by Cate Ellink
“What makes you think you aren’t meant to be there?”
I shrug. Why do I think that? There’s no reason…except the rules and my own lack of confidence. I’m not about to admit that, again. I grin instead. “No invitation.” My mouth twists to show my sarcasm.
“Consider yourself invited, Ms Chicken Shit. Any time you’re feeling brave and need a walk on the wild side, come on over.”
I bow elegantly, exaggerating my movements. “Why thank you, kind sir, for your generous invitation.”
He swats my cheek. Not hard, just with his fingertips. They graze across my cheekbone before moving feather-soft over my cheek, down my jaw and dropping to my shoulder. “Cheeky Shit is what I should be calling you.” His hand doesn’t move from my shoulder and I don’t shrug it away. I like it resting there. Warm, strong and alive.
“Am I keeping you from the party?” I ask to be polite, also because I can’t think of anything else to say. If I want to keep him here with me, I have to say something.
The revellers are noisy in the background. Girls laughing, lots of loud voices. All drawing attention to themselves. It sounds like a riotous party. I’m glad not to be there but I assume Jason would rather be there than standing talking to me in the shadows.
“I’m not one for parties. I have to make sure there’s no trouble. That’s the only reason I hang around.” His words prove me wrong.
“Why you?”
“I’m the boss, the sergeant. It’s my responsibility to make sure nothing happens, or I’ll lose my stripes again…” His voice tapers off to barely a whisper and I’m straining hard to hear it.
“Lose your stripes?” I don’t know what he means but it sounds bad.
“Lose my stripes. Get demoted.”
“Why ‘again’?”
He pulls me against him. Not really a hug, more a comfort thing. Maybe I’m like a pillow you grab when you’re telling a story. I don’t know but it doesn’t feel romantic. More grounding. And I’m okay with that. Disappointed, but okay.
“A while back we did one of these. Things happened. By the end of the trip they were blown out of all proportion and reports were made. I lost my stripes because of our behaviour. I’m trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“What happened?”
“Women and men get along well on a trip when there’s no one else. Afterwards all that changes. Some of the women reported us. Claimed our behaviour was unacceptable.”
“You?”
I feel his head shake. That’s how close we’re standing. The air around me is filled with his scent and tonight there’s an extra gorgeous musky smell of soap or deodorant. His arms loop loosely around my shoulders.
“Why did you get demoted?”
“I’m the boss. I should have stopped it.”
“What did they do that was unacceptable?” I don’t really want to know the answer but it could explain that anti-army vibe. My stomach churns at what could be unacceptable. So unacceptable your boss is demoted because of it.
“What I swore I’d never do…yet here I am.” He pauses and leans back from me. “I’ve done it with you and I want to again. Right now.” His voice is treacle. Hot, delicious treacle. I’m melting in it.
What does that mean? What has he done with me and wants to do again?
My mind’s a wasteland. Nothing there. Not one sentence. Not one phrase. Not even a word.
His fingertip traces along my collarbone from shoulder to throat.
I no longer have a mind. Not even much of a body. All that exists of me is the bone and the skin he’s touching. The skin that’s throbbing, burning, from his touch.
My eyes fly to his. I’m trying to make my mind work so I understand. I can’t. His face is visible in the filtered moonlight shadows but it’s only a quarter moon and I can’t see his eyes. I can’t read his face at all.
His finger slides up over my throat. He holds my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans forwards until his lips hover above mine. I’m held standing by his touch. I don’t breathe because my breath is caught somewhere in the knot twisted into my stomach.
He kissed me. Now he wants to kiss me again. I stare at him, not quite comprehending what I’ve worked out.
“If your eyes get any bigger, they’ll drop out of your head.” His sarcasm snaps me from my trance.
I blink and open my mouth to voice my objection. Nothing happens. Voiceless, my mouth hangs open. And then I pull myself together.
“You got demoted because someone kissed someone else? She reported a kiss? Just a kiss? What an idiot. I can’t believe they’d demote you for a kiss. Gosh, I’d never report your kisses. Well, maybe only how good they are. And only to people who wouldn’t mind that I kissed you.” God, I’m babbling. I stop the words. Take a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” I bite my top lip to stop any other words escaping.
Jason leans down and draws my bottom lip between his. His tongue slides across the swollen, sensitive skin. Who knew my lip was connected to my body in such a way that electrical pulses pound all the way down to my toenails.
On the world’s kissing meter it would barely rate but for me it’s mind boggling. A small connection made with him and my entire body is focussed solely on this bottom lip linkage.
I grab his shoulders. My fingers sink into those muscles and I hold on tight because my legs are no longer working. I’m concentrating on the delicious feel of his tongue, the taste of his breath, the touch of his mouth on my lip. His shoulder muscles flex beneath my fingers. Silken skin over corrugated iron. More arousing than my imaginings. My fingertips play amongst the power.
And then it’s over.
His face is millimetres from mine but his mouth no longer touches me. I breathe like I’m in heart failure, short gaspy things that do nothing to steady my pounding head. He stares at me with a small grin on his lips. I slide my tongue across my lip, just to make sure I can taste him, to ensure that it really happened again. He really kissed me.
“That’s what I like about you, Chicken Shit.”
“What?” He likes me? There’s something he likes about the girl more often struck dumb than capable of speech, who stands immobile when she’s meant to kiss and who babbles when she’s nervous? “You must be totally crazy.”
He graces me with a cock-eyed grin. Then tweaks the tip of my nose. “I believe in you. Some day you’re going to learn to believe in yourself.”
“You think?”
“I’m going to make sure of it.”
I’m grinning inside but not sure I believe him. I press a quick soft kiss across his mouth before murmuring, “Good luck with that. I don’t like your chances.”
He shakes his head in a slow, disbelieving motion. “How about you try that again. Properly this time.” His finger taps against his lips, mesmerising me.
The breath I draw is filled with stampeding butterflies. He’s asking me to kiss him again? My body quivers before air whooshes out of me. I lean forwards fractionally. I suck in fresh evening air and courage before I try the kiss again. I press my lips over his, softly. His lips are warm and deliciously pliable. I press closer, my feet moving between his. Leaning against his chest while I balance on my toes, the devil takes hold of me. I slide my tongue between my lips and run it across his lower lip. His hands on my hips move to cup my bottom. He doesn’t pull me tight against him and I’m glad—his chest and hands are distracting enough without me being pulled against his whole body. As much as I’d like to know if I arouse him, I’m scared that I don’t. I push that fear away and give my concentration back to his lips, to our kiss.
My tongue flicks against the corner of his mouth, tasting more as his mouth opens. It’s heady. The taste of him, overwhelming. Bravely, I send my tongue into his mouth where it meets his. The hot wetness does my head in. His sharp intake of air draws the breath from my mouth. It’s all too powerful and I leap away from him like I’ve been seared. Sweet mercy. I’ve never tasted anything as goo
d.
“Sometimes you’re not so chicken shit, are you?” He draws me against him now, his hands tightening around my hips. I wrap my arms around his waist and we’re against one another, hugged together. I wriggle a little bit closer and his cock, hard against my groin, astounds me. I aroused him? Wooohooo! Thank goodness it’s not just me in this crazy state. I snuggle a little closer, wondering how it might feel to kiss him with my body entwined this closely to his. Or will that be too overwhelming? I move against him. His cock jumps against me and my stomach twists. Definitely too overwhelming.
We stay like this while we chat about ourselves, our lives. All those bizarre things you talk about when you first meet. It’s easy talking with him now. A few kisses has relaxed me and given me confidence. He’s fun, interesting and he feels damn good wrapped around me.
“What you do to me, crazy girl.” He punctuates with a kiss to my nose. “How long are you away for?”
I lay my head against his shoulder. As well as arousal, there’s comfort in his touch. I revel in being close to him. My body against his. And he’s tall. Tall enough to make me feel protected. I could be here forever. “Seventeen days is the plan but it could blow out to twenty.” The reason it could blow out to twenty days is me—I’m slow and the group wants to add in some time ‘in case’. The ‘in case’ means they’re worried I’ll get even slower but no one says that. I hope I can keep up the pace.
“And after that, the mangroves?”
Oh, thank goodness he hasn’t asked the reason for the extra days. But how on earth does he know where we’re going next? I frown as I look up at him. And then I realise. Logistics. He’s in charge of logistics. For a moment I thought he’d looked it up for me, to find out where I was going, but it’s just his job. Fool. I look away over his shoulder into the darkness.
“I would have looked it up, you know.” His amused voice makes my foolish heart sing. He must read minds. “We’re all due R&R. I thought I’d take mine when you guys are doing your mangrove work.”
This means nothing to me. When he takes his break is not something I can change or worry about. “Why?”
“I thought I’d be like Tim, but have my R&R at the caravan park. Do a bit for the mangrove team while I’m there. Drop the group to the boats each morning, pick them up in the afternoon and have my days, and nights, free.” The way he pauses either side of the words, ‘and nights’, sends sensations like shards of glass shooting through my body. Are they significant pauses? Is this an invitation?
“Just you?” Why on earth did I say that? I could hit myself but I don’t have time before he replies.
“Would you prefer someone else?” He doesn’t grin this time. His face is serious and in the darkness I feel his eyes boring into mine. I’ve hurt him.
“God, no.” Real swell, Mac. “I mean…I’m sorry…that wasn’t what I meant. I was wondering if you’d be alone.” I hang my head as shame fills me. I can’t say I want him to be alone.
“I think I know what you mean.” His comment’s an invitation he backs up by tilting my chin until I look at him. I’m glad the moonlight shadows hide my heated blush. My face is burning. It must be luminous. I need to make the effort to explain.
“If you’re going to be alone…could I come and see you,…without anyone else…being around?” I sound like a stammering child. Good grief. I’m trying to talk about sex, see if I can spend the night with the man. I should be mature, adult, yet I’m speaking like a five year old.
“You need to ask?” Gee, he isn’t making this easy.
“I don’t want you in a bad situation. I don’t want it to be a show, when I…I mean, if we…” Shit! What am I meant to say? If we get it on? When we fuck? If you kiss me again?
A gravelly chuckle slides against my ear and his teeth nip my earlobe. I leap, again. I must stop doing that. Surely it signals how hopeless I am.
“If we’re careful there’ll be no problem. I don’t want a show when I kiss you properly either. And it won’t stop at kissing. When we start, I won’t be stopping.” To punctuate that, his tongue slips around the inner shell of my ear and my knees turn to rubber. I sag against him. His tongue caress is moist, heated arousal. A gentle soft method of ensuring I’m his to command. I’ll do anything he asks while he has me captivated.
Much as I love being his sexual captive, I also like being in control. I like taking the lead in a kiss and giving myself time to savour the experience.
When he finishes and I stop panting, I bite my lip, close my eyes, and take my courage in hand. I rub against his body before stretching up and sliding my lips across his. The reaction is instantaneous. He hauls me against him and our mouths mash together in the most searing kiss of my life. His lips burn. His body scalds. His tongue lashes fire. I can’t get close enough. I open myself to his kiss, mouth wide for his tongue, as I part my legs and slide against his body. His cock throbs against me. I roll my hips into the steely hardness. Just as I’m overheating, cool air hits me. Jason pulls away.
“Go, Chicken Shit.” His words are tight. His breath coming in gasps. “Go before I forget I don’t want a show.” He gives me a tense smile as he runs his fingers across his face. “I’ll see you in seventeen days. Don’t make me wait twenty, will you?”
I could melt on the spot. Don’t make him wait? Good grief. It’s as if he’s desperate for me. Yet he’s turning to walk away when I can barely manage to stand, much less walk.
I won’t be slowing the pace down now. I have an incentive to be at the end of the walk at the exact time we planned. If it kills me, I’ll make it. In eighteen days I’ll be sprawled beneath him and I’ll know what his sweat tastes like, what those muscles feel like, and I can lose this dreaded virginity.
“Goodnight, Jason.” My words are a puff of breath escaping the fog of my lungs. He turns and walks back the two steps he’d taken. With his eyebrow raised, he winks and drops the tiniest kiss to my lips before walking into the darkness. My lips, still tingling from the last kiss, seem to be fizzing now.
Being such a mature, experienced woman, I remain propped against the tree, unable to move. My heart flutters like a terrified sparrow, my legs wobble and my brain screams silently. The silent screams alternate between exhilaration that this man likes me, and curses that I’m leaving him for seventeen days—how stupid.
CHAPTER 4
My dreams are filled with muscles, kisses, sweat and Jason. I’m reluctant to leave but I have no real excuse to stay. My pack is heavy but comfortable as we head off on our long trip. There’s an air of excitement amongst my group, as being the most gung-ho we’re travelling the furthest, confident we’ll achieve our goal of getting to Devil’s Thumb, the tallest peak on the local maps. We’ve packed sensibly, leaving excess gear at base camp. We’ve bundled the gear we need for the mangrove sojourn and it’s ready to be driven to meet us there. We’ve planned well and are confident of success. Well, the rest of the group is.
Our days fall into a routine—we walk all day. The topographic maps we’re using for navigation are inaccurate once in the dense rainforest. Created from aerial surveys they must never have been ground-truthed. Some days we walk all day and, according to the maps, traverse four kilometres. In actual fact we have walked up and down about eight or ten hills; hills that aren’t marked on the map, masked by larger hills overshadowing what lies below. Those days we think our task impossible. Luckily, there are other days when the journey’s exactly as it appears on the map, or when we go further than expected. Each morning we don’t know what sort of day we’ll have.
The rainforest is incredible. If you look at it from above, which happens rarely on our trip as most peaks are so densely vegetated you can’t see anything from them, the canopy is a carpet of green with bumps of larger trees. Some places have a splash of yellow with flowering trees but mostly it’s green. Thick green canopy coating mountainsides as far as you can see.
Underneath it’s different. Fast gurgling streams run over moss covered rocks, bo
ulders and stones at the base of hills. As you climb a hill, the vegetation changes the higher you go. Near the creek are all manner and sizes of bright green ferns. As you climb higher, the vegetation becomes hardier. Tree ferns appear, large leaved palms and ferns, masses of vines reaching out to snare the unsuspecting. Lunch is eaten anywhere we can find a moss-free boulder large enough for us to lean on. The boulders are reasonably dry and you can use them to get the knots from your shoulders and back.
The evenings are like the ones before—water, firewood, fire, food, campsite, sleep. We’re more comfortable with each other, so ribald jokes are the norm each evening. There’s a competition each night to see who can get the biggest root—that is, plant root beneath them. The campsites are rough. We cut, bend or knock down saplings to clear an area large enough for us to sleep in. We have a small fire at one end of the tent fly and the toilet is out in the rainforest, where you have to take the trowel to dig your hole. Beneath the tarpaulin we lay on to sleep is all manner of squashed vegetation, shallow tree roots and rocks we missed moving or couldn’t move. It’s not beautiful but it’s home for the night.
We maintain our sleeping arrangement, each of us only in an inner sheet, rotating bed positions to stop anyone being stuck on the cold edges for more than one night. We chat a little at night. Often we wake in the dead of night to huge crashing limbs or falling trees and joke to settle ourselves back to sleep. Luckily we’re never beneath these crashing giants. There is constant rain. It isn’t called a rainforest for no reason.
I sleep next to every guy in our group and nothing stirs in me, or them I guess. I have the memory of Jason’s body against mine. It keeps me warm every night and has me longingly counting down the days. I want him against me, naked. I want him all to myself, with no one around. I want to discover all I’ve been missing. Luckily I’m so tired each night, these thoughts don’t intrude for long and frustration doesn’t drown me. Seventeen days is a long time waiting.
