by Crowe, Liz
“Yeah. I just skied, stopped, and now you’re in my face. Back off.” He tried to shrug out of his grasp. But Jack wouldn’t let go.
“No.” The look on Jack’s face made him pause. “You went down a closed fucking hill, you dumb ass showboat.”
“No I didn’t.” He swallowed, sensing the sudden proximity of Christine. He would swear he could smell her. “Let go of me.” He yanked his arm out of his friend’s grip and clicked out of skis, picked them up and stalked away from the group. His brain buzzed and his cock was so hard it made him grunt in pain as he got as far from that girl as he could.
“You’re not an adrenaline junkie. You’ve got a fucking death wish.” Jack hollered after him. Rob ignored them all. They’d never understand. Never. And he’d never tell them. He’d had enough bullshit sympathy to last him a lifetime.
Chapter Two
Rob watched as Jack threw his cards on the table to the sounds of jeering and cheering. Jack shrugged, and slipped out of his jeans, leaving him clad only in boxers and socks. Rob tried to keep his eyes off the girl next to him. His friend had kept his cool since the earlier confrontation, not speaking beyond the necessary words for bathroom coordination. They ate the ribs one of the guys had cooked on the huge grill provided with the condo, washing down the hot, Texas-style barbequed meat with ice-cold beer. Rob had kept apart from the crowd, sensing the anger that still lingered over his antics on the slopes.
He still had most of his clothes on, as did Suzanne and one other of their friends. But Christine was down to her bra and panties. She remained seemingly unfazed by the scene while sipping straight Scotch, the swell of her near-perfect breasts above a black silk bra making all the men gape like idiots. Annoyed, he glanced at Suzanne at one point. Her eyes were narrowed, and on Jack. Rob sighed and stood, the drama quotient in the room more than he cared to endure.
“I’m done.” He walked away without another word, realizing his rudeness but needing space more than he needed to be polite. The near constant hard on he’d been sporting since laying eyes on Christine made him wince with a combination of pain and aggravation. The frigid air hit him hard, cooling him from tip to toe. He sighed and flipped on the hot tub jets, stripping out of all his clothes before stepping into the bubbly water. Letting the heat soothe the ache in his quads from hours on the slopes, he leaned back, closed his eyes. Tried like hell to stop his brain from spinning.
After years spent staring at four walls of a hospital room, he’d learned the hard way how to entertain himself. A voracious reader still, he was never without a couple of books and magazines at hand. He still called on the old distraction tricks when he got stressed. Internal mantras about the next set of doctors giving him “good news,” or Beatles songs he’d repeat on a endless loop in his imagination, all of it had worked then, why not use them now? He tried. But the recent memory of her near naked body kept intervening.
Since being told at sixteen that his ten-year battle with leukemia was, for all intents and purposes, over, he’d kept a tight grip on the urge to plan an actual future. The poison they had poured into his system in a seemingly vain attempt to kill the perfectly happy, living cancer cells in his blood, had finally worked. The cancer had grumbled and retreated into a cave of remission. A cave he walked up to every six months, nonchalantly whistling, hands tucked in his pockets or running through his new grown and now long blonde hair, expecting the worst.
Rob’s mind whirled with snowy images and memories. The usual ones—his sobbing mother, his stoic father, the creepy, smelly priest who had a thing about patting Rob’s leg higher and higher on his thigh every time he visited—they never faded. No matter how many sheer cliff walls he climbed or black diamond slopes he shot down. His direct “fuck you” to the deadly cells that he still sensed, lurking, growling and pissed off at him. Ready to pounce.
He sighed, and sank further down into the steamy bubbles. He nearly leapt out of his skin when something ice cold touched his shoulder. “Shit!” He glared at Jack.
“Calm my brother,” Jack wandered around the sunken hot tub and perched on a wooden bench, holding his own beer. Rob curled his fingers around the brown bottle, aggravated but relieved by his friend’s presence. “Cheers.” Jack held up his bottle, waited until Rob did the same. They drained most of the twelve ounces in one gulp. The snow glowed faintly behind Jack’s nearly invisible silhouette. Rob chuckled.
“Where is she?”
“Where’s who?” Jack never admitted defeat. He went into denial mode. The amazingly hot, mysterious woman had obviously rejected his nearly naked flirtations during the poker game. Not something that happened often - to either of them. Rob heard the steadily louder laughter drift out of the glass doors. Suzanne trotted out, her small form encased in jeans and a giant wool sweater, a burning joint in one hand. She handed it to Jack as he drew her down to his lap. Rob wondered not for the first time, how the two of them never got together. They were so touchy-feely all the time.
But Jack had assured him he had no interest in fucking up a perfectly great friendship with the slight, smart, red head. Rob had only asked once how actually having sex with a woman would “fuck up” a friendship. He hadn’t gotten a good answer then, and didn’t anticipate one now.
Jack took a deep toke then Suzanne brought it to him. The weird sensation of jumpiness remained. Usually a long day of physical activity cured that for him, allowed him to sleep a few hours. Not today. His cock stirred, but he willed himself under control. There was no way he’d act like a horn dog around Christine. Nope. She’d come to him, eventually. The pot worked its usual calming magic. He smiled, and blew smoke straight up into the freezing air. Suzanne put a soft kiss on his lips before hopping up and heading back inside.
Jack watched her leave. “Don’t start,” he muttered before stripping out of his clothes and climbing in across from Rob.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rob took another hit, then passed the joint to Jack. The aches he’d been nursing in his back and legs started to fade.
Within a week of being given the all clear the day after his sixteenth birthday he’d headed to the gym, used every ounce of his near ten-year, bed-ridden pent up energy to get his body in the best physical shape he could. He ran for miles, lifted weights, did thousands of push-ups and sit-ups. Every sore muscle he viewed as a gift. Albeit one he had on loan from the cancer library. And that place had a real bitch of a librarian.
“So,” Jack finished off the roach. “You gonna talk to me or what?”
“You my therapist now?” Rob closed his eyes and tried to maintain the calm, to not let the antsy nerves he’d been fighting since that morning take over. He’d gotten his all-clear again. No reason to stress for another six months. He needed to focus on school. He’d declared himself a pre-med major and was about to hit the meat of that program with a couple of four-hundred level chem classes this semester.
“Nope. Just your friend. Or so I thought.”
Rob let the comfortable silence between them spin out a few minutes then took a breath. “When I was seven years old I got beaned playing T-ball. Ended up in the hospital for an x-ray. My mom told the ER doc I’d been getting nosebleeds a lot, like every night for a month. A few tests later I officially had six months to live.”
Jack took a breath, but stayed quiet, for which Rob was grateful. He hated this shit. Hated it nearly as much as living through it. The awkward sympathy he’d get always rang false. He didn’t like feeling angry at healthy people. But he did. “I spent the next ten or so years in a various hospitals and clinics, getting the equivalent of Drain-O pumped into my veins to try and slow the aggressive cancer cell coup occurring in my blood stream. All kinds of fucking experts, students, researchers came at me. My parents had great insurance. I was an anomaly for a while. It was an oncologist’s wet dream. And yes, I went to Disney World as a bald, pitiful-looking little kid. At that point I had six months to live…again. I lived my life between the ages of seven and si
xteen in six month increments.”
He drank the rest of his beer. “Got any more?” Jack rose, water sluicing off his lean muscles. Rob stared at him, admiring his friend’s physique and rugged good looks for the thousandth time.
As much as his fraternity brothers and friends claimed he had “play” Rob never acknowledged it. Figuring he was just standing in for some other, tall, blonde, good-looking pussy magnet, marking time until the sickly kid returned, eyes huge and yellow, as his liver fought and lost the battle. He continued. “I had a liver transplant and now only have one functioning kidney.” Jack yanked back the cold beer he’d been ready to hand him. Rob laughed. “But my new liver must have come from a healthy nun because I have no limitation on drinking, other than, you know, becoming an alcoholic or whatever.” Jack slipped back into the water. Rob bit his lip, tried to get his roiling emotions under control. He’d never told this story to anyone.
“My father died an alcoholic, a year before I got my all-clear. He was a cold bastard. And rich. So I’m set, pretty much.” Jack looked up and over Rob’s shoulder at the sound of the door opening onto the deck. The sight of his friend’s raised eyebrow told Rob one thing—Christine had emerged. Rob’s chest tightened.
Of all the times they’d shared women, he’d never once begrudged Jack. They had a good system. A tag-team flirt machine that most women fell for astonishingly fast. Their record was ten minutes from eye contact to double penetration in the girl’s sorority house bedroom while her friend watched. She’d been hot, sleek and later, way too clingy. They’d had her once more that week, in their selfish, youthful way, then neither of them returned her calls.
Rob shook his head. This one he would not share. He glared at Jack as they both studiously ignored the woman. She took a seat on the wood bench, a beer in one hand, her sleek black hair pulled back. The one lone tendril that framed her face made Rob clench his fists. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear, then lick that spot at the corner of her plump lips, taste her there. Taste her fucking everywhere. Jesus. His cock sprang to attention and his brain swam at the sudden lack of blood combined with pot and however many beers he’d consumed that day. She stayed silent.
“Remission?” Jack spoke, jarring Rob out of his reverie. He shifted a little, experiencing that strange pleasure/pain of a hard on with no obvious outlet in the near future. “I mean…if you want to tell me.”
Rob cocked his head to one side. He was high as a fucking kite right now and his dick could cut diamonds. It was a buzz. Just how he liked it. He laughed. “Yeah. Remission. But it will be back. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, that explains your asshole-ish behavior. Mostly.”
“Yeah. So what’s your excuse?”
Jack flipped him off. The sexual tension on the deck ramped up a notch. Rob stared at his friend, giving into a brief fantasy he’d entertained. Then shook his head to dispel it. If he ever went down that road it would not be with Jack Gordon, and he knew it.
“You guys are pretty hot, you know it?” Christine’s raspy voice made them both look up. “Yin and Yang. Dark and light. Bet that’s worked well for you so far.” She sipped her beer, one long leg tucked up underneath her. Rob blinked, unable to stop staring at the high red of her cheekbones, the lean line of her neck. He gulped as she stood. The snow seemed to highlight her, make her skin glow as she slipped out of her jeans and pulled the sweatshirt over her head.
“Fuck. Me.” Jack murmured at the sight. The perfect swell of her breasts, tipped with rock hard pink nipples made Rob’s head pound. Her thighs were strong, he noted, as the utterly ridiculous thought that he should get her workout routine crossed his lust addled brain. He’d never seen quads like that on a woman. His eyes traveled upward, took in the light dusting of coal black hair over her sex, to the definition of her abs and back to those amazing…He looked away, angry with himself for being so easy, and furious with her for doing this. For playing him.
She slid into the water, and Rob nearly came without a single touch at the sweet sound of satisfaction she made as she sunk down beneath the bubbles. He glared at her. She stared at him, her chocolate colored eyes expressionless, flat. He wanted her so bad he had to choke back protest when Jack put a hand on her bare shoulder, drew his finger along the line of her collar bone, up her neck. But when he tried his patented “turn her face and kiss her fast” move, she balked, moving away from him.
Rob smiled and shrugged when Jack shot him a dark look. The haze of pot and beer, of stress and cold, of the near constant sensations of simultaneous relief and tension he lived with every day made him feel slow, languorous. When he found himself face to face with her he was shocked. Her breath on his face, her tongue in his mouth, her body pressed against his underneath the water, her hand on his shaft, his hands caressing the amazing swell of her breasts—it all passed in some kind of surreal dream state.
He had no idea where Jack went, only that he had disappeared, thank god. He fisted a hand in Christine’s silky hair, tugged on it, exposing her neck to his lips and teeth. She made that noise again, somewhere between a soft, breathy moan and a grunting sigh of satisfaction as she leaned over him so he could suck a perfect nipple between his lips. “Harder,” she whispered, clutching at his hair, holding him in place. He bit down on her flesh. His hips moved of their own accord, as his cock sought release. He nearly cried out from the overwhelming need to be inside her. But she stayed up on her knees keeping that part of them separate. The soft warm folds of her sex against the agony of his erection made him breathless. She smiled, lowered her lips to his and kissed him, sucked his tongue into her mouth, and shifted her hips just enough.
“Holy mother of…yes…” Rob sighed as she sank down on him, enveloping his need, his every molecule. He kept one hand buried in her hair and watched her face as she moved up and down on his cock, controlling the angle and speed to suit herself. She ground her clit against his pubic bone, flexing her pussy around him so hard he groaned. Concentrating on the way the stars spun around overhead, the quadratic equation, his upcoming chemistry lab assignment; anything lest he shoot his load in seconds.
She gripped his shoulders. “Look at me,” her sexy, raspy voice commanded. He opened his eyes, not remembering when he closed them. She leaned in, forced her tongue between his lips again, as she moved her hips so fast Rob nearly blacked out. The orgasm smacked him right between the eyes as he gripped her full hips and pounded into her, coming in a glorious roar of ecstasy that she matched, even latching onto his shoulder with her teeth as her pussy contracted and spasmed around him, tugging him through the climax harder, longer than he’d ever felt in his life. “Damn.” She whispered, licking the place on his shoulder that already hurt from her bite. “Sorry.” She put her hands on his face, held him steady as he tried to focus on her.
“It’s okay. I-I think I love you.” He stuttered at one point, sighed as she lifted herself up and off him, moving to the far side of the hot tub. The tips of her still erect nipples poked up from the water, making Rob bite the inside of his cheek to keep from climbing all over her again. His cock had not softened one bit. He felt fully alive and completely buzzed all at once. He laughed up into the cold air. Laughed so loud and hard he heard the door opening behind him.
“You kids are awfully loud out here.” Jack’s voice was tight. But Rob did not care as he stared at Christine. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed. Winter break had definitely taken a turn for the better.
He frowned when she rose, letting the water slide off her skin. A funky, possessive feeling made the edges of his vision blur. He wanted to tell her not to do that; to cover up, not to let Jack see her gloriousness. Crazy. He shook his head and, by the time he realized she was gone, he actually wondered if he’d dreamed the whole damn thing. His cock was still hard enough to fuck two or three more women. He groaned, as the sweet post-orgasm relaxation rolled through him.
****
“No, we can’t.” The whisper near his ear made Rob blink, then roll ove
r. “Shhh… Oh shit, don’t stop.” He placed Jack’s voice.
What the hell?
A hangover threatened and Rob knew his only defense at this point would be to sleep more, to get past the worst of it. A soft grunt, a moan, a distinct shifting of skin on sheets. He put a pillow over his head. He’d not originally planned for this many people on this trip and the condo only had one bedroom and a couple of pull out couches. Christine had claimed one for herself, the other two girls had the other one, and the men were draped all over the bedroom. But last night had ended in a swirl of pot and booze.
By the time Rob had dragged himself out of the hot tub, feeling rubbery-legged and well satisfied, the group was passing around another joint. He’d sensed Christine’s eyes on him, following him, as he drank about a gallon of water. Then, ignoring the room on purpose to avoid the temptation to scoop the woman up and toss her over his shoulder, he’d fallen face first on the bed and passed out. The only thing he remembered was the sound of Suzanne crawling up next to him, muttering about “too much noise” and something that sounded like “just rest a minute in here.”
He rolled onto his back when the bed started rocking and looked over to see their red headed friend straddling Jack, one hand propped on his chest, the other gripping his thigh, moving her hips and moaning. Groaning at the ache in his head Rob sat, struggled to his feet and stumbled out. Taking one last look back he saw Jack sit up, cradle Suzanne on his lap as they rocked in unison.
Could get interesting. He walked into the still dim kitchen to make coffee and throw some bread in the toaster. The familiar sounds of a morning kitchen soothed him, remembering the few times his parents and he were home as he grew up, everyone in the house, but on edge thanks to him. His mother loved coffee and kept a pot going nearly all day, every day. The process gave him comfort as he went about filling the pot, measuring the black grounds into the basket, listening to the burble as it came to life. Another day started.
