Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

  “Anything.”

  “I want you on top. I like you like this,” he added, focus dropping to her breasts, her legs, back up. “All shameless.”

  She smiled again, blushing. “I like me this way, too.”

  “Hang on one sec.” He moved, sitting at the bed’s edge to root through the side table drawer. He took out a box of condoms, drawing his nail along the lid to break the seal. He detached one from a strip and stowed the rest.

  “You mind?” he asked, holding out the little square.

  She shook her head. Casey got back to where he’d been, legs spread, back against the pillows and headboard. She rolled the rubber onto him slow and careful, the act feeling like foreplay for the first time ever, instead of some awkward, mood-killing necessity.

  “I haven’t been on top in ages,” she whispered, straddling his legs.

  “Are you ready? I got lube, too. Or I could use my mouth, whatever you need.”

  Lube? Did people actually use lube? Abilene never had, ever in her life. Her very first lover had made it clear, if a woman wasn’t wet, it was about the worst insult you could deal to a man’s ego. James had always done the job with his spit, and she’d found that scandalous—felt ashamed that she’d needed it, but also relieved that he’d bothered to care.

  “What?” Casey asked, smiling at whatever upended expression she was wearing.

  “That’s not . . . Do people do that? Just use that stuff?”

  He laughed. “Lube? Yeah, of course. How else do you have sex in a big messy rush?”

  She wasn’t sure. Sometimes it was just uncomfortable, she’d figured. She’d always blamed herself for those times.

  “Have you seriously never used lube?”

  “No. Doesn’t it . . . I dunno. Hurt your feelings?”

  He snorted. “What kind of an asshole has the nerve to get his feelings hurt when he’s about to get laid?”

  Most of my exes, probably. She supposed it stood to reason, when you played the apologetic, deferring vessel, you attracted men who were content to treat you that way.

  “The bottle’s in the drawer,” Casey said, nodding to the table.

  She found it, messed around with the safety seal, recapped it. “How much do you . . .”

  Casey took it, squirted a small shining blob on his fingers. She watched with fascination and excitement as he slicked his cock. Crazy. All this time, she’d assumed this was the woman’s responsibility.

  “Here.” He wetted his fingers again and reached down between her legs, gently stroking the cool gel along her lips. Her breath drew short, from both the sensation and the brazenness of it.

  Casey laughed softly, capped the bottle and tossed it aside. “Hope you don’t think we’re cheating somehow,” he teased.

  Maybe a little, but really, that was her first lover’s voice, echoing from the back of her mind. She’d much prefer to listen to Casey’s, which seemed to be telling her this was completely normal.

  “Lay down a sec,” he whispered. She did, and he moved to kneeling, straddling her leg, fingers returning to her sex to trace her now-slick seam with slow, light motions. “Feel all right?”

  She nodded, all at once flushed and breathless. She’d never been touched like this, with such patience and reverence and curiosity. Her pleasure wasn’t lost on him. He lowered, coming closer, bracing himself on one arm and casting her in a thrilling shadow. She could feel the heat coming off him in waves and memorized the flex of his arm as he touched her, the expression on his face, the promise of his ready cock.

  “Could you . . . You know, inside me,” she mumbled. A clumsy sort of request, but the fact that she was directing at all was miraculous.

  “With my fingers?”

  “Yeah.”

  He gave her two, slow and smooth, and her mouth dropped open.

  He studied her face as his fingers worked, lust blazing in those blue eyes. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

  “Just about how good that feels.”

  He added his ring finger, the penetration changing, heightening. His name fell from her lips.

  “You want me to make you come?”

  And she knew he could. Knew it as a natural fact. But she wasn’t ready for this hunger to be over. She wanted to still be feeling all of this as he sank inside her. “Not this way, not yet. I want to feel you, first.”

  His hand slowed, then withdrew, and he knelt beside her. “C’mon.” He urged her to him by the waist. One of his hands was slippery, the detail feeling dirty and exciting and new. She came close to straddle his hips, lifted up, and he held his cock steady as she eased down.

  “Oh.” The sensation was potent, this way. Obscene and a little intimidating, with her on top, and the friction all smoothed away.

  “All right?”

  “Yeah.” She found the right angle, and with a slow, steady push she was seated tight against him. She could feel him inside, thrumming faintly.

  “Christ.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her collarbone was at his mouth, and he kissed her there, humming a hungry breath.

  “You feel good,” she said, starting to move. Her hips felt stiff, out of practice, but the motions were exciting. Something in the way her muscles flexed deepened the sensations inside, doubled them. Casey held those hips. His gaze was nailed between them, right at that explicit point of contact.

  “Do whatever feels good,” he murmured, sounding hypnotized. “Whatever you want from me.”

  She’d never come on top, but was eager to experiment. In time she found an angle that brushed her clit against the base of his cock when she eased forward and back, taunting with a tease of hair and the lip of the condom. The friction flared, urged her with a hit of heat and a tightening of her sex. She kept at it, and with each roll of her hips, she felt the pleasure drawing deeper, warmer, more urgent.

  Casey moaned. He seemed to have noticed her fixation, and she nearly abandoned it, feeling self-conscious. But he held her hips tighter, locking them into those short, taut little strokes. They couldn’t feel like much to him, but her excitement must. And she couldn’t deny how good it was, how wild it felt, chasing the mounting pleasure.

  Inside her he felt sinful, thick and hard, yet somehow patient, like he could do this forever, just be what she needed. And isn’t he? Isn’t he exactly what I need? In too many ways to ponder without losing track of her emotions.

  One of his hands drifted higher, tickling her belly, her ribs, then cupping her breast. It was rough, but not scratchy, and he eased her into the touch, merely holding her first, letting the shock of it dull. In time he drew his palm up and down softly, stiffening her nipple and leaving her breath short. Her eyes closed and she moaned, every ounce of simmering pleasure doubling. Next came his thumb. He didn’t tweak—she’d never liked tweaking—but ran it back and forth, back and forth, such perfect friction she felt an orgasm solidifying, growing heavy and hot inside her.

  “Casey.”

  “What do you need?”

  “This. Just this.” She needed nothing except to keep going, and inside a minute, it came—that scary-hot rush, the desperate crest, the quenching plunge on the other side.

  He stroked her cheeks and her hair, smiling as she came down, looking what could only be described as besotted. His complexion gave away his own excitement, his flushed skin not matching his patient, bemused expression.

  “Wow,” she huffed, slumping bonelessly into him.

  “Wow is good. I’ll take wow.”

  “Now show me.” She righted herself, energy kicking back up. “Show me what you want.”

  “Move like you were.”

  She did, taking him in those tight little motions, on now-achy hips.

  “Good. Now make it a little longer.”

  She lengthened the strokes, claiming nearly the full length of him with each push. He groaned against her shoulder, kissed her there, bit softly, swore. “Just like that. Exactly like that.”

  She didn
’t think she’d ever felt this way, taking orders from a guy. She’d been eager to please, or intimidated, or plain old obedient, but never this. Never so . . . powerful. Her muscles stiffened as she made the strokes a little quicker, a little rougher, and he was panting now, breath huffing like steam at her throat.

  “Fuck, please.” His hands were on her butt, riding the motions, not rushing them. Not forcing or even urging. He was taking what she gave, and excitedly. She excited him. That thought alone had her body racing with his.

  His plea heated her skin. “Don’t stop.”

  No chance. This was too thrilling. This moment, like the brightest, hottest current flashing between their bodies. It all built to a frenzied head in a breath, as he clasped her hips and began thrusting himself, driving his cock quick and deep and rough, then finally going utterly still, pinning her to him as his body clenched, released, clenched, and ultimately relaxed.

  Their skin was slick, collective breath rushing in the otherwise silent space.

  She could smell him, that ripe male smell that tricked her for a moment into thinking it was the height of summer. The height of summer vacation, perhaps, and this the perfect summer fling. All her responsibilities and all the questions surrounding her were gone for that moment, her world reduced to a realm no wider than this mattress.

  At length, he coaxed her away. She climbed under the covers while he left the bed to dispose of the condom. She welcomed his body against hers when he returned, and though she was still panting and sweaty now, the chill would find them soon enough, and she held him close.

  He kissed her forehead. All she could think was, That was perfect. That was everything. Everything, and far more than she’d ever imagined sex could be.

  “Hey,” he whispered, when neither had uttered a sound in some time. He said that a lot, and the word felt like theirs. A miniature tradition, like how Casey announced, “Red alert,” when detecting a diaper situation.

  “Hey.” She snuggled closer, no matter that his leg hair sort of itched her sweaty thighs, or that her face was probably all flushed and shiny. Everything was perfect, the way it was. She couldn’t remember feeling this content. Not in years and years.

  Not without drugs, anyhow.

  All in all, the sex had probably taken only ten minutes, fifteen at the most. And yet it had been the most intense and indelible encounter she’d ever had. No candles, no music; not even privacy, when you got down to it. She didn’t need those things when she had Casey. All the romantic trappings in the world paled next to the feeling of being so free with a man. So accepted, and so cared for.

  “You sleepy?” he asked.

  “Only a little.”

  “Tell me about the house, then.”

  “I’d like a garden,” she said. “Like my grandma and my mama had—beds all along the front of the house. Though the flowers here would be different. It’s so dry. But red flowers, to match the door and the mailbox.”

  “Good. Now tell me something about you,” he said.

  Her nerves prickled, chasing away the peace her body had found in the sex. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing heavy. Something nice. Just tell me something I don’t know about you, Abilene Price.”

  That’s not my name, for one. “Like what?”

  “Like, what were you like in high school?”

  “Well,” she said, tiptoeing into the shallow end of a deep, dark pool. “I didn’t graduate, so that’ll probably tell you something.”

  “No?”

  “No. I only got through my sophomore year. Things got rough after that.”

  “Okay, but before the rough stuff. What was it like then?”

  “I liked school,” she said, realizing how true that was. She carried a lot of shame around how her education had concluded, and avoided thinking about it whenever possible. But that was true, she had liked school. And it had liked her.

  “I got straight As. I had to try hard for them in algebra and during the physics parts of science class, but the rest was easy. I was on the junior varsity cheer team, too. And I sang in the school choir.”

  “You sound like the opposite of me,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I aced all my math and science classes, but scraped out plenty of Ds in English and history. Mainly because I didn’t give a shit, though. I probably could’ve done way better, but I had, like, fuck-all motivation to try if it wasn’t something that interested me.”

  “Were you a nerd?” she teased.

  Casey laughed. “No, probably not. Fortuity shared a school system with four other podunk little towns, and it was pretty bare-bones. No math team, no chess club, none of those Advanced Placement courses. Plus I probably thought I was too cool for that shit, anyhow.”

  “I was on the debate team for a semester.”

  “Were you any good?”

  “I dunno. At the research part of it, maybe. But honestly, probably not. I didn’t like standing up there, arguing with smart people. I mean, I used to think I was pretty smart myself, but I don’t like conflict. Not even civilized conflict.”

  “Do you not think you’re smart anymore?” he asked, sounding troubled by that throwaway comment.

  “Well, no. Not really. I mean, I’m not dumb or anything, but I’ve got a tenth-grade education. I was smart for a fifteen-, sixteen-year-old, but mostly because I was a good student. I doubt I’ve read more than a dozen books in—” She caught herself, about to say, in the past five years, which, if Casey was as good at math as he claimed, would’ve told him she wasn’t twenty-four, as most people believed. “Since then,” she finished lamely. A dozen books in five years, and at least half of those had been since Mercy had been born. Babies were good for providing sleepless nights and restless brains.

  “I could be smart again,” she decided aloud. “If I ever had a chance to go back to school.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “It sounds like a luxury. Like I said, I’d rather have a skill, like hairstyling or something. Getting a bachelor’s . . . I don’t even know what I’d want to study. If it can’t help me pay my rent, and quickly, it sounds too frivolous to imagine. But maybe in a few years, when Mercy is in school herself, I could take some classes. I’d like to learn Spanish again. I was good at Spanish, and it’d be useful around here. How, I’m not sure. Maybe if I ever got some job at the casino or something. Some kind of administrative job.” Such a thing sounded pleasant—steady and air-conditioned, with benefits, if not a ton of mental stimulation.

  “If you’d ever forgive me,” she added, wondering what kind of a future Benji’s had, once the Eclipse was up and running. The coming crowds could have them thriving, or the accompanying competition could choke them into oblivion. It was hard to guess.

  “You do whatever you need to do,” he said. “And pretending the casino’s not coming won’t make it so. I’m all about exploiting a given situation, so if you decide it’s what you want, I’d never tell you not to.”

  “Your brother would probably say it’s disloyal.”

  “My brother would also say that family comes first,” Casey said. “And you have to do what’s best for Mercy.”

  She nodded, mussing her already chaotic hair against the pillow. “I’m trying to, anyhow.”

  Casey shifted his legs, giving her own a little breathing room; their skin was clammy now, and she turned onto her back, freeing her arms and welcoming the cool, dry air on them. He did the same, and took her hand atop the covers, in the little hammock the blanket made between their hips. He yawned, the sound long and lazy, and telling her this pleasant chat was coming to an end. Before he could nod off, she shared a little more of that truth that had for so long eluded her.

  “This was really nice, just now.”

  “The talking, or what came before it?”

  “Both.” She hesitated before going on, unsure if it had been exceptional to him or not. What if the best sex of her life was nothing more than a typical encounter for him? He didn’t hold back t
he way she did, after all. Tonight had felt like a deep, dark surrender to her, whereas a man like Casey probably put everything on the table, every single time he went to bed with somebody.

  Still, her cowardly days were done. She was sick of hesitating, sick of deferring, sick of holding back her opinions, for fear they were wrong or dumb.

  “That was amazing,” she whispered.

  She heard his head turn on the pillow, felt his eyes on her face without even needing to glance at him.

  “You mean that?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I do. Not just because . . . You know, because I came,” she said shyly. “I just felt really connected, I guess. It was . . . I don’t know what the word is.”

  “Intense.”

  She nodded again. “Very.” But more. She’d had intense sex before, and it wasn’t always a great thing. Sometimes it could feel a little scary. But tonight . . . “Intense, but kind of freeing, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that, with a guy. Wild, maybe. Not out-of-control wild, just . . . Shit, I dunno.”

  He laughed, possibly to hear her swear, or possibly at the way she was dancing around an eloquent explanation but so completely failing to pin one down.

  “Electric,” he offered.

  She nodded vigorously. “That’s a good word.” Maybe not precisely the one she was after, but close.

  Casey sighed. “Someday, honey, I’m gonna get you alone, I swear to God. In my bed, where we can be as noisy as we want.”

  She smiled at that. Their hands were clasped limply, and she threaded her fingers with his, squeezing until it nearly hurt, then letting them fall slack.

  He kissed her forehead, whispered, “Turn over.”

  She did, enveloped by his strong arms. Enveloped in so much, it seemed. In feelings so much deeper than she was used to, and so much deeper than she’d ever expected them to get with this man.

  I’m falling for him. Falling quick, and hard, and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt, he had no plans to fall in return. The thought should have had her nervous, had her pulling herself up short, hitting the brakes.

  But hearts didn’t work that way, did they? And even if this falling could only ever lead to a painful crash, after all this time it felt too good to care.