by Nina West
Michael’s body tenses beside me. “Guys.... Watch it.”
“Yo.” One of them calls out, and a moment later. “Oh! Sorry.”
They must have seen my clothes hanging by the window. At least they have the decency not to talk about women like that while one of them is here.
There’s some whispering, and then feet shuffling, and then the door opens and closes.
And we’re alone again.
Oh my God. My cheeks flush with realization. They left to give us privacy. They think we’re having sex.
Michael smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that. Miguel’s got a foul mouth but he’s harmless.”
Miguel? “The line cook in the staff lodge?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
That’s where I’ve heard his voice before. “I met him on my very first night here.” I smile. “Seems like so long ago.”
“The days here are long, aren’t they?”
I sigh. “The longest.”
Michael shifts to his side, propping his head up by an elbow. “Here. Roll onto your stomach.”
“Why?”
I tense as he reaches over to prod the muscles in my back with his strong fingers. “Because your muscles are tight. I can help with that.”
He once offered to give me a massage. I declined, all because Henry asked me not to go anywhere near him. A tiny spark of anger flares in the pit of my stomach. Henry doesn’t get to demand things like that. Not anymore.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, rolling over to face the wall, tucking my arms along my sides.
He sweeps my long, damp hair over and begins gently kneading between my shoulders with one hand, ignoring my words. “Are you happy you came to Alaska?”
A soft, embarrassing moan escapes me, the strength of his fingers against my muscles soothing. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment about it. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Working directly for Mr. Wolf can’t be easy.”
I don’t want to think about Henry Wolf, or what we had and don’t have, or how he used me, how he lied to me. How he’s screwing those two women right now.
“Relax, Abbi,” Michael murmurs, his voice deep and soothing. “You’re as tight as a wire.”
Henry liked to tell me how tight I am.
I close my eyes and focus on Michael’s large, strong hand instead. “This must be the last thing you want to do right now, after doing it all day.”
“Normally I’d say yes, but that’s definitely not the case with you.”
Is that his way of saying he’s interested in me? If so... it’s flattering, but I just have no energy to even think about being with another man right now. So I stay quiet and revel in the feel of his skilled hand as it works along my shoulders and down my back, the pressure perfect, the motions rhythmic. Even one hand is heaven. What would both feel like?
Michael seems like a genuinely nice guy. I eye the small ledge on the wall—a design feature for each bed in each cabin, to house your personal items. He’s tossed his wallet and phone up there, next to a small box of tissues. And a strip of condoms.
Has Michael slept with someone here?
In this bed?
Do I even really care?
“Have you warmed up enough now?”
“Hmmhmm,” slips from my mouth, my eyes still glued to those condoms.
He tugs on the cotton t-shirt. “Would you mind taking this off? It’s easier against bare skin.” He must sense my hesitation because he quickly adds, “I do this with clients every day, Abbi.”
“You lie in bed with clients every day?”
The bed shakes with his laughter. “Okay, maybe not that. But I’m not going to try anything on you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
He does massage naked bodies all the time. I take a deep breath and, before I can think too much about it, I’m lifting his t-shirt over my head and setting it next to me on the pillow.
Goose bumps erupt all over my back and I want to pull the covers up to my neck.
The weight in the bed shifts and Michael’s suddenly moving and tugging at the covers, and I feel the soft cotton of his sweat pants brush against my bare legs as he slides in next to me. “There. Now we can pull them all the way up and keep you warm.” His fingers smooth over my back from under the blankets and he continues kneading. “Perfect. I can get deeper this way.”
My blood stirs at his words, even if I don’t want it to.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say any more, seemingly content to work away all the stress and tension in my back and arms in silence, his hand touching every square inch of my skin, his fingers never once wandering too far down to graze the sides of my breasts, pressed against the mattress.
But this silence is a dangerous place for me.
Because in the silence, with Michael’s skilled hands on me, I’m thinking of Henry.
Of what he’s doing right now.
Of what went wrong.
Of what, if anything, was ever real or true.
I can’t spend the rest of the summer around him, at his beck and call. I just can’t do it. But I won’t go home. I won’t be stuck spending the summer in Greenbank with Mama, listening to her go on about Jed and how I need to win him back.
Why would Henry refuse to let me move to another department? Is it a power thing? Why would he want to hurt me like that, when he’s already hurt me so badly? Is he that heartless?
A fresh wave of tears stream down my cheeks again, these ones silent.
But somehow Michael knows immediately. He slips one of his long muscular arms beneath my head and, with a gentle hand on my shoulder, rolls me onto my side, until my back is against his chest. Adjusting the blankets so they’re covering my bare front, he ropes his other arm around and folds both in front of me, loosely hugging me. “It’ll be okay. Whatever it is, you’ll be fine,” he murmurs into my hair.
I don’t know if he’s right but it feels good, hearing him say that. “I’m so tired.” I really am.
“Then shut your eyes and go to sleep.” He reaches above us to switch off the small reading light. The night-light that’s plugged into the wall socket next to the shelf kicks on, casting a glow in the small space. Not annoying, just enough to know where I am when I wake up.
I begin to believe that maybe I can just fall asleep here, in the comfort of Michael’s arms.
That’s when the door bursts open and a woman’s giggle carries through the cabin.
Michael heaves a deep, irritated sigh. I gather he’s not happy about the additional company. “I can ask them to leave, if you want,” he whispers.
“No. It’s okay.” He shares this cabin with five other guys. They have a right to be here, too.
There’s a series of stumbles and “ouches” and “shits” and more giggles—they’re obviously drunk—before a bed creaks and a privacy curtain draws.
“James! Stop!” The girl whisper-giggles. The sound of a slap follows, then zippers being unfastened, and then the very distinctive smacking of lips. Low music starts playing—over a phone speaker, probably. Not nearly loud enough to drown them out.
“Do they know you’re here?” I whisper as softly as possible.
“I doubt they care.” Michael’s sigh skates over my neck. “And I’m sorry.”
About five seconds later, the girl lets out a guttural moan and I understand what Michael is apologizing for. We’re about to lie here and listen to his roommate have sex.
Chapter Thirteen
“No! It’s your turn first this time,” the girl whispers.
“I can’t. I’ve been watching your ass in those tight jeans all night. I won’t last through it. But I won’t take long, I promise. And then I’ll be ready again by the time you’re done. Please,” James negotiates.
He must have convinced her because a moment later he lets out a low, “Fuck, yeah. All the way, baby.”
The muscles in Michael’s arms begin to cord, but otherwise he remains silent and still as we listen to
some girl suck his roommate off.
I’m now wide awake, and suddenly feeling the urge to giggle, the reality of my night just too much.
“Shhh,” Michael whispers into my ear, but I can hear the amusement in his tone. He wants to laugh, too.
“How often do they do this?”
“A few times a week. That’s the problem with this setup. I mean, come on. There’s no privacy, so people either abstain for months or relax their need for privacy. Guess which option most people are leaning toward?”
I don’t know that Katie and Rachel have ever had a need for privacy to begin with.
James’s moans and whispered instructions are growing louder and more frequent as the minutes pass, and Michael’s heartbeat against my back is speeding up. He’s breathing heavier, too, and has shifted his lower half away from my body.
He’s turned on, listening to his friend get a blow job. I guess I can’t blame him for it. Listening and watching to Katie and Rachel in bed together affected me, too.
Finally, we hear James groan a warning of, “I’m coming.” It’s followed by a series of primal grunting sounds that sparks a tingling between my thighs, my own breaths coming harder and faster, by body naturally tensing.
The bed creaks loudly as they shift positions.
And the girl lets out a soft gasp.
I close my eyes and grope for Michael’s hand in the dark. He takes it, weaving his fingers within mine, tightening his hold as she moans.
I remember what that feels like, to have Henry’s face there. The first swipe of Henry’s tongue over my clit, the delicious burn of his stubble against my skin. It was excitement, and nerves, and anxiety, all mixed together.
All that time Michael spent working the knots out of my back seems pointless now, as tension seeps into my body once again, the knowledge that I’ll never feel Henry’s touch like that again excruciating.
The realization that his face is between someone else’s legs tonight, agonizing. I fight against the urge to begin crying again, focusing instead on the girl’s pants, picturing their naked bodies—tangled; imagining what it would feel like to be on my back, feeling that right now.
If this attractive, nice guy, who I would probably be fantasizing about had I never crossed paths with Henry Wolf, who is holding me tightly, had his face between my legs.
My chest is rising and falling with quick breaths, and a deep throb grows between my legs. I can’t relieve the pain in my heart, but I can relieve that discomfort, at least.
And why shouldn’t I?
Henry doesn’t care.
There’s a voice in the back of my mind, screaming at me to stop, to rethink this, to think about my values and what I’ve already given up. I force it aside, because neither that voice nor my values will help ease the emotional ache.
Steeling my nerve, I tighten my grip over Michael’s hand, and I move it toward my chest, pulling it under the covers, down along my curves, his knuckles skating over my nipple as I drag his hand farther down, all the way to the waistband of the boxers I borrowed from him, so loose they’ve practically slipped off me anyway.
I hesitate, but only for a second, until I remind myself that I want to not think about Henry and what he’s doing right now.
Michael tenses behind me, and for just a moment I worry that he’s going to refuse.
But then he shifts his body to press his long, hard erection against my backside.
I close my eyes and hold my breath as I drag his hand farther down, pushing the boxers down and unfurling my fingers from his to settle his hand on my smooth mound.
His shaky sigh skates across the side of my cheek, but he doesn’t hesitate, slipping a long finger through my wet folds, slowly and gently, the arm that my head is resting against curling, pulling my head tighter against his. Over and over, his finger slides back and forth, skating over my clit, never pushing inside me.
Making me grow incredibly wet with anticipation.
I’ve tuned out the girl next to us, my lips pressed firmly together to keep my own moans from escaping as Michael teases me mercilessly. I’m torn between staying still and rolling onto my back to give him better access.
Finally, on one of those lingering strokes over my opening, his finger doesn’t glide past, instead slipping inside me. My stomach muscles clench with the intrusion. “Is this because of me? Or them?” he whispers, his mouth pressed against my ear.
“Both,” I answer honestly, shamelessly.
I guess he’s okay with that answer. He tugs my boxers down, stretching to push them past my knees. I easily kick them off the rest of the way. With a hand on my inner thigh, he guides my leg up to curl over his, pulling my body back into him, opening me up to him. And then his hand is back between my legs, and he’s plunging two fingers deep inside me, as far as they can go. He finds my clit with the pad of his thumb, and he begins circling it with the same skill he used to work the knots in my back.
I close my eyes and lose myself in both Michael’s hand and his lips, now trailing wet kisses along my neck, making me shiver.
Next to us, the girl lets out a deep, guttural moan, followed by a cry. That’s two girls I’ve heard come tonight.
I’m going to be the third.
The sounds of a bed creaking and foil tearing tells me they’re moving on to the third act next to us. It doesn’t bother me much, now that I’m minutes away from coming myself. “Oh, yeah,” James groans deeply, and I know he’s just pushed himself into her. My muscles clench against Michael’s fingers.
The repetitive squeak of the mattress and skin slapping begins. Michael grinds his hips into my ass, pressing his hard length against me. He’s practically panting, his warm breath kissing my skin in little puffs.
I begin to feel guilty. Everyone in here is about to get off, but him.
So I reach back and, with tentative fingers, slip inside his track pants, under his boxers, and wrap my hand around his girth. He’s big. Not as big as Henry, but still impressive. And so incredibly hard.
“Abbi,” he whispers against my ear as I slide my hand up and down his cock, the angle and the fact that he’s wearing pants making it awkward.
“Yeah?”
He hesitates before whispering, so quietly, “You can say no, and it’ll be okay but... I really need to be inside you.”
My hands stills, his request stealing my breath. Sex? With Michael? Just days ago, I was still a virgin. How did this happen?
Because I met Henry Wolf. That’s how this happened.
A pang twists my heart.
“Okay,” I hear myself whisper without thought. Because I don’t want to give room to focus on consequences or regrets or anything but my physical needs right now. Because I have this deep throb between my legs that I want relief from. Because I do like Michael and I find him attractive.
We quickly adjust our bodies, me shifting to my back and him kneeling between my legs. The blankets have fallen off me, leaving me completely naked and exposed, but thankfully only as much as the low glow of the nightlight allows.
He’s fumbling with his things on the ledge, knocking stuff over. “Fuck, I know I have one somewhere here,” he mutters. He switches on the reading light.
Suddenly our little nook is flooded with light.
I tense, the urge to cover myself strong. Michael pauses in his search, his eyes flaring with desire as they take my body in, drifting from my breasts to my stomach, to the bareness between my legs. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Reaching over his head, he yanks his t-shirt off, and then pushes his track pants down past his thighs, letting me take in his naked body, his chest firm, his torso long and lean but layered with defined muscle, his erection standing tall, a bead of moisture resting on top. With another quick top-to-bottom look at me, his eyes like finger trails along my body, he focuses on the small ledge by the wall again, seizing a condom.
Ripping the wrapper with his teeth, I watch him roll the condom over himself. They’re still going stro
ng next door, both of them grunting and moaning, completely unconcerned with us.
And I’m going to do this. I’m really going to have sex with Michael tonight.
“Can I?” I reach for the lamp, switching it off before he can deny me the option.
In the dim light, I watch Michael climb on top of me, my thighs spreading wide apart to accommodate his hips, and his cock, which is now sliding along my slit, the tip lining up with my entrance.
One quick thrust will get him inside me.
But instead of thrusting in, he leans down to cover my lips with his. His touch is soft, the gentle tentative strokes of a first kiss, as if we’re not seconds away from having sex. I open my mouth for him, and welcome his tongue against mine, tasting Michael for the first time. He eases my nerves with each pass of his tongue, his kisses growing deeper until the stubble from his chin scrapes across my skin.
He’s propped up on one elbow, but his free arm moves down my body to fill his hand with my breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing over my pebbled nipple in small circles. A thrill shoots down to my stomach, straight to my clit.
And so suddenly, he thrusts himself into me.
I cry out with the odd mix of pleasure and pain.
“You’re so tight,” he whispers against my lips, drawing his hips back and then pushing in again, sliding in deeper. I’m only somewhat conscious of the fact that James may be able to hear him say that, if they’re listening.
With each thrust, he moves deeper, until I’m stretched and completely full.
I’ve now officially had sex with two men. It’s an odd mental declaration to make. I wonder if every woman does this at that pivotal moment of a guy entering them for the first time, or is it just inexperienced women like me?
Michael’s so different from Henry. Where Henry took and demanded, Michael has tested and hesitated and waited. Up until now. Now there’s no hesitation, the bed creaking with each one of his thrusts, competing with his roommate. Two couples having sex no more than ten feet apart. I should be mortified but right now all I can focus on is how good this feels.
