by Tara Oakes
Crunching sand sounds from behind, alerting me to the fact that someone is approaching. My body tenses with worry the closer the person gets. Nervously, I turn and catch sight of a large dark figure quickly closing the distance between us—a man, no doubt. He picks his feet up higher and quicker now. It’s too late for me to move and I’m probably being paranoid anyway. He could be a neighbor or anybody, really. He doesn’t seem like he’s up to no good.
He gets within just feet of me when his face—his incredible, masculine, beautiful face—is illuminated by one of the beach lights that straddle the shore between the privately owned land and the public beach.
Jameson.
“You gonna explain what the hell you’re doing out here all alone?” he says. He’s blue-collar through and through, and his accent shows it. I love the roughness of it, of him, and well, everything that makes Jameson Hayes who he is. He plops down beside me, legs bent and his elbows on his knees. He smells like a mix of cleanliness and hard work that only happens when he cleans himself up after a shift at the firehouse. I love the way he smells no matter what—which might be kind of pathetic of me—but this scent is my favorite.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I say with a smirk and lean in to nudge him with my shoulder. He knows the move all too well and protectively wraps an arm around my shoulder. The evening chill is nothing compared to the bulk of man beside me. I settle against him and let myself enjoy this quiet moment between us.
He holds me tight against his side; just when I think this moment is perfect, the arm around my shoulders slips down to my side. His fingers dig into my sides, quick and unyielding, as he gently pinches my curves. I gasp and throw my head back, unable to contain my laughter. My lungs strain to suck in air as he continues his tickle assault. I keep trying to say “stop,” but all that comes out is one panty breath after another. My heart rate picks up, my chest heaves, and goosebumps break out all over my body.
“Such a big talker.” Jameson’s voice is strained and punctuated with laughter as he tickles me. “Gotta be careful, Lulu. You never know who might attack you while you’re out here all alone at night!”
I arch my back and try to crawl backwards out of his reach, but he’s faster. His hulking, sculpted body hovers over mine. We freeze in place and stare into each other’s eyes. A light bulb seems to switch off above our heads, telling us we’ve crossed some kind of line, We said we wouldn’t go here—not again, at least—until things are different. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but I want him too much to stop myself and think about the repercussions of us being together right now. Everything in me tells me this is right—that we can make this work out somehow—and my gut has never lead me too far astray before.
We care about each other—a lot—so even if it’s not totally right, it can’t be totally wrong either.
“It’s just you and me.” My words come out in a hopeful whisper. There’s an edge of terror there that maybe he can’t hear. Because he might want to stop this, and if he does, it won’t end well for me.
“Lulu,” he says. And I can’t tell if it’s a curse or a prayer. I both love and hate that nickname. It’s personal and so unique to us—after a song we both cherish—but also so sad: like this, it doesn’t end well. Because anything that begins in a moment of desperation, devoid of reasoning and thought, can’t end well. It just can’t, and because of that I should stop us from going any further. But I’m young and reckless. In my mind this is my great love story, and great love stories always have a twinge of sorrow in them.
Jameson’s brown hair looks so much darker out here in the stillness of the night. It’s longer than he likes, falling into his face, bothering him during his shifts at work. And now, as he’s lying atop me, with his chin tucked down, strands of brown hair fall over his eyes. I adjust my weight to support my body on my left elbow. With my right hand, I smooth the wayward strands back from his face and smile softly. God, what a fool I must look like—a fool in love. My hand hovers above his head for a moment longer than necessary. I could pull my hand back and crawl out from underneath him and end the misery before it starts.
But I don’t, for the same reason traffic slows to a crawl when there’s a crash. Nobody wants to witness the carnage—but they can’t exactly look away either.
So instead, I let my heart take over. My fingers ghost along his hairline and down to his temple then trace the corner of his eye. I regret it instantly when his eyes fall closed and he sucks in a deep breath. He may be lying atop me, but we’re not really touching. His knees are in the sand on either side of me and his torso is suspended an appropriate distance away for two people who are close—but still only friends. It’s too far and not far enough and I can’t wait any longer to have him as more than friends. Because the last time was so frantic and needy. Incredible, but it was so fast and hard. I want slow and steady. Lovemaking. Not fucking.
Leaning in, the tip of his nose finds my cheek. His eyes are still closed but he’s so close now, too close, that I close my eyes too. I want to feel this, not see it or think about it. I just want to experience it in high definition. He drags his nose up the side of my face to my cheekbone where he moves, so softly and slowly, toward the center of my face. At the bridge of my nose, he moves down, just barely touching me, until our faces are aligned but out of focus.
“Do you know why they call this an Eskimo kiss?” he asks. I breathe in every bit of his scent—soapy and minty—and it’s so consuming that I forget to respond. He swishes his nose from side to side, tickling me.
I giggle and say, “Because if Eskimos used their mouths, they’d get stuck together?” Which, now that it’s out of my mouth, sounds like the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. But he smiles. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. His nose moves slightly and his lips are even closer now. I was wrong. He isn’t smiling, he’s grinning, and his mouth is parted.
“We’re not Eskimos,” he says. His expression becomes serious. I suck in a deep breath and try to control the nervous shiver that runs up my spine. I don’t want him to think I’m as anxious as I am. This isn’t our first time, but it does feel different. More important, maybe.
My hand slides down his face to cup his cheek. I tilt my head back just enough for our lips to touch. And it’s done. The all-consuming, insanely powerful spark between us erupts into a full-blown fire. He groans and kisses me so hard and so fast that I swear, he might be trying to swallow me whole. And I might not mind it.
Jameson dominates our kiss; not only do I let him, but also I welcome it. His lips slide over mine, slowly at first, and then faster. We’re hungry—almost desperate—for one another. Sucking my bottom lip between his teeth, Jameson nibbles the corner of my mouth. Hot, wet lips trail sweet kisses from my mouth down to my neck. My lips part with a gasp and my head falls back. I blink open my eyes and stare at the stars in the navy sky.
The tiny blips of white fade into the night as I lose my focus on the sky above, and in its place is a sight much more beautiful. He pauses. Jameson’s eyes are open now, wrinkled just slightly in the corners as he searches my face. Whatever it is he’s looking for, I hope he finds. When I look at him, I don’t have to try to find anything because I already know what’s there—love, desire, and passion.
I can’t take it anymore—the fear that he’s seeing something he doesn’t like in me—so I move in and kiss him. Strong, hard-working arms wrap around me and lay me down into the soft sand. I’m tired of almost-touching-but-not-touching; I can’t feel him in all the ways I want to, so I pull him down on top of me. His hips slam into my thighs and he lands with an “oomph”. I wiggle beneath him, shimmying in the sand until he’s right where I want him with his hips pressed up against mine. My legs are parted and he’s nestled between them, but I still can’t feel as much as I want to. We move together, creating a delicious friction.
I need more.
My fingers make their way to the crotch of his jeans where I work to unbutton the fly and drag down the zipper. I slide my ha
nd inside his jeans, but he stops me from going any further.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. His voice is gentle, but strained.
“Absolutely,” I say.
He nods, but he’s clearly not convinced because he doesn’t undress me and make love to me like I want him to. Instead, he looks away and his brows pull together as he focuses in on the sand beside us.
“I’m not making love to you on a fucking beach where any goddamn pervert can watch us,” he says. He moves in quickly, scooping me up in his arms, and holds me tight to his chest. It’s a bit of work, I can tell, but he manages to stand up, still cradling me to his chest, and walks us across the sand away from the shoreline. My arms around his neck, I can’t think of anything except how much I want this with him. The first time was good; this time will be amazing.
“I was thinking about you,” I confess. He walks us up to the deck that’s attached to the back of my parents’ beach house. The lighting is better here, good enough even for me to see his face. He’s watching me, not even looking at where’s he’s walking, but we manage to not run into anything. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he does. Maybe it’s all his firefighter training that’s given him this skill or something.
“When?”
“On the beach,” I say, looking up at him from his arms. “You asked what I was doing out there by myself. I was thinking about you. Well, I was thinking about you in the house, but it made me sad because I was here without you, so I went out there to think. And that’s what I was doing out there when you showed up.”
“Anybody could have gotten to you out there,” he says with a twinge of anger in his voice. I can feel his forearms tense beneath me. Had I been thinking about everything that’s going on, and how possibly dangerous it could be, I wouldn’t have gone out to the beach alone at night. I’m supposed to be here for safe-keeping, after all. I could promise him that I’ll be more careful in the future, but the truth of it is that I probably won’t be. I’m likely to do it again. I just don’t really know how to act during times like these. “You scare me, Lulu.”
“You scare me too,” I say. “I want you, but I’m terrified that we’re never going to be able to make it work. Every time we get a step closer, something happens, and we have to take two steps back.”
Jameson redistributes my weight and brings me into the house through the open back door. He says nothing about it, thankfully, but he does give me a look that tells me we’re going to be having a talk about personal safety at some point in the future.
“We’re going to make this work,” he says as he lays me back on the couch and hovers over me. He has one arm on the back of the couch and the other squeezing my hip. Leaning down, he kisses my nose, and gives me a reassuring smile. He pushes back up, straightening his back, and lifts his fire department shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. I run my hands over his taut skin and marvel at the shape he’s in. He works hard for his physique. It’s practically a requirement that he spend as much time at the gym as he does.
“It doesn’t matter how many steps back we end up taking, Lulu,” he says and leans forward, ridding me of my shirt. His eyes don’t leave mine even though I am topless. This is one of the many things I love about him—how he makes me feel like the only important thing in his world when we’re together—and it’s never about what I look like or what I can do for him. It’s about who I am in my heart, and this right here is proof. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with who doesn’t immediately look at my boobs whenever he can.
His belt comes off easily, and I drop it to the floor without a word. He may have stopped talking, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anything else to say. Sometimes he just needs a minute to finish his thoughts. We’re a mess of tangled limbs as we fight to get our pants off despite the small space of the couch. Soon enough, I’m sliding off his boxers and getting my first real look at his hard cock. He’s thick and long and just big enough to be intimidating. I didn’t really get to look at him last time, so this is a pleasant surprise. My hand reaches out to caress the soft skin of his shaft, but he pulls back and lowers his head to my parted knees where he places a kiss to my knee.
“We’re going to get this right, so don’t worry about the petty bumps in the road. Because that’s all they are, baby. Bumps in a long road. You and me—we’re forever.” He places another kiss to the inside of my thigh, and then another one, edging his way closer to the apex of my thighs, my panty line. He nibbles at the edge of the material. I let my head fall back and close my eyes as he pulls my panties down my legs. I open my eyes just in time to see his head dip down. The most delicious feeling overtakes me as he licks his way across my wet lips. He works hard and fast, alternating between nibbling, sucking, and licking. An incredible jolt of pleasure shoots up my legs—from my feet all the way to my hips—and flows through my arms. I feel pressure in my head and my vision blurs. I’m gasping for breath, bowing my back, and fighting the instinct to clamp his head between my legs so he can’t ever move. Just when I don’t think it can get any more intense, another spark ignites in my core. My body shakes and my brain goes blank. I lose my vision even though my eyes are open and nothing exists anymore aside from this perfect euphoria that settles over me.
“Lulu,” he says with a kiss to my neck. I nod my head and try to respond, but it’s too hard. I can’t speak. He tries again and kisses my cheek. This time I think I make an animal sound that I can’t really describe as anything at all. He comes at me again with a kiss, this time to my ear.
“Holy fuck,” I manage to say.
He chuckles and slips his hands around my torso, removing my bra. My brain clears as his tongue works my nipples to stiff peaks. I’m panting again, barely able to contain my moans and wanting desperately to come.
“Please, make love to me.” I sound ridiculous. I can barely breathe, barely think. I’m not even sure how much I exist in this moment or what exactly is going on. I’m experiencing a mindless euphoria—but it doesn’t matter because this is just too right to care. I’m awake enough now, so alert and aware of everything around me, that I’m starting to notice things. Like how the tip of his cock has a drop of precum and he’s breathing as heavy as I am. His arms are shaking as he holds himself up over me. And this is the most perfect sight I’ve ever seen.
I reach down and swirl the milky fluid over his tip, giving him a sharp pull toward me, and revel in the way he feels in my hand. Jameson lifts his head as he stares into my eyes, not questioning, not wondering, just watching my face as I guide him to my entrance. He takes over from here—sliding into me slowly and stopping only when he’s completely buried inside of me. We don’t take our eyes off of one another as he pumps in and out so slowly, so painstakingly, that our bodies quiver with perfection. He mouths words of beauty as he makes love to me. Words like love and perfect and the nickname that only he can call me—Lulu.
We’re close, somehow timing it perfectly, that we’re both on the edge. There’s an unspoken connection between us. He slips a hand between us and rubs his thumb over my swollen clit until I’m falling apart beneath him. While I’m crumbling into bliss, he seems to be shattering. His body shakes so violently that I’d be worried. If I could focus on much of anything, that is. A loud moan escapes me as he grunts. Right when we come together, he leans in and holds me so tight to his chest that he might break me. And I’d let him—because I’ll always do anything to be this close to him.
We lay there for a time, though it's not long enough, before he takes my hand and leads me to the shower to clean us off. Nothing is any less confusing than it was before and I still don’t know exactly where we stand, but for this moment, we’re perfect, and that’s all that matters.
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LIGHTS, CAMERA… ACTION
STEELING PARKER
a Crossing The Line short
; M.D. Saperstein & Andria Large
Parker
Chance and I make our way into the villa we're staying in for the next two weeks. Chance kicks the door closed behind us as we lug our bags into the living room. We got hitched a couple of days ago in a quaint little ceremony in upstate New York, surrounded by our closest friends. The only blood relative there was my Grams. Not that it matters because the people most important to us were by our sides.
Now, we've finally made it to our honeymoon destination of Turks and Caicos for a couple of weeks of relaxation and hopefully anonymity. Being movie stars has its downside. And after such a public proposal, when I flash-mobbed Chance on the red carpet of our movie premier - it was epic - the vultures have been all over us. That's mainly why our wedding was so low key, and we went for the private villa on a more remote island for our honeymoon.
We drop our bags and flop down onto the couch, exhausted after all of the traveling and trying to remain incognito. I pull off my hat and sunglasses and toss them onto the couch cushion next to me.
"Shit, I'm tired." I sigh heavily.
Chance grunts next to me in agreement and takes off his hat and sunglasses, too.
"I need a water. You want a drink?" Chance asks as he shoves to his feet to walk into the kitchen that's a few feet away.
"A water for me, too," I tell him and pull myself to my feet.
I'm drawn to the sliding glass doors in front of me. The villa isn't really big, so it only takes me a few seconds to reach the door. I slide it open and am instantly hit with a warm ocean breeze. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. This is the life. I have my career, my friends, and the love of my life. Shit can't get any better than this.
