“You want to fuck her, baby?” I say, and then I put my hand on his cock. Which I’m sure is going to be a mistake, but no, no. He holds his pleasure in and only lets me have a hot, bursting gasp, just before I angle his cock and aim it at her tight little cunt.
“Talk to me,” I say, but he won’t. Not even when I press my open mouth to the side of his face, and slide the head of his prick through her soft, slick folds. It must feel like heaven—I know Kitty sure thinks so—but he remains on this trembling precipice, body stiff, eyes unseeing.
And then I lay a hand on Kitty’s back, and just ease her down over his hard length. Just slow, just syrupy slow, Kitty moaning and rocking all the while, and when he’s seated fully in her and all I can see is how much he’s stretched her tight hole, I tell her to fuck back on him. I tell her to do it hard, just as Wade says, “Fuck yeah,” and adds his own series of sounds to proceedings, and I sigh under the glorious weight of it all, and Cameron turns his face toward mine.
He looks at me, then, all heavy-lidded and too desperate, but I don’t give him any respite. When Kitty seems to flag, her cries of pleasure almost verging on sobs, I get hold of her hips myself and yank her back on his prick.
That gets a moan out of both of them. It gets more than that from Kitty, in fact. “Uhhh yeah, I’m gonna come,” she says, then hotter, dirtier, “God, his cock feels so good, oh Jesus, Cameron, you fill my pussy so good.”
It’s the first time I feel a spark of jealousy, just remembering how that same cock had felt in me. Like it might split me in two, like I could come from nothing but the feel of it, shoving into me roughly, and oh I think Kitty is experiencing almost the exact same thing.
“That’s it, oh God, just like that,” she moans, and then her body jerks, and spasms, and Cameron stiffens under my touch as though he needs to communicate to me exactly what’s going on.
She’s coming. She’s coming and clenching tight around his probably bursting prick, and the effect on him is electric. His body stiffens and his jaw tightens and he squeezes his eyes shut. I’m almost certain he’s coming himself, until Kitty gives one last long sigh of pleasure and slides off him.
And then I can see that he hasn’t. He’s still rock hard and he hasn’t filled the condom, but more than both of those things is how strung out he seems. Like he’s just going to go insane at any moment—and I’m sure Wade’s comments aren’t helping any, with that.
“Jesus, man, you’re still going?” he says, and then I glance at him, and he’s just doing the lewdest thing possible. He’s stroking his already-hard-again cock, fresh lube all over everything so the tip and his hand fair near glisten, and while he does so he sucks long and slow on his middle finger.
You know, like a little hint at all the things he could do, if Cameron was feeling adventurous, and wanted to ask.
I don’t mind admitting—it sparks a little light in me, to think of Wade sucking Cameron’s cock. But then Wade kneels up, suddenly, and goes for the box of condoms still rolling around somewhere, on the bed, and I know he’s going to try for something different.
“Bet you’re wanting Allie’s pussy now, huh?” he asks, and I have to say—I think he’s going to be kind here. In fact, I’m so sure of it that I snap the rubber off Cameron’s cock, in anticipation of the new one Wade is obviously going to hand me.
Obviously.
Only then he says: “But I dunno, man. I’m not sure you’re in any fit state to give her what she needs—do you? Seems like a much better plan for me to take her, don’t you think?”
I would find him almost unutterably cruel, if it were not for the questions he puts in there. The constant stream of questions, like he’s just waiting for Cameron to answer, to do something, to step up. But the thing is—Cameron isn’t going to answer, or do anything, or step up. His limit is clearly on some impossible horizon that I can’t even imagine, far away in the honeyed land of Hamin-Ra.
And even if it isn’t, he’s just not Corin. Not really. He doesn’t want me enough, and I can tell that’s the case when Wade just pulls me away from him and stretches me out on the bed, hungry mouth on mine before I’ve even had the chance to say, Hey, I think it’s Cameron I love.
I know we did that thing earlier, but it’s Cameron I love. Even though Cameron maybe doesn’t love me. I’m sure he doesn’t. In fact, I’m so sure that I feel it all the way up to the point of hearing those scarves rip, I feel it right up until his hands are on me, yanking me, shoving Wade, everything suddenly brutal and too good and oh, yes.
“You’re mine,” he growls, right down into me. “You’re mine you’re mine you’re mine.”
And oh it’s better than any story I’ve ever imagined. His grip presses a bruise into my thigh and I feel his teeth graze my cheek, my throat, my shoulder, everything hot and desperate suddenly. I barely have chance to get the condom on him before he’s fucking into me, hard and frantic, those big hands splayed over my ass and my lower back until I’m sure he’s just dragging me onto his cock.
I’m aware, faintly, of Kitty or Wade or maybe both of them saying Fuck in a shocked sort of voice, but that’s OK. I get why. I feel like I’m being mauled or pummeled and for a long moment I’m just clinging to his shoulders, holding on as he takes me in a way I never in a million years thought he would.
And oh God, it’s bliss. It’s unbelievable. His cock grinds against my G-spot. His body shoves against my stiff clit. When he grips my ass and pulls me into his arms, legs spread over his thighs and everything in me just holding on tight, he leaves marks, bruises, evidence that he was all over me.
I think I pull out a clump of his hair. I think I make a noise like a wild animal, snarling at an intruder. But I know that I look right into his perfect, amazing face just as he starts to shudder uncontrollably, and my own pleasure spirals out of control.
My climax works its way up through my body, cunt tightening almost unbearably around his still working cock, and I say the words I’ve wanted to for a while now. I don’t just think them. I let them out.
“I love you,” I tell him, and then he presses me so tightly to him that I can’t breathe, and oh God he comes, and comes, and comes. I feel him doing it, in spasming jerks and the tense swelling of his cock inside me. In the way he grunts in a protracted, abandoned sort of way, right into my hair and the side of my face and, oh Lord, it’s so good.
But it’s only when he’s shivering in my arms, slick with cooling sweat and completely broken apart that I realize something.
He might have groaned and lost himself in pleasure and fucked me like a maniac. But he didn’t say it back. He doesn’t say anything like it back. And he continues to not say it, long after all of this is done.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m startled when he finds me, under the stairs. Though not because I haven’t seen him for the better part of twenty-four hours and was starting to wonder if he’d undergone another minor freak-out. More because I’m in the middle of my own minor freak-out, and didn’t realize it until he looms over me in this dark little space, torch in hand.
I’ve got the light on in here, but it’s still spooky when he suddenly puts said torch to his face, and says, “Mwa ha ha, I guess we didn’t all die in here.”
Just like he used to, only with that little extra kick of awareness, of nostalgia, of something else I can’t quite name. Like the way that everything is now, on the eve of saying good-bye. Tomorrow we’ll all be getting into cabs and going our separate ways, though none of us have actually really said it. We haven’t said: Well, I guess the month’s up. Let’s get out of here, Scoobs.
It’s just going to happen. I know it is. And that’s probably why I’m in here, rooting through bits of old bicycle under an old lamp that doesn’t work while praying for as few spiders as possible.
“What are you looking for?” Cameron says, after a moment—but only because he’s smart. And becaus
e he’s either grown to know me or knew me all along, and doesn’t have to open with something lame and leading like Hey, what are you doing in here?
He knows what I’m doing in here. He knows I’m looking.
“Nothing,” I say, but he’s smarter than that too.
“You know, I doubt you’re going to find a secret note from Warren in here, explaining why he did all of this.”
I put the bit of old bicycle down. Clap the dust off my hands. Give him a look that he probably can’t see, through the semi-darkness. So weird that my memories of this little space are now clouded by him, by the blind feel of him and the way he said my name.
Christ, I think this whole place is now clouded by the blind feel of Cameron Lindhurst. I won’t be able to go anywhere in here without first remembering all of the things we’ve done together—though such a problem may be moot, soon enough.
Wade’s already got a buyer for the place, and it’s more money than I ever imagined having in my life. Just like that, courtesy of Professor Warren. All we have to do is say the word.
“I wasn’t looking for an explanation,” I tell him, but the exasperation in my voice makes it sound like even more of a lie. In fact, it’s so much of one that he doesn’t even acknowledge what I’ve said. He just plunges right into: “You should face facts, Allie. There probably isn’t one.”
And I know he’s right. I know it. Professor Warren left us this house without a word about why, and we stayed here without any understanding of what drove us, and now I’m standing in front of Cameron with all of these feelings inside me, and I don’t get any of them either.
I look up at him and everything just kind of swells inside me, the memory of him saying You’re mine swells inside me, and then suddenly I’m blurting it out just as I did before, only this time there’s almost no excuse for it. I’m not in the throes of passion. There’s no more reason why he should say it back now, with only a month between this and barely knowing each other at all.
But I do it anyway, because that’s what the occasion calls for. No more waiting five years to tell someone how I really feel. No more panicking at the last moment, frantically searching through old rubbish for an explanation or a clue or just anything, really, anything at all.
I want him to know now. I want it to be clear. No subtext.
No secrets. No hiding behind sex.
“I love you,” I say, though I only fully realize how much I mean it once it’s done. I think of all the times I never dared to say it to Wade and my stomach flips over, my mind goes blank, briefly—but it’s OK, isn’t it?
I mean, Cameron’s not like Wade. It’s not as though he’s going to laugh. It’s not as though I’m really shoving myself out on a limb here, even though the seconds tick by and it’s really starting to feel as though I have. I can feel the tree branch, bending. I can feel myself slipping, slipping, and Cameron’s not saying anything at all and, oh God, I’m a fool.
I’m a fool for feelings that don’t exist. I was sure they did, but what do I know about anything? I pined over a guy who gives me a shrug about it, after five years of painful waiting and longing. I really have to wake up, you know. Life isn’t a fairytale that ends with the handsome prince sweeping me off my feet.
It’s just Cameron in a cupboard under the stairs, looking all tense and weird before he finally kisses me on the cheek, too hard.
That’s what my life is. Being kissed on the cheek too hard. As though I’m some elderly aunt that everyone kind of likes, and any second now I’m going to give him a boiled sweet and a pound coin, then never see him again. He’ll come to my lavender-soaked funeral, and look down at my powdery dead face, and that’ll be it.
I really don’t know why I ever expect anything more.
***
Kitty goes first. For some reason she’s packed another suitcase full of Professor Warren’s old cardigans, but hey—I’m not going to question her on it. Yesterday I was busy looking through broken bicycles and old lamps, searching for the secret behind yet another impenetrable man.
We all deal with things in different ways.
“We’ll speak tomorrow,” she says, as she gives me a one-armed hug. Mainly because that’s the deal now. We have to call each other every Tuesday without fail, and say all the things we always meant to before.
Things like: We’re best friends. Let’s not ever stop talking to each other, again.
“I’ll call you,” I say, and I mean it. It’s not just some little placatory thing you tell somebody, to smooth a good-bye. It’s real and it’s good and even if there’s nothing else I get to take away from all of this, at least there’s that.
Me and Kitty are good, whispering-through-the-darkness-of-the-dorm-room friends again. I don’t even have to worry about it, with her, or hang myself out on a limb. She just comes right out with it before she gets herself into the honking cab that’s waiting on the driveway.
“I love you, my little friend,” she says, and I get to say it back to someone. I get to say it back!
God, I don’t know why I’m suddenly crying. Though luckily, Wade steps in, so it’s not as though I have to embarrass myself any further. I just wave as the car pulls away and Wade waves too, and then even better he puts an arm around me.
Or maybe it’s even worse, because it’s just not him I need to do that to me anymore. Once upon a time, maybe, but not now. Now I just love someone else, another person to add to my collection of people who don’t love me back, who don’t put their arms around me, who don’t feel the way I do.
Who just gaze at me from their too faraway place on the driveway, and don’t say anything at all.
***
Wade goes next, and it’s fine. It’s really fine. It’s funny, in fact, because I don’t cry the way I did for Kitty. I just hug him extra tight and when he says, “I wish things could have been different,” I actually laugh.
“No you don’t,” I tell him, and then he holds my face in his hands. He kisses me, lightly, on the mouth.
“I wish I was different,” he says, and yeah, OK, I almost cry over that.
God, I hadn’t thought that this day would be so hard. It hadn’t seemed like anything as it rushed up to meet us. It just hadn’t felt like some moment when we’d all get in cabs and go our separate ways, as though the only thing keeping us here was a strange set of terms courtesy of Professor Warren.
Just one month, he’d stipulated. And we all stuck to that like glue, for reasons unknown to the universe.
“Good-bye, Wade,” I say, and that’s it. The Candy Club is no more, once again.
I mean sure, we’ve all vowed to meet up again—probably somewhere around Christmas, or hey, maybe in the New Year! But unlike the bond that me and Kitty have re-forged I know that those are just empty promises of people with busy lives and things to do and oh, we’ll never have this again.
This time next year, the house will be sold. We’ll have all moved on, and only the fondest, faintly embarrassed memories of actually acting on our insane sexual tension will remain.
***
I think it once I’m in the cab, with everything getting smaller and smaller behind me. I should have hugged him. I shouldn’t have let things be the way they were with Wade, all bitter and clumsy and not knowing what to do with feelings that have no return.
And then I realize it, with a great gush of something that isn’t quite sadness: it doesn’t matter if they have no return. My life is shaped by feeling those things anyway. By being full of love, even when it doesn’t come back to me.
I’m glad that I’m this way. I don’t want to be any other—too scared to run the final race. Too afraid to really feel anything, in case or because of or is it OK if I do?
It’s OK. It’s OK if I do. The Queen has found her heart, and all is well in the land of Hamin-Ra.
Or at least, I think it is until I go through
my bag, searching for tissues. And then I find it, the thing he probably intended me to discover once I was home—a story, I think it is. He’s folded the sheets of plain paper in the middle—five pages thick, I think, which just makes me thrill from head to toe—and I open them slowly.
Because you know, I’m not excited or anything. It’s not as though I think this is going to be some tale of hidden feelings or a story about how much he secretly loves me, and even if it is, well. Well. Maybe I don’t want a story anymore. Life isn’t a story. I want the real thing, you know, the real thing.
Only then I see the words. These words from my strange, still, lost at the bottom-of-a-lake Cameron. So closed down and careful about everything he says, until right now. Right at the last second when it’s almost too late—but not quite.
I ask the driver to turn around. I do, because it’s not a story at all—or maybe it is. It’s the end of one, the end of my story, and it says: And then he told her how much he loved her back, truly and madly and deeply.
The end.
Awakening
by Elene Sallinger
He will open her eyes to the ultimate pleasure…
The minute Claire walked into his shop, she aroused every protective instinct Evan ever had. She looked so fragile, so lost. He ached to be the one to show her a world she’d never dreamed of, to awaken within her the passion she was so ripe to share. It only takes one touch for him to see how open and responsive she is to his dominant side. But the true test will be whether he can let go at last and finally open his heart…
Festival of Romance Award Winner
What readers are saying:
“If Fifty Shades of Grey intrigued you, Awakening will take you to a whole new level of desire, submission, and unforgettable romance.” —Judge, Festival of Romance contest
Telling Tales Page 22
