Flame

by Erin Noelle

  Always with the smart mouth. My fingers bite into the delicate skin as I take everything that she offers, pounding into her probably harder than I should be, but I can’t control myself. For three fucking months, I’ve fantasized about her, not touching a single other female, almost to the point of unhealthy obsession. And now she’s here. Under me. Wrapped around me. All fucking around me. I can’t get enough.

  The speed and intensity escalates with each forward thrust of my hips, the pressure inside my balls building quickly as the love I have for this girl swells in my chest. Skin on skin, I hammer into her, offering everything I have to give, and as she reaches up and presses her hand to the side of my face with the gentlest of touches, the entire world blurs as I erupt with a feral, possessive growl of “Mine!” spilling into her and marking her like a savage beast.

  And I’m not the least bit sorry.

  Struggling to catch my breath, the pain under my ribs flares to life, but I push past it as I stare down at the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. If it took me nearly breaking my neck to make her wake up and realize what we have together, then I’ll sign up for that crash over and over again. The happiness I feel with her is worth every ounce of physical pain I can endure.

  “So now what do we do?” She giggles, glancing around the tranquil setting, most likely just remembering she’s at work.

  “I’ve still got sixty-five minutes, Sunshine.”

  MONDAY, OCTOBER 15

  THE SECOND MY LAST APPOINTMENT walks out the door, I grab my purse, thank Rosie again for covering for me, and then make a beeline for my Jeep. I float across the parking lot, barely feeling the ground beneath my feet, much like I’ve been doing ever since Levi left this afternoon. Amazing how different my mindset is now, just five hours after I trudged over this same pavement, afraid I’d truly fucked up my chance at something I wanted but was too scared to go after.

  Once the key is in the ignition and I’m buckled in, I pull my phone from my pocket and see a missed text from a little over an hour ago.

  Emilia: Hooker!!! You really think I wouldn’t have texted you back after everything we’ve shared??? I thought our kiss meant more than that. ☺ BTW, you got lotsa splainin’ to do, woman. Talk soon.

  Laughing out loud like an idiot, I sit in my car and type out a response. I assume Levi has already told her what happened today, and she’s probably practicing her I-told-you-so speech in the mirror at this exact moment. Bitch.

  Me: I was gonna kick your ass. I’ve been a ducking mess.

  Me: Ducking meds.

  Me: Ugh

  Me: FUCKING MESS!!!!

  Me: Grrr . . . Damn autocorrect.

  While I wait a few minutes to see if she’s going to reply right away, I shoot a message to Rory, needing to share my good news with him. I realize that Levi and I still have a lot to talk about, but I think we’re both willing to make sacrifices to try and be together, so I can worry about that later. For now, I’m still living on the high from the four earth-shattering orgasms I was blessed with today—at work, no less—and I may explode with this damn over-the-top, all-encompassing euphoria buzzing inside me. I’m not sure if that’s the right word for it, but it’s like whatever was tethering me to the ground has let go, and now I’m soaring through clouds of cotton candy riding a white unicorn under rainbows and glitter showers. Shit, I could inspire a Disney movie right now.

  Me: Dude! You’re never gonna guess who’s here!

  He’s quick on the draw. Must not be at work tonight.

  Rory: You don’t really want me to guess, do you?

  Me: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Rory: So what happened? Where did you see him? Give me the scoop. I know you’re dying to.

  Me: Can you talk? Too much to type out. Leaving work now.

  Rory: Yep. Lemme grab my headphones.

  Emilia still hasn’t texted back, so I hook the phone up to the vehicle’s Bluetooth and call Rory, who’s a great sport as he quietly listens to me babble during my drive home through a PG-13 version of Levi’s surprise visit at The Lotus Center. Like the good friend he is, he never interrupts, and he makes the right sounds at the right times that encourage me to keep yakking away about how magically romantic my day was.

  “When are you gonna see him again? Is he here for good?” he asks, his voice sounding genuinely happy for me.

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure. Right before he left, he said, ‘Soon, Sunshine. Real fucking soon.’ Then he kissed me and walked out.” I titter hesitantly, pausing as I exit the highway and merge onto the access road. “Do you want to come over and celebrate the end of my dry spell with me? I guess I need to open this damn mysterious envelope now too. You can come see the big reveal in person.”

  His warm laugh vibrates through the speakers. “Kota, sweets, I’m not about to drive nearly two hours to watch you read a love note from some other dude then drive back home. You’re the coolest chick I know—don’t you dare tell Hudson or Nali I said that—and I’d do just about anything for you, but I have to get up early and go to Fort Collins in the morning.”

  Fort Collins is where Aiden and Ivy live—Rory’s brother, who’s older than him by only ten months, and two-year-old niece. I don’t know the whole story about what happened to the mom, but apparently it involves Rory somehow too, and he doesn’t like to talk about it except to brag about the little girl, who has coppery red corkscrews all over her head and the biggest, brightest green eyes you’ve ever seen. He adores the ground she walks on and spoils her rotten, and recently, I’ve found myself picking things up for her when I’m out shopping. I always love getting her FaceTime calls to thank me for her goodies. She’s a serious doll.

  Every so often, he has to spend a few days watching Ivy while Aiden goes out of town for business, which usually happens with less than a day’s notice. This is why even though Rory absolutely hates bartending at the Half Pipe Pub in Breckenridge, he stays there, because the oldest of the three brothers, Brody, owns the restaurant and lets him out of his shifts without issue.

  “You can just stay the night at my place and go from here in the morning. That’ll cut over half of your travel time down anyway,” I contend. “Plus, I have gifts for Ivy.”

  I hear him shuffling something around, and then it sounds like he’s straining to pick something up. “I really can’t tonight, Dakota. I’m sorry. Aiden needs me to watch her two weeks this time, and I’ve got a shit ton of stuff to do around here before I leave. I just found out a couple of hours ago. I can swing by on my way in the morning, if you’ll get whatever you have together.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, feeling like a lousy friend. I haven’t asked him about his day or anything; all I’ve done is talk about me, me, me since we got on the phone. “My bad, Rors, I was being a selfish brat. You should’ve said something.”

  “Awww, please, all that ain’t necessary. You don’t need to apologize for being excited,” he replies good-naturedly. “Shit, I’m excited for you, and hopefully now I won’t have to listen to all of your bellyaching.”

  “Bellyaching?” I retort. “You’ve got me confused with that person you stare at in the mirror, Dimple Boy.”

  He makes a tsking noise and I’m willing to bet he’s rolling his eyes at me. “Text me later, when you open the envelope, and let me know what’s inside. I’ve gotta move these clothes to the dryer then start a new load.”

  “All right. I’m almost home anyway, and I should probably think about dinner sooner rather than later.” My stomach rumbles its agreement, my appetite charging back at full force.

  “Yes, you need to eat. I’m seriously worried about that dude crushing you,” he teases. Pausing a moment, I think he’s about to say goodbye, but instead, he says, “Hey, Dakota?”

  I inhale a deep breath, innately knowing I really need to pay attention to whatever he’s about to say. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t overthink this.” His tone is stern, but supportive and comforting. “I know you, and I know once you come down from
this initial high, you’re going to overanalyze the shit out of all of this and probably call me, freaking the fuck out. But don’t do that. Please. Don’t let your fear of losing the person you think you’re supposed to be keep you from discovering the person you’re meant to be.”

  There’s a couple of seconds of silence as I let the words sink in before I respond. The guy trips me out sometimes with his life advice. He’s a lot like Grams, but with the crudeness setting turned down a few notches.

  “I’ll try not to, but no promises that I won’t have a freak-the-fuck-out session or two at some point or another.”

  He snickers, knowing I speak the truth. “Fair enough. Now, go eat. Send me mountain man updates so I can live vicariously through you.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the beard is gone. I guess they had to shave it to treat the slash on his face,” I add, not ready to end the call just yet.

  “That’s a damn shame,” he jokes. “I kinda wanted to see what Hipster Barbie looked like being mauled by a grizzly bear.”

  I don’t even know how to comment to that. “Bye, Rors.”

  “Bye, Felicia.”

  And just like that, he goes from philosophical love doctor to ghetto fabulous, leaving me cracking up to the sound of a dial tone as I pull into the assigned covered parking spot in front of my apartment building. Everyone needs a Rory in their life, and I can’t wait for him to meet Levi. I know . . . think . . . hope . . . pray they’ll get along. I mean, they should. Right?

  Grabbing my purse, phone, and keys, I hop out of the Jeep and stroll lazily up to my place, lost in thought over the Levi and Rory dynamic. I’m not sure how this sort of thing usually works when you have a good guy friend and then you suddenly have a . . . well, I’m not sure what Levi is exactly, but apparently, he’s declared I’m his. Whatever that entails will have to be discussed soon, but that’s a completely different set of issues.

  Should I invite them both over for dinner and drinks? Or will that seem too weird? Like I’m trying to set up a threesome thing? ’Cause even though that’d be totally smokin’ hot, Levi made it crystal clear before how he felt about sharing me with someone else, which was a big fat rejection. Yeah . . . no, definitely shouldn’t go that route.

  Maybe we can all meet out at a restaurant instead, and I can invite Nali, Hudson, and Crew, as well as Emilia and Gunner, so it’s more like a casual group thing. Not an awkward, she-knows-who-has-the-bigger-dick in this conversation or an I-know-how-your-girlfriend-likes-tongue-in-her-ass type of setting. Yes, group thing is good. The more dicks and tongues and asses, the better.

  Reaching the front door, I giggle aloud at my last thought as I slide the key into the lock and push it open. Then, not paying attention to where I’m stepping, I trip over a cardboard box, catching myself with my hands just before my face got up close and personal with the brick on the side of the entry.

  “What in the fu—” Right before I release a string of curse words that would make Grams proud, I see the word Sunshine scribbled across the top in sloppy guy handwriting and I stop. Looking all around the walkway, I search for any sight of Levi or anyone else in the near vicinity, but all I see is a lady walking her dog across the lot.

  I pick up the box, which is lighter than I anticipate, and bring it inside—extremely intrigued and a bit nervous to find out what’s going on. Setting it on my small kitchen table, I cut through the tape and remove the tissue paper then dig in. The first thing I grab is a stuffed black dragon—Toothless, my favorite Night Fury—dressed in miniature motocross gear including the boots and the goggles. Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach as I squeeze it up next to me like a little girl with a new baby doll before setting it on the chair and pulling out the other item. Holding up a bright yellow riding jersey that’s identical to the black one Levi wears, I twist it around to the back and discover the words “Levi’s Girl” scrawled over his number.

  Wow. Just fucking wow.

  He remembered. And not only did he remember, he got it made for me.

  I’m speechless.

  In a half daze, I pick the box up to set it by the trashcan, but when I do, a folded up letter at the bottom catches my eye. Eagerly snatching it up, I open it and read it through. Twice.

  And let the freak-the-fuck out moments begin.

  TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16

  PLANNING AND PREPARING FOR A romantic date is a lot of fucking work. No wonder I never did this shit before. Along with Gunner and Emmy Sue, I’ve been on the phone with land owners, caterers, florists, and tour bus companies since I left Dakota yesterday afternoon at the spa, trying to get everything exactly the way I want it for tonight. No less than fifty calls. All of us trying to coordinate the best first date in the history of first dates. ’Cause my girl deserves nothing but the motherfuckin’ best, even if she has been a hardheaded brat for the last few months. She needs to know what this means to me . . . what she means to me.

  Solid gray tee, my favorite button fly’s, Red Wing boots, and a rubber band to hold back my rebellious, chin-length hair, I double-check my reflection in the bathroom mirror of Gunner and Emmy Sue’s guest suite. I’m satisfied with my appearance, despite all the encumbering medical garb and the fact I really wish I could be doing this with a functioning right arm and hand. Oh well. I can wish in one hand and shit in the other, and we all know which one’s gonna fill up first.

  “Levi, the rig’s loaded up and ready to go! Gunner’s waiting for you in the truck!” Emmy shouts at me from downstairs, barely able to contain the excitement in her voice. “Hurry up! You better not be late!”

  Stepping out of my temporary bedroom, I grin down at her from the banister before bounding down the stairs. “Geez, woman! I’m ready already. Calm down before you start making me nervous.”

  She greets me at the bottom landing with a wide, toothy smile and a cautious hug to my left side. “I’m not nervous, silly. Yesterday was the hard part, and she welcomed you with open arms and an open . . .” She smirks mischievously. “Well, anyway, yesterday I was a tiny bit worried that she’d put up a bit of a fight, but today, I’m just eager for you to go and woo her and make her yours forever so we can all be happy couple best friends again.”

  “Woo her?” I snicker with a sharp shake of my head. “You’re the only person I know that says shit like that, Em.”

  “Call it whatever you want—pursue, convince, seduce, fuck into submission—I don’t care,” she puts on her best serious face, “just go take care of business. I don’t plan on putting this much effort into another date of yours until you’re making the big one-knee drop, so make it the best it can possibly fucking be. You both deserve to be happy, and I knew back when we were on the bus that y’all found that in each other. Now, it’s all about not fucking it up.”

  Spinning around on her heel, she marches toward the front entrance, stopping right before her hand hits the knob. “Oh, and I expect pictures from at least one of you,” she adds with a sly glance over her shoulder. “And non-X-rated ones preferably.”

  I chuckle as she barrels through the doorway, taunting after her, “Hey, I’m not the one who likes to make sex tapes!”

  Not surprisingly, she doesn’t react, pretending she didn’t hear me as she goes to kiss Gunner goodbye. I shove my wallet and phone in my back pockets, though I shouldn’t need either of them tonight, and stride out to the dark blue Yukon, climbing into the passenger seat. Emmy Sue stands on the front porch, smiling and waving as we back out of the drive, probably waiting until we’re out of sight to text Dakota that we’re on our way.

  Let the fun begin.

  I’ve been dying to see her all day. Trying to imagine exactly how perfect her perky tits and narrow waist will look in the yellow riding jersey I had made for her. Wondering if her long blonde hair will hang in loose waves down her back or be pinned up in one of those messy buns, since I warned her we’d be getting dirty. Curious if she’ll be wearing tight-fitting jeans or the ones that rest low on her hip that provide
a sneak peek of the top of her thong every time she squats down or bends over. Or better yet, maybe she’ll have on a skirt for easy access.

  Fuck. The image of her bent over in front of me flashes in my head and my dick stirs to life, triggering a quick crotch adjustment as I step up on her welcome mat. Come on, Levi. You got this shit. Lifting my fist to the door, I knock twice and wait, anticipation jetting like a thrill ride through me.

  The sound of a deadbolt twisting to unlock starts the three-second countdown. One . . . the silver knob turns. Two . . . the door breaks free from the jamb, swinging open almost a full ninety degrees. Three . . . the sight of Dakota standing directly in front of me knocks the breath straight from my lungs and renders me speechless for a couple moments.

  The jersey fits her seamlessly, accentuating her ample curves and her tanned arms just like I’d hoped. Knowing the back of it publicly claims she’s mine makes me want to puff my chest out and strut around like the cocky caveman only she can bring out in me. Her hair’s neither up nor down, but instead, it’s secured in pigtails, framing both sides of her beautiful face. My only thought is handlebars, and I’m itching to take a nice, long ride right about now. I was wrong on the jeans assumption too—she’s wearing neither of the styles I’d visualized—but the nothing that she is wearing is oh, so much better.

  No jeans. No skirt. Not even any fucking panties. Nothing but her smooth, pink lips barely sticking out from under the yellow hem that’s resting loosely across her hips. Never before have I seen a more magnificent sight than this girl right now. And if she asked me to stay in her apartment with her all night, alternating between rough fuckings and sweet lovings, I’d abandon all the plans I’d made, regardless of the time spent making them. I’m afraid I just discovered my kryptonite.

  “Is this what you had in mind?” Her sassy mouth breaks the silent gawking party as she tilts her head to the side and bats her not-so-innocent lashes at me. “I’m wearing the jersey—which I love, by the way. Whoever’s idea it was to make this is a damn genius.”