More Than Forever

by Jay McLean

  And I have no idea why.

  And I'm frustrated.

  So much so that watching him chew the end of his pen while he sits opposite me at our dining table is turning me on. That, and the fact that he's shirtless. And hot. When did he get so goddamn hot? I mean, he was always cute... but now... holy shit I'm wet.

  And now he's licking his lips. God, I love his lips.

  I squeeze my legs together, trying to ease the ache.

  My eyes drop, focusing on the words in the textbook in front of me. We're supposed to be studying, but all I can think about is his mouth. I glance up. He's doing it again. The licking lip thing. Oh fuck, now he's biting it.

  I wonder if I ever turn him on just by looking at me.

  I gaze down at myself. I'm wearing a shirt that Logan bought me after Vaginagate. It says 'I hate tacos, said no Juan ever.'

  Nope. I highly doubt I turn him on.

  I sigh loudly.

  His eyes lift and his lips curve into a smile. Oh my God, his smile. His lips.

  He slowly comes to a stand, his palms flat on the table. "Luce," he says.

  "Mm?" I murmur, even though inside, I'm saying, Take me! Take me now!

  "You got pizza sauce on your face."

  I die.

  He walks into the tiny kitchen and brings back a napkin for me.

  "Thanks."

  "You're welcome." He settles back in his seat, his eyes already concentrating on his homework on the table.

  I sink down in my chair, feeling frumpy and stupid. And horny. I'm so horny.

  Maybe I can make him want me. My lips curl at the corners when a plan comes to mind. I've read it in books, seen it in movies, surely it'll work.

  Slowly, I raise my foot; maybe I can make him hard by rubbing him the right way. The instant my foot makes contact with his leg, he jerks back. "Holy shit!" he shouts. "Is that your foot? It's fucking freezing."

  I drop my chin to my chest. "Sorry," I mumble, my face burning with embarrassment.

  "Are you cold?"

  I glance up at him. He's on his feet, running a hand down his bare chest. LICK.

  "What?" he asks.

  Crap, I said lick out loud.

  His look of confusion is so fucking hot I think I want to rape him. Yup. Going to stand up and just start humping his leg.

  "Are you sick?" he asks.

  "Huh?"

  "Your feet are cold, but your face is red, like you're burning up, and you keep moaning and squirming in your seat." His eyes narrow even more. "I'll get you socks and an aspirin. Sit down, babe, take it easy."

  I grumble in my seat while I wait for him to come back. When he does, he kneels on the floor between my legs, and picks up my foot. My eyes drift shut, imagining his beautiful mouth kissing, licking, sucking its way up to my center. I need him.

  "All done," he informs, causing me to open my eyes. He's covered my feet with socks, but he hasn't kissed me. My eyes glare at my legs. Maybe they're hairy. Maybe he just thinks I'm ugly. That could be it.

  He leaves and comes back with a glass of water and an aspirin. "I wonder what's wrong with you. You shouldn't be getting your period for another week, right?"

  I want to love him for being so in tune with me that he knows my cycle, but I can't think about that. Not when I want to lick him all over.

  He takes his seat again, all relaxed and hot like he has no idea what I'm going through. He picks up his pen and lifts it to his already open mouth. He licks his lips once, so fucking slowly, then he runs the end of the pen across the bottom one, spreading the moisture.

  I whimper.

  Legit, whimper.

  I sit up straighter and try to level my breathing. Round two, I think to myself. I raise my foot again, more determined this time.

  And then...

  "FUCK, LUCY!"

  I wince at his words and shrink into my seat.

  "You just kicked me in the balls, what the fuck?" He's shouting, on his feet, bent over at the waist.

  "I'm sorry!" I shout back, standing and going to him.

  "What just happened?"

  I panic. "I had an itch."

  "ON MY DICK?"

  I'm trying to hug him, hoping it will make it better, but he pushes me away.

  "I'm sorry!" I say again.

  "It's okay," he says, a little calmer this time. He slowly straightens and places a hand to the side of my face. "It's okay," he repeats. "I'm sorry." He leans in and places his wet mouth on my dry one. "It just fucking hurts."

  He tries to pull back but I grip his hips and refuse to let him go. I kiss him again, longer than he did. "You want me to kiss it better?" I ask.

  His eyes go wide. "Huh?"

  I smile, trying to be sexy, and then drop to my knees. I stare up at him while he chews his lip again. Curling my fingers around his shorts, I make a show of pulling them down and freeing him. Then my eyes widen. "Oh."

  "What?"

  "It's just—"

  "Well it's not hard, Luce, what did you expect?"

  "I know. I just didn't expect it to be so small."

  "Fuck you," he says, but he's laughing. He pushes his hand against my forehead until I fall back. I save myself with my outstretched arm.

  He pulls his shorts back up and walks to the kitchen. "I hate you," he shouts over his shoulder.

  I latch onto his back, wrapping my legs and arms around him. "I'm sorry!" I tell him.

  "No. You're not forgiven." He bends over and swings me around until I'm in front of him with my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He sits me on the counter and peels me off him. "You have man hands," he clips.

  I frown and raise my hands to look at them.

  "And you drool in your sleep, it's fucking disgusting."

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my man hands.

  "And you—" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Nothing. I got nothing. You're perfect." He links our fingers together and kisses the back of each of my hands. "And you don't have man hands. That was mean. I'm sorry."

  I pull on his hands until his arms are around me and I scoot forward, trying to get as close to him as possible. I run my fingers down his bare chest. "I want to lick you," I tell him, unashamed now. "All over. Your lips first. I love your lips." I kiss him slowly, feeling his fingers dig into my waist.

  He pulls back before I'm ready. "I have homework."

  "Oh."

  He sighs as his hands pull at his hair. "I just need to learn self control with you. I can't just... I promised your dad... we can't always..."

  I kiss him again, deeper this time. "But I'm so horny, Cam. I need a release."

  He grunts, before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. He walks to the bedroom and throws me roughly on our bed. "I'll get you off, Luce," he says as a warning. "And that's as far as we go, okay?"

  I nod.

  He pulls on my ankles until my legs are off the bed. "Take your shirt and bra off, I want to see your tits."

  I sit up. "Bossy Cam." I smile. "I love bossy Cam."

  He folds his arms over his chest and quirks an eyebrow. He's hard now, made evident by the huge bulge in his shorts. I reach out to touch him there, but he pulls away.

  "Luce, you get off and you only. I'm not playing."

  Five minutes later, my shorts and panties are off and his mouth is exactly where I want him. My fingers curl on the bedspread under me. "Holy fuck, Cam."

  He doesn't falter, not for a second. His fingers slide in and out, his mouth kisses, and his tongue licks. He started faster, more rushed. I asked him to slow down, so he did. And now—now he's perfect, bringing me to the edge twice, only to pull away smiling.

  "Cam!"

  And he starts again.

  "You have to let me..." I breathe out.

  The vibration of his response against my wetness has me squirming. He uses his forearm to hold down my stomach, keeping me in place.

  My hips thrust forward, wanting more of him. And he gives it. Fuck, does he give it.


  My back arches off the bed. I'm panting his name, over and over. He never stops. Not until the last wave hits me and my body collapses.

  "I can't feel my legs," I moan. "Or my face."

  I gaze down at him through heavy eyelids. He stands at the end of the bed, his hard-on tenting his pants. He picks up my discarded shirt and wipes his mouth. Then he looks at me. From my head, all the way down to my toes. He's never seen me fully naked before. His eyes trail back up as he licks his lips. "You're so fucking sexy, Lucy. I was so close to coming just from tasting you like that."

  I sit up and pull his shorts down, freeing him completely. "I want to have sex, Cam. Please?"

  I scoot up on the bed until my head hits the pillow, and then spread my legs for him. "I'm ready," I tell him, my voice coming out a whisper. And a ton of emotions hit me full force. I love him. I don't want to share this with anyone else, and I lie here, prepared for him. Waiting for him. While he stands at the end of the bed looking at me, fighting a war in his head.

  I don't know why I waited so long, not when I've always been so sure of him. Of us.

  "Please, Cameron."

  He kicks off his shorts and climbs onto the bed and between my legs. "Lucy, I don't—"

  "Do you love me?" I ask him.

  He rests his forearms on either side of my head as his eyes scan mine. "You know I do."

  "Then why are you hesitating?"

  He shakes his head, then rests it on my shoulder, slowly dropping his hips so I can feel his hardness against me. "I didn't want it to be like this... in the heat of the moment. I wanted to make it romantic. You know, hotel room, candlelit dinner, open fireplace, rose petals and shit."

  I take his head in my hands and lift it so he'll look at me. "I don't care about that stuff. I just want you."

  He nods. "I'm nervous."

  "I'm scared."

  "Maybe we shouldn't."

  "No, I want to."

  He looks down my body, to where we're about to join. Leaning on one arm, he uses the other to position himself. I feel it where I think it should be, and I wait.

  "Are you sure?" His voice breaks. "I don't want you to feel forced—"

  I nod. "I love you."

  "I love you, too." He kisses me, the taste of myself on his lips turning me on more. I push down a little, welcoming him.

  "I love you so much, Luce," he says, pushing into me.

  My eyes squeeze shut, trying to stop from groaning in pain when he fills me.

  "Are you okay?" he whispers in my ears.

  "Mm hmm," I answer—my eyes still closed to avoid the tears from falling. "Is that it?"

  "No, babe, I'm not even half way."

  I whimper. "Okay, just go. Do it. Get it over with."

  "Lucy." His voice is shaky. "Maybe we're not ready. Maybe we—"

  I let out a sob. It hurts so much and he's not even in yet.

  "I can't do this, Luce, not when you're crying."

  "No!" I press my hands firmly on his ass so he can't move.

  He lifts his head, sniffing once. "Okay."

  Then a pain so unbearable takes over my entire body. I scream so loud that it's surprising to my own ears.

  "I'm so sorry," he says, his body shaking. "Shit shit shit."

  He tries to pull out but I hold him in place. "I just need to get used to it," I cry out. "Just hold still for a moment."

  "I can't, Lucy. You're fucking crying. I made you cry. This is not how I wanted this to go. This should've been perfect for you and I ruined it."

  "Stop it," I whimper. "It is perfect, Cam. You're perfect. I just—"

  "I hate this," he cuts in, wiping his eyes on my shoulder and refusing to look at me. "I can't keep going, Luce. Not like this."

  I sniff back my tears, and I suck it up. Because this isn't just about me, it's about him, and I'm ruining it for both of us. "It doesn't hurt anymore," I lie. "Start moving."

  He lifts his head, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, babe." I nod. "Just go slow, okay?"

  "It won't take long, I—I promise." And then he moves. It hurts like hell, but I keep it in. I do my best to stay silent, to not wince in pain, to not beg him to stop.

  "I love you, Lucy," he whispers, raising his eyes to mine—with so much emotion, so much heart—and for seconds that feel like hours, we stare at each other.

  And then he kisses me, and we make love.

  And it's perfect.

  Just the way he wanted it.

  -CAMERON-

  After I came, she practically ran to the shower, and that's where she stayed for a good half hour. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. And now—she's crying in my arms and I'm lost. I'm so lost.

  "I'm not crying because it hurts," she says, somehow reading my mind.

  "Then why?" I whisper, scooting down on the bed and under the covers so we're face to face. "Tell me."

  "Because I'm emotional." She sounds almost embarrassed. "I felt so much just now, with you inside me like that, and it was more than just physical. I don't..." She blows out a heavy breath. "I don't want you to share that with anyone else."

  "What?" I ask, confused.

  "I just don't want to think about the future, and if anything happens... it hurts so much to think that you could share something like that with someone else, something so pure, and intimate. I hate—"

  "Stop." I cut in. I have no idea where any of this is coming from, but I don't question it, because if there's one thing I know from living with Mom, and being with Lucy, it's that women are dumb. "Do you think that I want that? That I'd want to be with other people?"

  "I think eventually you—"

  "You're wrong, Luce. So far from wrong it's not funny." I roll onto my back and contemplate what I'm about to tell her—because I know it's wrong for kids at seventeen to think about what I think. But I look at her now, with tears in her eyes, and I don't care. I tell her anyway, "I think about our future a lot. More than you want to know."

  "Yeah?" she asks, a hint of a smile forming. "What do you think about?"

  She sits up in front of me, removing the covers from both of us, and crosses her legs. I do the same, and lace our fingers together. "I think about marrying you, Lucy, and having a lot of kids."

  She laughs quietly, her tears almost gone. "How many kids?"

  "Well, at least four," I tell her honestly. "Four girls. Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy."

  She gasps quietly. "Like in Little Women?" she says, her voice coming out high, like a little girl.

  I nod. "Uh huh."

  "You read the book?"

  Shaking my head with a grimace, I reply, "I watched the movie."

  She laughs, before shuffling closer to me. So close, she's straddling me. "What else?"

  "I'd want a couple boys at least. You know, so I'm not surrounded by crazy."

  I watch as her head throws back in laughter. "You're lying," she says.

  "I'm not. I've even designed the house we live in. I figure your dad can build it for us. It won't be for a while but—"

  "Cam," she whispers, tears falling again. But I know her cries now. I've learned to read them. These are the good kind. The happy ones.

  "My favorite room in the house," I start, pulling her closer to me. "Is gonna have these huge double doors, like the ones on the town library."

  She smiles.

  I continue, "I'm gonna design a sign for the door, it's going to say 'Mom's Manor.'"

  Her eyebrows bunch. "Your mom's gonna live with us?"

  I laugh. "No, not my mom. It's going to be your room. You'll be Mom by then."

  "Will you sketch the room for me?" she asks hesitantly. She knows I'm still a little uncomfortable with showing her my stuff. But the way she's looking at me now, I'd find a way to fly to the moon if she asked me.

  "Yeah, babe."

  She squeals, jumps off me, and the bed, and goes to her backpack to pull out a pen and notepad. I sit against the headboard with my legs spre
ad and wait for her to sit between them. When she's comfortable, I set the notepad in front of her and wrap my arms around her waist and settle my chin on her shoulder. I touch the pen to paper...

  And then I draw.

  Her room in our future house.

  And I explain to her what everything is, and what I envision. Wall to wall shelves of nothing but books. Her own fireplace. Her huge, comfortable armchair, and then the smaller ones in front of it. So her and our kids can sit in there and read, or she can read to them. She cries the entire time. But it's nothing compared to how she reacts when I tell her the best part—the half room hidden behind one of the bookcases. It opens up when you pull a certain book, the book being Little Women. "We can hang linen from the low ceiling," I tell her. "That way you and our kids can have your own makeshift tent, like your mom did for you. And you can read them stories, have them help you with the words, you know?" I pause and wait for her sobs to stop. "You can tell each other secrets. You can build memories, Luce. And you can remember them, too. You can remember your mom every day."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  -CAMERON-

  Lucy got into early admission, we all expected she would, but that didn't stop us from celebrating like crazy—a small one with family, then a big one with friends. For now, her and Jake were going to be at UNC. The rest of us were still waiting. Our friends never really planned on going to the same college together, it kind of just happened.

  She cried that night, though. She said it was bittersweet; that she didn't know what she'd do if I didn't get in. She told me she wouldn't go without me. I told her she was being dumb, and that I'd go with her regardless, even if it meant full time work and night classes. Even if it took me ten years to get a degree, there was no way I'd let us be apart.

  Now, she's crying for a different reason. "Cameron," she squeals. And I laugh. She waves my acceptance letter in the air before lunging at me, kissing me a thousand times. "I'm so proud of you!"

  "Thanks, babe." Truth is, I'm proud of myself too. I've worked really hard over the last year to get that one letter. The only problem is that I don't know if I can afford to go, but I don't let that ruin the moment.

  "Does your mom know?"

  I shake my head. "No. I just went there quickly to check the mail but she wasn't home. I came straight here."