten my food with the enthusiasm he does.

  I don’t answer with words, but with a kiss. A kiss where I claim him. It’s desperate, wild. A second later I’m on my back. Oliver unzips my jeans and tugs them down along with my panties. Then I feel his finger filling me as his mouth feathers kisses along my knees, trailing up toward my torso, nibbling every inch of my skin until he’s sucking on my nipple. He teases my breasts, sucking them, flicking them, taking me to the edge, while his long finger continues to thrust in and out of my entrance.

  “Oliver,” I moan, pushing myself into his hand, my back arching as I seek relief.

  “You’re wet, and ready,” he says huskily.

  Suddenly, he pushes himself off the bed, and he’s fishing for a condom inside his wallet before pulling down his pants. My mouth waters as I take in all of him. He’s beautiful. As astonishing as Michelangelo’s David. He’s hard, as if his skin were made of marble, and it knocks my breath right out of me.

  He opens my legs, rolls the condom along his thick, long length, and climbs into bed next to me. He takes a long glance at my body, and the gesture feels like a caress through my soul.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says as he pushes my knees farther apart and kneels right in front of me.

  His hand wraps around his dick, and he lowers himself, resting the head right at my entrance. His mouth captures mine as he pushes himself inside me, filling me inch by inch.

  God, it feels so good.

  In an instant, we become a tangle of bodies, arms, and mouths driving deep into each other. Fast. Hard.

  Oliver cups my breast, playing with my nipples. My hips meet his as he keeps thrusting inside me as if he’s trying to fuse our two bodies. I open myself to the possibilities. I open my heart to him as his kiss intensifies. He grips me into a desperate clutch, holding me tight against his rapid thrusts. My channel squeezes him as ripples of pleasure pulse through me, igniting every cell of my body. I explode, breaking into a million pieces and becoming dust.

  I dig my nails into his back as he goes rigid on my arms, whispering my name. “Kit Kat.”

  My name on his lips sounds like a prayer, an oath. I cling to him for several breaths. His face is buried in the crook of my shoulder. I savor this moment. Save it in case it’s the only one like this we ever share.

  12

  Letters

  Katy,

  Death isn’t kind. It just takes people away. It doesn’t care who you are, what you’ve done, or who will miss you when you’re gone. It just rips people apart.

  Today, I almost left. I don’t fear death. I fear leaving you behind. I fear not telling you how I feel about you. How I have felt all these years. You’re the only thing I think about when we’re out scouting. You’re the one thing that gets me to sleep at night. You’re the most important person in my life, and the worst part about being out here is knowing that I might never see you again.

  I’m not exactly sure when I fell for you. But I know I have feelings, and they burn stronger every day. Your letters are what keep me alive in this sea of bullets, blood, and sand.

  Mine isn’t a fairytale. Maybe a morose story with a bittersweet ending. Though I pray that someday I can see your beautiful face again. Some days that feels like an impossible fever dream.

  I wish I were home with you right now, or that I was brave enough to send you this letter.

  Always Yours,

  Oliver

  Ollie,

  Hey, it’s been a while. Why haven’t you written back? Are you alright? I miss you.

  Enjoy everything I sent you, and I hope I gave you enough to share.

  Kaitlynn

  Oliver,

  You still haven’t written back. At this point, I’m not sure whether to be annoyed or upset. If it’s about the letter I sent you, like I said just forget about it. If that’s really why you aren’t talking to me, we can move past it.

  I miss you, ok? I don’t know how many times to say it or how to say it right. You’re my best friend, and you’re on the other side of the world. Some days I can’t stand it. I know you’re out there doing things for the greater good and world peace or whatever, but I’d rather have you at home.

  I don’t even know if you’re safe or not because you won’t talk to me. You can’t freeze me out like this, Ollie. We’ve been through too much for you to do that. Can’t you at least give me a sign? Say just a simple “f
uck off” so I’ll at least know you’re alive? Is that too much to fucking ask?

  Kaitlynn

  Oliver,

  You know what this reminds me of? That time you almost kissed me. You were fifteen and I was fourteen, we were in the backyard of your mom’s house, watching the sunset. It was a perfect day. I thought we were perfect. You leaned over, and I closed my eyes. I waited and waited.

  Your mom interrupted, and you never tried again. We were so close, I thought it meant something to you.

  It only took you two weeks to move on, though. You started dating Kelsey. I had to watch you two kiss and makeout right in front of me. It was humiliating, you know that?

  It’s almost the same. As soon as you left, and we started exchanging letters. I felt close to you again. It’s like those years apart didn’t matter. Nothing mattered because I had you ... I thought I had you.

  My mistake.

  I guess I was just reading between the lines. You’re a good friend, maybe I’ve always mistaken that for something more ... You were a good friend, I thought. But good friends don’t date their friend’s sisters like you did, and good friends don’t read what I told you in the letter and then shove you out of their life.

  I think you’re a good person, Ollie, and you might be a really great guy. But I can’t keep being your friend anymore if this is how you’re going to treat me. I deserve better than this.

  Kaitlynn

  Oliver,

  It’s good to hear from you. Congratulations on the new rank. A lot has changed in my life too. I have a new boyfriend. His name is Steve. He’s charming, and a great comedian. Hope you’re doing well.

  Your friend,

  Kaitlynn

  13

  Oliver

  My bed is empty. I look around, and Kaitlynn is nowhere to be found. Fuck, I knew she was skittish about hooking up. But she promised to stay the night. I groan, reaching out blindly for the shirt I had on earlier. Instead of finding it, I grab ahold of what feels like Kaitlynn’s bra.

  At least she’s still here. I stumble through the darkness, flipping on the light switch so I can put some underwear on. I decide to head downstairs to see if I can find her.

  From the top of the stairs, I hear some muffled sound coming from downstairs. I creep down cautiously, relaxing when I see that it’s Kaitlynn sitting on the couch ... with one of the boxes my mom left for me wide open. She’s clutching a piece of paper in one hand and covering her mouth with the other. Shit, what did I do this time?

  “What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.

  “You almost died,” she says. “You never told me that.”

  What the fuck. “Why did you open those letters? They were closed. I haven’t even read them.”

  “Well why didn’t you open them before? You had them for eight fucking years,” she argues.

  “I never got them,” I explain.

  “And they just ... magically appeared in this fucking box?”

  “Mom received them while I was in the hospital,” I clarify but her nostrils flare. “She was by my side the entire time.”

  “So that’s why you stopped writing? You were hurt,” she says quietly. “Are these all the letters?”

  Does she want to know where the other letter is? It’s on my nightstand. I must have read it a thousand times since I first opened it a few weeks ago. I don’t know if I’m ready for her to see that—or for us to discuss it.

  “I have all of them,” I say casually.

  She nods, clenching the letter tightly in her hands. Great, she’s fucking up the paper. I sit down next her, gently pulling the sheets away from her. I can’t have her ruining these. They aren’t as important as her, but they matter.

  Kaitlynn looks up from her lap, staring at me intensely. I can’t tell whether she wants to cry some more or punch me. Maybe it’s both.

  I don’t know what to do or what’s going on in her head. Her gears look like they’re grinding really hard as her eyes glaze over. I stand up, shuffling away awkwardly.

  “Why don’t I get you something to drink?” I offer, walking toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “You have anything stronger?” she asks.

  “Uh, I’ll see what I can do,” I tell her.

  This house has been empty for a decade. I don’t know what she’s expecting. I search through the pantry, checking if there’s any leftover liquor that my mom forgot to take with her, when Kaitlynn comes bustling into the kitchen.

  Her movements are fucking mechanical as she searches through the cabinets. She still knows where everything is, apparently, grabbing baking utensils from various spots. I sigh, taking a seat at the kitchen table as she does ...whatever it is she’s doing.

  “Where did I leave the honey,” she mutters.

  I blink. “What?”

  She doesn’t answer me. A minute or two later, she finds the honey she was talking about, and it looks edible. When was the last time she was in here?

  Watching her work is like watching an orchestra play in the middle of an action movie. I’m not sure if it’s beautiful or terrifying, and I can’t tell what exactly I’m supposed to be focusing on. But somehow, she pulls together honey biscuits like it’s nothing.

  After she sets them in the oven, I notice her hands trembling. She sits down quietly across from me, her arms crossed close to her chest. Kaitlynn is ... still a little terrifying to me.

  I clear my throat. “So …”

  “You can’t just fucking die and not tell me about it,” her voice is tight and panicked.

  “I didn’t die,” I remind her.

  “And how the fuck was I supposed to know that?” she snaps. “You weren’t dead, but you wouldn’t fucking answer ... and then you did almost die and you still couldn’t fucking say ‘hey, I’m still alive?’”

  “I was in the hospital, and then—”

  “And then you were at another site, and you got your promotion, and every fucking thing came before Kaitlynn,” she says. “I get it.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I argue.

  She shrugs. “You might as well have.”

  I take a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But that’s in the past. I’m here now and—”

  She groans. “Yes, now. You’re here now. Not last year when I could’ve salvaged this restaurant. Not five years ago when I needed you.”

  What does she want me to say? I wish I had been with her. I’ve missed her every single day for the last twelve years. Even now when she’s sitting right in front of me, I miss her. I miss the way she was, and the people we were. I like this Kaitlynn, but I loved my Kit Kat.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, still at a loss for words.

  Kaitlynn shakes her head, pushing her seat away from the table and slowly getting up.

  “You don’t get it,” she fumes. “I mean ... fuck, I guess at some point you might’ve understood. But too little, too late I guess.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Why don’t you take a look at those letters you didn’t read? Then tell me you’re sorry.”

  She trudges out of the kitchen. Her footsteps are heavy and slow against the staircase. I listen intently until I hear the quiet thud of my bedroom door shutting. I run a hand through my hair.

  Eventually, I muster up the energy to look through those fucking letters. I grab the second one in the pile since it’s mostly unwrinkled. I start to read it, and my stomach drops.

  Oliver, it reads. You know what this reminds me of? That time you almost kissed me.

  14

  Kaitlynn

  Ollie enters his room, sitting next to me on his unmade bed. He kisses the tears from my cheeks, and I feel his lips against mine. He sweeps my hair aside, kissing my neck. Nibbling my ear.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as his arms encircle my body.

  Stupidly, I sink myself into his arms, letting him comfort me. Everything I feared while he was away almost happened. The loneliness is cho
king me, squeezing my lungs while I realize that I’ve had no one in my life. Not even after my parents died, and I’m still here waiting for someone to be by my side. From the beginning I knew it’d happen, I’d fall back in love.

  “I was a stupid kid,” he mumbles. “God, if I had known …”

  Closing my eyes, I wait for more.

  He says nothing for several beats. His mouth rests on my shoulder, his voice is low. It caresses my skin, making it tremble as he speaks. “But for so long I’ve been an idiot who had no idea how to care for a treasure like you.”

  “Ollie,” I sob against his chest.

  He shifts his head to the right and kisses me. One hand at the back of my neck. Our mouths move against each other. It’s a soft kiss. The tenderness pieces back together the broken shards of my heart. Even when it’s slow, the way his tongue slides against mine ignites a fire. His big, rough hands slide up and down my body, pulling my shirt over my head, throwing it to the floor. His mouth moves down my throat, his hands tangle in my hair. The heat that’s radiating from his body is burning every part of mine.

  I want more than his caresses.

  I need everything.

  I want him to fill me—to complete me.

  To remind me that he’s alive. He’s here with me. At least for the rest of the night.

  Releasing my hair, his lips trail over my skin. He places tender kisses on my collar bone and my breasts. His fingers skate down my spine, circling my hips and down my thighs. That mouth that’s awakening every inch of my body follows right behind his hands.

  Oliver pushes my legs apart, his digits brushing against my folds, making me squirm as he moves them up and down before opening my entrance. He places his mouth right on my core. His breath sends a ripple of pleasure from my sensitive lips to my body. I close my eyes when his flat tongue presses against my clit, and I release a soft moan. My hands clench into fists, grabbing onto his soft hair. Inserting one long finger into my channel, he fucks me with his hand and his mouth. My hips rock against his face, demanding more, for the ache to disappear, for him to make everything better. I’m so close to the edge, about to fall, when he stops.