by Sunniva Dee
“Uh-huh, oh yeah. I can do this—I can stand on the bridge all day!” she yells, Ingela-loud.
“Funny, and I thought you said you weren’t afraid of heights,” I tease. Her mouth moves, like she’s working to come up with a cool retort, but she’s got nothing.
I shoot into the air. My legs are strapped snugly in the ankle harness, and I’m plunging to what would have been a rough-ass landing on the water if it weren’t for it. I fly off far enough to do a little somersault on the initial fall. I holler out a “Wooh-hooh!” because I’m as fast as I want to be. There’s not even a wingsuit putting the brakes on me.
The strands of latex in the rope cause me to shoot straight up toward Inga. I make it almost halfway up before I plunge again. “You’re crazy,” she screams, and I respond with a loud nutcase laugh.
Afterward, she’s sitting with me on the narrow strip of beach.
“No, Cameron. I knew you did extreme sports, but how fucking loony is this? Took you, like, five minutes to get that rope off your feet, and then you jumped in the ice-cold water and freaking swam to the shore? You could’ve died.”
“Thermal underwear, darlin’.” I add a Southern twang to my explanation and wink.
“Whatever, dude. Which reminds me—your car’s chock-full of shit. It’s a total extreme-sport nightmare. If the police checked it out, they’d probably think you were prepping to kill someone.”
That makes me laugh. “Why? I don’t pack.”
“Pack what? Looks all packed to me.”
I chuckle. “Just saying that I don’t carry weapons.”
“Bah, same thing with all the ropes and contraptions, towels and safety clothes and shit you’ve got in there. Jesus, Cameron. You’re obsessed. Can’t be healthy.”
I consider “obsessed” while I dry off. She studies me as I pull my wet clothes off and dress in dry ones. Ingela’s the one who’s obsessed—with her ex. My little addiction to fun times is completely different. It’s entertainment. I don’t go all depressed on anyone if I don’t get my rush. Well, not really. Maybe a bit grumpy.
I inhale deeply. I’m so fucking refreshed right now. “That was epic,” I tell her, stand up, and stretch. I take her hand and walk us to my little old Corolla. Once we’ve picked my rope up from the bridge—she should’ve just waited for me up there instead of running down to the riverbed with the towels—we head back to her place.
As we park, she sinks into herself. Her pretty mouth angles downward. That damn guy. I don’t understand the crap the two of them go through.
“Not feeling so hot again?” I wish I’d kept my big fucking yapper shut because she instantly bursts out crying. Goddammit. “Inga, I’m sorry.”
Her body keels into me, so I turn and fold her in. She wants it. Snuggles her face deep into my neck and makes it wet. “Your ex is a douche,” I murmur to her. “He has no idea what he’s losing out on.”
Her reaction is a snicker-sob against me. “Uh-huh, after all these years, I think he knows, Cam. What he doesn’t want.”
“He’s a fool, then, because you’re the whole package. You rock.”
She puffs in disagreement, and I have this sudden urge to protect her. I don’t think about it much—I just encapsulate her head with my hand and draw her closer. As small as the mid console is between us, it’s still a bit uncomfortable.
“I don’t want to go to my apartment,” she mutters.
“You want to go to my dorm?” I ask. “I’ve got a twenty-incher who needs to come out and play. He’ll be real nice with you. Show you a good time?” I joke.
“You prick,” she giggles even though she’s still sad.
“My prick? Yep, you got it, babe.” For some reason, it’s natural to stroke the tears off her face when she looks up at me. I kiss her mouth. It’s wet and swollen, maybe from all the crying earlier. Damn, I shouldn’t have done that. She’s heartbroken over another guy, and I’m kissing her? I’m about to get my ass kicked by a scrawny little girl.
Instead, she stares at me after I let go. Remains in our awkward hold across the mid console. Then, she leans her cheek on my upper arm and sighs. I kiss her again, and she responds. Soft, sweet. And fucking so… nice.
My dick likes this.
“Twenty-incher.” She smirks. “One of these days, I’m taking out a, um, measurement thingy, and checking it for you.”
“I’ve heard it’s pretty accurate to measure with your tongue. I can show you—it’s a tad complicated, but we’ll manage.”
Now, she’s grinning. “Smarm-head.”
“What the hell does that mean? Betcha that’s not a Swedish word either.” I laugh. “Is little Inga resorting to home-made insults?”
“Ja. It’s, like, because you’re so smarmy. And totally full of yourself. Full of your cock. You might as well wave it at people.”
“I’ll make you full of it.” I can go on and on, and it’s definitely working. Her hot little body’s shaking with laughter now.
“Hold on,” I say, pulling back and acting like I’m fumbling with my zipper. Really, I’ve got a boner to rival that steel railing I jumped from already. “He wants to wave at you.”
She still has a smile on her face when we pull up to a little café. Inga didn’t eat that breakfast sandwich, but we’re having burgers and fries for lunch.
“Wow,” she says. There’s surprise in her voice. “You stopped it for me, didn’t you?”
“Stopped what?”
“The darkness. You’re a freaking ray of sunshine.”
It’s been a week since Bo left for Los Angeles. We’ve texted a couple of times just to assure ourselves of the others’ wellbeing, but we keep from asking details so as not to rip open more wounds. I’ve had no late night phone calls since he left, though. Maybe he has finally absorbed that he’s my fucking kryptonite. I mean, that part has been obvious since forever.
Cameron and I spend more time together than ever. There has been a lot of playful back and forth, and he smarms out hardcore innuendos nonstop. Cam just cracks me up.
In public, he’s unrattled by the scandalized looks from passersby who catch his quips to me. At work, everyone’s aware of his sense of humor and single-minded interest in the female anatomy, so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of shock from them.
Leon, with his trademark stone expression, only allows the quickest flicker of hilarity to cross his eyes. Not from Cam’s jokes but from appreciating the silliness that is the guy. Arriane, though, tends to shush this sun of mine. She blames it on Lyric’s tiny ears and quickly growing vocabulary even when he’s not around. Such a mom.
“Wow, that was an awful idea,” Christian says. He’s got his arms crossed, taking a break these last minutes before doors open to absorb Cameron’s handiwork. After an outing to the playground with Lyric, Cam decided to “fix” the access to Lyric’s home… by installing a slide. We’re talking a tall yellow plastic slide that stretches along the outside of the stairs and all the way up to the Stonewell family’s apartment. Entire jars of tip money went into that thing.
Leon and Arria were on their monthly “anniversary date,” as they call it, and Cam and I were babysitting. We both thought they’d be happy over such an awesome gift. Instead, Leon’s only response was to swear low under his breath.
Lyric is now demonstrating why his parents aren’t thrilled. A moment ago, small chubby fingers pried the door open. He then proceeded to hurl himself forward, head first onto the slide. It took him seconds to land on the floor in front of us.
“You’re a fearless little dude, aren’t you?” Cameron says proudly. He grabs the squirming toddler and sets him on his feet. That landing was anything but soft. A hunch tells me it’s what Cameron was like as a tyke.
With any other kid, I’d expect some serious crying. Lyric did scrub his itty-bitty nose when he landed. But he just brushes off his knees with zero finesse and points at the bar, squealing, “Pop!”
Leon has already made it down the stairs to fetch his cr
azy baby. He swipes him up by his duckling-infested diaper butt. It’s always touching to me to see the barely suppressed smile on Leon’s face. He’s so entertained by their little renegade. The three of them are the cutest family.
“You, sir,” Leon says between kisses to his son’s head, “are done with extreme sports for the night. And no pop.”
“No-no-no.” Glittering sky-blues are so wide they cover half of Lyric’s face. His hands make small slapping sounds against his dad’s cheeks. Then, he changes tactics and swings at the waist.
“Tam. Pop.” Pleading eyes roam to Cameron.
“Can I concoct a special drink for him?” Cam asks Leon. Arriane’s at the top of the stairs, now, watching the spectacle.
“What do you think?” Leon checks with his girlfriend. Which always gets me, because the man’s bossiness incarnate; Arria’s the boss of this munchkin, though.
“Bah, let him.” She rolls her eyes as if she’s sick of the situation, but she can’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. She’s so happy. Jesus, sometimes I wish I had what they have. So much love and just being so—content with where they’re at in life.
I look at Cameron as he hoists Lyric over from Leon’s arms. He’s got his smug face on, like he’s completely aware of how he manipulates his microcosmos. “Pop.” He whispers it to Cam as if it’s a secret.
“Yes, pop.” Cameron nods back. “You win.”
Christian snorts out, laughing. “Talk about insistent little thing.”
“You got that right.” I detect pride in Leon’s voice. I think we all know Lyric will be an awesome-sauce boss himself one day.
Troy or Roy is the last one to get off his barstool. Dude’s been on his ass the entire night. It’s three a.m., I’ve grabbed a broom, and I’m sweeping beneath his chair.
“Ingela…” he slurs out, blinking slowly. “You know I like you, right? You must’ve noticed.”
“Uh-huh—you need a cab, honey?” I inquire.
“Naw, I was thinking… do you want to, um, go on a date with me?” He’s so drunk I don’t think he had to work up the courage to ask. Unless you count the months he’s been sitting on that stool without broaching the subject.
“Nope, I don’t,” I say and pat his cheek.
He instantly turns whiny. “Whyyy?” He drags the word out like Lyric does. “You’re such a hottie and shit.”
I try to lift one of his stool legs high enough to pull out the wadded-up napkin stuck underneath it. “Whatevs, and you need to go home. We’re closed.”
“Oh yeah, but you’ll be open again tomorrow anyway. Or hey, today,” the smartass says. Stupid me buys into the conversation.
“I’m off to bed, dude. We all have to sleep at some point.”
As I stand, he snatches my hand in a drunken plea. “Oh, Inga—pretty Inga—say ‘yes’ to a date? You’re my… uh. Number ten.”
Whatever that means. “Nope, don’t want to,” I tell him. “Go home or I’m calling Jason to butt you out of here. See ya later, buddy.”
He whimpers and stands. Wobbles. Then, he narrows his eyes at me. “You Swedes are different, huh? Okay, how about no date, just—I’ll take you straight to bed?”
From his expression, he thinks he’s onto something. Sure, I could be in that mood. Tonight, for instance, as tired as I am, I still don’t feel like going home alone. I’d love to wake up with company—only the concept doesn’t involve overly drunk guys I’ve never felt an inkling of attraction to.
I jump when a strong hand curls around my upper arm. “Troy,” Cam says behind me. “Leave Inga alone. We’ll get you a taxi home, okay?”
Troy’s face slowly morphs to offended as he plops down on the stool again. “Oh, so he can touch you? I’ve seen you two—you let him frenchie you, even. What does he have, huh?”
A single snicker hits my ear from Cameron. “You think she should be fair? If she kisses me, she should kiss you too?”
I grin. That is a funny concept. Fairness in kisses.
The guy huffs, mad. “Don’t get what’s so special about…” He tilts his chin to Cameron but tries to focus on my face as he speaks.
Cam interrupts, though, letting go of me and moving over to Troy. “It’s time, cuddle-bun. We’ll find you someone nice tonight if you’re not too hung over, all right? Inga’s busy.”
“I am?” I say, catching Cam’s gaze as he stacks Troy on his feet and accommodates his arm around his neck to haul him off.
“Ass,” Troy mumbles but doesn’t resist.
“I’m going home with you,” Cam explains to me.
I get butterflies at that. At how sure he sounds when he tells me. He winks over Troy’s lolling head and mouths, Stay put.
“Where did that come from?” I ask Cameron on our way to my apartment. I haven’t decided what I’ll allow once we’re there. All I know is that before we left Smother, I was tired. And now? I’m not anymore.
“Nowhere. Just been watching you tonight and…” He flicks a glance down the very slight swell of my cleavage. I think he’s going to say something about the corset I’m wearing. It’s black, lacy, super-tight, and to be honest—pretty hot.
“…was just dying to fuck you.”
“What the hell?” Even for Cam, this is bold. I can’t seem to manage any further expletives at this point—he’s shut me up, and he’s stoked. Utterly gleeful, he claps his hands like an overgrown kid. I’m expecting an apology of sorts, but what I get is—
“You’re damn fine to fuck, babe.”
“Ha,” I start, sputtering. “You… don’t even know…”
He rolls his eyes back far enough to reveal just white for a moment. “Oh, I beg to differ.” We’re at my apartment, and Cam swipes me off my feet. Literally. I whoop out, surprised, and then he uses my pump-clad toes on the door, which is locked.
“You sucker,” I giggle. According to him, it’s not the right word. Who cares?
“Key,” he demands, snapping the fingers on one hand against my back as he holds, but I bend past his body and insert the key myself.
Soon, we’re in my bedroom. A week ago, I survived heaven and hell in here with Bo. Now, it’s just Cameron and me.
I don’t want to think.
I want no sadness, no nostalgia.
No—missing and wanting and mourning at the same time. Things need to be simple tonight. Like the times Cameron came home with me before Bo visited. So much laughter. Heat. So much sunny, happy… man.
The adrenaline in my blood doesn’t devour me with Cam. It bubbles, infusing my veins with light and desire. I’m not shaking. I don’t surrender to obsession when the heat rushes down to my sex. It’s more like I’m—
Surrendering to living.
He’s over me on the bed, kissing me. Loud, wet smacks and sucking noises as he moves from my neck to my mouth. Cam makes little groans of pleasure, like he’s been waiting for this—like he can’t get enough of me.
It’s insane how he’s eating me up right now. I’m having trouble breathing.
Bo fleets through my mind. I’m relieved, so fucking relieved when he slips and disappears and pure, healthy horniness takes over, puckering my nipples and heating my stomach.
“Why are you breathing so fast?” Cameron whispers, pushing the corset up enough to make my boobs form small, soft pillows on top. The rasp of light stubble heightens the sensation as he laps at the soft flesh there.
“’Cause you’re a dick,” I pant back.
“Have a dick,” he corrects, showing me by pushing himself against my thigh. Damn, does he have a dick. “I believe you’re approaching the kitty in heat stage of things.”
“Whatever,” I puff, unable to deny my reaction altogether.
He gives a hard tug to my top and frees my breasts. I think I moan, because he swears quietly. I’m so turned on that between the cool air and his eyes, I’m shivering.
“Yes.” He nods. “Definitely in heat. Must satiate.”
Like always with Cameron, I end up lau
ghing. No matter my mood or my body’s responses. “Not sure if you’re man enough.”
“Must. Convince,” he continues in his just-adapted pre-historic accent… and then his hands slide around my waist and pull me up. He fumbles but manages to jerk my corset all the way off. Once he’s got me bare, those light green eyes, usually so playful, return to a scorching fixation on me.
Jesus, Cameron knows how to make a girl feel wanted. I flop down on the mattress, smiling up at him. He grins back, irises gleaming. Spreads my legs and smoothens a hand up my inner thigh.
“You know you’re soft here?” he whispers.
I suck in a quick breath, because I’m dying for him to feel me higher up. “Uh-huh.”
“And here?” Cameron’s got a teasing tinge to his tone. My hips instinctively jut into his hand as he lightly, so annoyingly lightly, brushes the lips of me and reaches my clit.
“Holy…” I mutter, closing my eyes.
He inserts a finger, then two. “This? More?”
Before I can sigh out a reply, he’s back down over me. Cameron is done being playful. His hand touches, massages, drives me crazy while we kiss, and my arms go around him, pulling him closer—into me.
“I want you,” I tell him because damn is it the truth.
“You do?” He smiles against my mouth. “Want or need?”
He’s got his shirt off, but not his pants. I tug at them, and he helps—kicks them off while he waits for my reply. “Did you mean want—or need?” he insists.
I might be rubbing myself against him… sort of like that damn cat he keeps talking about. “C’mon, you brute. Shut up and give up your goods.”
He chuckles at me. God knows why.
“Brute? Naw. I’ll show you brute. Brutal…”
My heart skips a beat. He strokes himself around the condom, winking and flaunting his weapon. Then, he falls down over me, nudges my legs farther apart with his knee. Before I can react, he’s plunged in so deep that I whimper.
“You okay?” he manages, and—I’m so okay.
“Shut up, just… ah.” I’m dying. Meeting him thrust for thrust, asking for more, over and over again.
