Extreme

by Lark O'Neal

  Then everyone is lining up to board. The only ones left are me, Madeline and Hunter, glowering at his phone. “When’s your confirmed flight?” I ask.

  “Not until morning, but I’m standby on two before that. You?”

  “Noon, but same.”

  We subside into quiet, side by side. I pull out a book I picked up on the way through the airport for a truly hideous amount of money for a paperback. It’s an Icelandic book with a quirky little storyline about a guy who makes blowup dolls.

  But I can’t really read. All I can see are Gabe’s eyes, soulful and deep. floating between me and the page.

  Impulsively, I pull out my phone and text him. No flight until noon tmrw. Any chance you’ll be off work any time soon?

  It’s only as I send it that I realize maybe I’m being stupid. Why am I continuing a fling that clearly has no way forward? Why would I give myself more heartache?

  I lean my head back against the wall, aching. “Why do people even bother?” I say aloud.

  “With?” she asks, typing into her game.

  “Love, romance. All that crap.”

  “Gabe got to you, huh?”

  I sigh.

  Next to me Madeline says, “Have you been in the bathrooms here?”

  “Yeah, when I arrived.”

  “They’re pretty amazing. Like the most amazing bathrooms I’ve ever seen in a public place.”

  “Agreed. You could live in them.”

  I look at my phone in case it just didn’t buzz when a text came in, but it’s blank.

  “What are you playing?” I ask.

  “Same as always. The Faire.”

  “Are you playing with Hunter right now?”

  “Nope.” She types quickly into the phone. “He’s in a texting war with Emily.”

  “Isn’t she in the air?”

  “Yeah, I guess her flight has WIFI.” She types super fast and then swears. “Okay, I gotta quit.” Setting the phone aside, she looks at me. “Too bad you can’t knock around with us. It would be fun.”

  “I thought the same thing earlier. Sad I won’t see you guys.”

  “That’s how it is on the road, you know? Chelsea’s been traveling with us for quite awhile, but I think she wants to break off now.” She adjusts the collar of her coat. “But you’re kind of breezy. It’s nice.”

  “Thanks.” I rest my hands on my knees. “This is how it’s been for me since I was twelve—doing things other people don’t, but missing out on some of the things that would be fun.”

  “Can’t you take a year off or something?”

  “No. I mean, people do it, but the window I have to win medals, Olympic medals, is fairly small. By the time I’m thirty, this part of my life will be over, and I can knock around or go to school or get married or whatever.”

  She listens intently. “But for now, you want to compete.”

  I bow my head. Gabe and my parents and the money issues all float around my thoughts. “There are times I have wondered,” I say slowly, “but then I imagine what it would be like to do something else with my days besides training, flying in the sky on my board, that—no. I’m going to do this as long as I can, and then I’ll move to the next thing.”

  “I admire your commitment.”

  “It’s kind of hard today, I have to admit.”

  “Because of Gabe?”

  “Yeah.” I bend my head into my knees.

  “There will be other guys,” she says, but she rubs the top of my back kindly. “That’s our motto, me and Olivia. ‘Babes before boys.’”

  “I heard you say that. Where did it come from?”

  “Every girl in our high school is probably pregnant now. They go right from school to babies where we come from, and neither of us wanted that. Girls get lost over boys, give things up they shouldn’t, get knocked up or married, for god’s sake, at nineteen. That’s crazy.”

  “So you came up with that motto.”

  She grins. “Pretty good, right?” She holds up her fist and I give it a bump and we flutter fingers backward. It lightens my heart a little.

  “I almost forgot,” I say, and reach into my pack for my copy of Mercedes’ new book. “This is by the same author as Torches, the movie we talked about. It’s so good. Maybe more of an escape than the book Tyler gave you.”

  Madeline grins, tucks the book into her bag. “Thanks.”

  My phone buzzes. I try not to snatch it up instantly, but I do it anyway. It’s Gabe and my heart is eased instantly. U still at airport?

  Yes.

  Will be there in 15. You can come back early am.

  A swell of possibility, hope, longing well up in me. Meet you outside.

  Xoxo.

  Madeline is smiling. “Sometimes a guy is worth a few sacrifices.”

  Startled, I meet her eyes. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I’m just going to spend some time with him tonight. Catch that flight in the morning.”

  Her heavily-lined eyes blink. “Have fun. Text me when you get back to Europe. Maybe we’ll be in the neighborhood.”

  “I will.”

  “And if I don’t see you again, good luck at the next Olympics. I’ll be rooting for you.”

  I salute her, then hike my pack to my shoulder and head for the main doors.

  Chapter TWENTY

  The weather outside is beautiful. That’s the thing that strikes me as I emerge from the front doors. It’s dark and still, and the snow is falling in thick, saucer-sized flakes that drift down and cover the world the way the snow does. It creates a hush that mutes everything.

  I’m nearly alone on the sidewalk, and I figure it must be between buses. It’s so hard to keep track of time here, and I’ve been sleeping such weird hours that I have to look at my phone to see what time it is. Nearly 7 pm.

  That gives us the whole night. Except that I remember Gabe has not had any sleep. I’ve barely had any, either. Maybe an hour and a half this afternoon, but I can push through. All I have to do is get on a plane.

  The fling that’s not a fling and hasn’t been since the first second. Who am I kidding?

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Bouvier,” I say aloud. “Stop it. Just stop being such a girl.”

  Then the old Range Rover, battered and noisy, pulls up and Gabe hops out, leaving the engine running. He looks so good, and I’m so happy to see his face again that I’m half running toward him and we meet in a slamming hug, my arms around his neck, his around my waist, and he sweeps me up, spinning us around. I kiss him, breathlessly, and he lets me slide down the front of his body, kissing me hard. “I’m so glad to see you,” he says. “I was so sure—”

  “Me, too,” I say, and we smile at each other, goofy.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Inside the warm truck, I remember the last time I was in here, the naked play, and a sharp sense of anticipation rushes up my spine. “How’s the volcano?”

  “She’s talking,” he says. “Grumbling and rumbling and breathing.” He looks at me. “Sure you want to take the chance of leaving the airport? If she goes, it could be a long time before you leave Iceland.”

  “I don’t have a flight until tomorrow. If she blows before then, it doesn’t matter where I am. I’d rather be with you.”

  He kisses me, slowly. “Good.”

  On the drive back to Reykjavik, we listen to music. I lean on his shoulder and he rubs my thigh. The warmth and the movement and the sense of relief in being here with him lulls me to sleep.

  I wake with a jerk as he’s pulling the keys out of the ignition. “Sorry,” I say, and my voice is hoarse. “I should have been more alert company.”

  “I don’t mind. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  It’s exactly as we left it this morning. The bed covers are rumpled and the dishes are in the sink, and I don’t care. In front of me, Gabe pulls off his hat and shakes out of his coat, and I’m already down to my shirt, which I’m about to pull off when he says, “Allow me.”

  His big ha
nds slide over my skin, brushing every nerve to life. His fingers skim the sides of my breasts, then yank the top over my head. “Now you,” I say, pushing his shirt up. When his hands are over his head, I kiss the line of black hair on his belly.

  “Let’s have a shower,” I say.

  He smiles. “Is that a commentary?”

  I lean in and press my naked torso into his. “Maybe. But I haven’t had one either. Let’s get clean together.”

  His hands ride down my back, curl around my rear end, pull me closer. “I’ll soap your chest if you soap mine.”

  “Deal.”

  We shed the rest of our clothes and head for the bathroom, naked. Light skims over Gabe’s long back, his high, firm ass. As he turns on the water, I can’t help running my hands over him, rustling the hair on the back of his thighs, kissing his shoulder blade, letting my hands slide around him, to his belly, to his cock, rising already against my fingers. He leans back into me, brushes my arms, giving himself up to my exploration. I press my body into his back, brush the tops of his thighs, cup his testicles gently, feeling the weight and tautness of them. “Is that good?” I ask.

  His hands come down and cover mine. “Yes.” He shows me how to move, bringing one hand up to his erect penis, showing me how to cup his balls the way he likes, and as I move on my own, biting his back lightly, he groans. The sound reverberates through my body, growing as it moves downward, expanding at the center of my groin.

  The room starts to fill with steam. Gabe turns and his cock bumps into my belly, making me smile. His dark eyes burn into mine. “Water is ready,” he rumbles, and we ease into the hot spray.

  “Feels so good,” I gasp, feeling the water pour over my head, down my shoulders. The shower stall is generous, but once the glass door is closed, the whole area fills with steam. I move sideways, pulling him into the full spray.

  “You want to clean me up?”

  “Yes, I do.” I take the soap from his hand and work up a lather that I spread over his chest, down his belly. I work the slippery lather around his genitals, use my soapy hand to pump a little extra oomph into that erect flesh.

  He makes a little noise. “Careful there.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. Quite the opposite. I don’t want to come too fast.”

  “Ah. Lift your arms.”

  He meets my gaze and raises his arms and there is suddenly a moment I will remember always. The black hair under his arms is shiny and thick, his hair running with water, his chest slick, and that dick sticking up so aggressively. It makes me dizzy with arousal. I sway slightly, then steady myself and wash his underarms, slide my hands down his sides, and then on some impulse I can’t resist, I sink down on my knees and take him into my mouth.

  The textures are so different than they were, the clear water and the slightly rubbery texture of his cock, and the wrinkly texture of his balls. I fall into it, hearing him make barely audible sounds, his hand on my head, not pushing, but engaging. I move and suck and he says, “Wait, Kaitlin—

  And I stand up, breathing hard.

  “My turn,” he says. “Raise your arms.”

  I do as he asks, and he runs soapy hands under my arms, tickling enough that I almost have to laugh. He grins. “Ticklish. That could be fun.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “Not now,” he promises. “I just need to wash you clean.”

  “Okay.”

  He soaps my belly, slides his fingers between my legs, then up to my breasts. I let go of a gasp and lean backward, and he takes his luxurious time, slippery hands circling, sliding, caressing my chest. Then his mouth is on my nipple, his fingers between my legs and diving deep into me and I cry out.

  “I love how responsive you are,” he says.

  “Only to you,” I gasp.

  “Even better.” He moves out of the spray and uses his hands to rinse me, my chest, my pussy, everything, and then he’s kissing me. The water pours over us, makes us slippery, and his tongue is hot, his shoulders strong and broad. “You’d better have some more condoms,” I say.

  “It’s time, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shuts off the water and we stand there for a minute, so wet, my hair and his. Water drips down his nose. I lift a finger and trace the thin scar. “You are so beautiful. All I could think about today was you.”

  “Me, too,” he says and bends down to kiss me, gently, deeply.

  He grabs a thick towel from the rack and dries me and we’re both starting to shiver, so we dash into the bedroom and dive under the blankets and he covers me, all of me, kissing my mouth, my throat, breathing my name over my skin.

  He takes a condom from the table and gives it to me and although I’m shy, I take it out and roll it over him as he watches me.

  Then we’re joined, at last. Again. Moving easily, the frantic pace of the day before eased by our exhaustion. A sense of peace floods me, and I kiss him with lingering thoroughness, move my hands on his back, down to his hips. “Gabriel,” I whisper, just to hear his name.

  I’m the first to come, tumbling into pleasure as he moves against me, and as if my pulsing hurries him along, he moves harder, finding his own release. Then we’re side by side, falling into each other. I wish I could say I love you, but it would be foolish and too soon and too late.

  I settle for kissing his biceps. “I’m so glad I’m here.”

  He brushes his thumb down my nose. “Me, too,” he whispers.

  And just like that, we fall asleep, wrapped in each others’ arms, buried beneath the covers. Sated.

  Safe.

  * * *

  I’m dreaming that I’m in my parents’ living room and I’m dressed up. Very dressed up, in pearls and heels, clothes I would not wear in a million years. My parents are there, and my sister, and I’m giving a presentation on a chart, with a pointer and everything. In it, I’m explaining the fine points of a slope style trick, a triple cork backside, a medium-level jump that means spinning around in the air three times.

  My father nods, intrigued. My mother leans forward. “I had no idea,” she says.

  When I wake up, not in my parent’s living room but in Gabe’s bed, he’s not there. The light is on in the kitchen and he’s making very quiet noises, filling a kettle. For a long minute, I look at the ceiling and consider the dream. Is it possible I just need to make a presentation to my parents, make the case for my pursuit?

  But I’ve already done that. I don’t need to make a presentation. I need to prove I can make it on my own. The thought brings a cool sense of clarity.

  Then I sit straight up in bed. “Gabe! Is it morning already?” I’m clutching my heart, afraid that we’ve just wasted the last of the time we had together.

  He comes around the corner, a pair of black sweats riding low on his hips. His hair is mussed, his chin showing dark scruff. “No, no, no,” he says, sitting on the bed. “Go back to sleep. I was just getting some tea.”

  “I don’t want to sleep! I don’t want to waste this.”

  He swallows, closing his eyes momentarily, and then he kisses me. One hand on my shoulder, he says, “It was never going to be just a fling.”

  “I know.” I press my forehead into his. Emotion swells through me, filling my heart, overflowing into my belly, everywhere. I clutch his hair tighter. “That was an excuse.”

  “What do we do?”

  I can’t go there yet. “Make tea and put on some music and talk.”

  He meets my eyes. “Okay. You want some food?”

  “Is the sky blue?”

  It shakes a chuckle out of him. “Toast? Beef jerky? Cheese? That’s about all there is left.”

  I swing my legs out of the bed. “First, I need something to wear.” My panties are in a pile on the floor, and I step into them, but my arms are freezing. “One of your shirts please.”

  He’s standing there, shaking his head. “You’re so comfortable in your body.”

  I look down at my mostly naked s
elf. “Well, I know what it looks like. And you seem to like it, so—” I spread my hands.

  “True.” He opens a drawer and tosses me a long-sleeved Henley. “I love all your muscles.”

  “I like your body, too,” I say, pulling the shirt over my head. The sleeves are about a mile too long and the hem hits me mid thigh. “Cute.”

  “It’s adorable.”

  “You know what I realized at the airport? I don’t have a picture of you, like at all.”

  “You want one now? Or maybe wait until morning?”

  I grab my phone out of my coat pocket and stand beside him. My hair is insane, like completely insane, sticking out everywhere, and he looks tired, but we lean our heads together. “Smile,” I say and he hams it up, and so do I, and the picture is really cute.

  “Now another one,” he says, and stands behind me, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m looking at you in this picture, across time. Look at me, across time.”

  I let all my emotion for this moment, for this connection to him show. I take the shot and slide back to it, still leaning on him. There’s the two of us, his arms looped around my shoulders, both of us with big eyes shining.

  “I love this.”

  “Send it to me, right now before you forget.” He turns into the kitchen and I text him the shot, then look at it again.

  “If this was a real thing,” I say, “would your parents like me?”

  “Yes,” he answers without hesitation. He’s taking big mugs out of the cupboard, and the kettle is boiling. He hands me the brick of cheese. “Knives are in the drawer to your left. I don’t know that you would like them.”

  It startles me. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  His shrug is slightly diffident. “They’re…pretty down home, you know what I mean? Not polished.”

  “But they made you.”

  He stills. In his face, I see the same thing I feel, this crazy huge emotion, rose colored, filling my heart, spilling over into my rib cavity, filling all the space between my organs. He swallows. “We’re in trouble here, Kaitlin.”

  “I know.” I look away from him. “I don’t want to talk about it yet. And as far as down home, you clearly haven’t been around a bunch of riders in full party mode. A crude lot.”