Black Swan Affair

by K. L. Kreig

  I groan. He groans, too.

  “Oh fuck, Mavs. The things I want to do to you.”

  “What are they?” I ask, dying to know. Knowing I shouldn’t.

  “They’re wicked. And dirty. And sinful. Fuck, they’re so bad, you’ll be begging for more.”

  “Kael.” This time, his name is a plea. For what, yet, I’m not sure. Stop? Go? Slow down? I don’t know. If I say yes, if I even give a hint of a yes, everything between us will change. Everything. I can’t handle losing him, too. I wouldn’t survive losing both Shepard men.

  A shiver racks my entire body. His arms tighten. “Go out with me,” he demands in my ear.

  I tunnel my hands under his coat. My body melts into his warmth.

  “We go out all the time.” My nose is running now. I sniff, unladylike.

  “Not like this. I want to woo you.”

  I laugh. That sounds so funny coming from the mouth of the boy I knew had chicken pox on his tongue and his privates. But when he presses a thick indication of truth into my lower belly, I stop. This time I stifle that moan.

  “I…I don’t think we should,” I counter back.

  “One date.” I don’t say anything and he demands again, “One date, Swan. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Why? Why now? After all this time?” It hurts when I swallow. It hurts to think. It kind of hurts to hope.

  “You weren’t ready.”

  “What if I’m not ready now?”

  “You are, Mavs.”

  His reply is so sure, so confident, he’s even managed to convince me. He winds his own hands underneath my jacket. His touch feels good. Too good. So wrong.

  “Okay,” I say at last.

  His muscles stiffen. “Yeah?”

  I nod, my nose rubbing against the shell of his coat. I leave some snot behind. Then my face is once again in his hands. His lips just ghost mine this time. There’s restrained passion, but unreserved promise in it. It feels good. Maybe more than good. I want more, I think.

  “Saturday night,” he calls over his shoulder as he bounds to his car like a teenager.

  “That’s a whole week,” I moan, kinda just wanting to get this date over with. I’m sure it will be like every other time we’ve gone out and he’ll see his feelings for me aren’t really what he thinks they are. And I’ll convince myself the swirls in my stomach are from the five cocktails I had and not unfurling desire. Then we can get back to being just us.

  “I need time to plan, Swan.”

  “Plan what?” I yell. He’s now in his car and his grin is infectious.

  “You’ll see,” he mouths.

  We went on that date. Then another after that. And another and another until we barely spent any time apart, which wasn’t a whole lot different than before except that Kael Shepard “wooed” me unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. And I fell for it. Maybe I’ve always felt more for him than I realized. It was just buried underneath the impenetrable cloak of another man.

  Suddenly I remember something about that first night our friendship shifted. Something I’d completely forgotten. I thought I’d glimpsed MaryLou over Ian’s shoulder once, but when I looked again, she wasn’t there. I thought it was a figment of my hazed imagination, but now…

  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “What was me?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, MaryLou Colinda James.” She loathes her middle name. Spits fire when I use it. “It was you who called Kael that night I was at Peppy’s with Ian, wasn’t it?”

  She straightens up and leans close until our noses kiss. Smoke and fire tango in her green gaze. The flames lash out at me when she spits unrepentantly, “You’re fucking right it was.”

  Putting a hand between us, I set it against her chest and push. “Why would you do that?”

  “Are you kidding me, Maverick? You were self-destructing. Pining away for a man who threw you away like trash when Kael has always stood on the sidelines admiring you for the treasure you are.”

  I’m stunned. I feel duped. And maybe a tiny bit grateful. I’m still sorting through those clashing emotions, deciding which one I’m going to go with when I spot them over her shoulder.

  “Oh fuck,” I mumble, taking a step back.

  Her gaze follows mine and MaryLou lets loose a string of expletives that would embarrass a nun. “What are they doing here?”

  And this was another reason I didn’t want to come tonight. Once upon a time, Jilly and Marta McQueen were besties. Then they had a falling out. No one will say why, but rumor was Marta didn’t approve of what she did under my nose with Killian. I’ve seen them around town a few times lately, though, so I was wondering if they’d mended fences. Guess the fact she’s here answers that.

  Jilly stops to talk to Marta, kissing her on both cheeks like she grew up European or something while Killian beelines over to grab a beer from the fridge. He stands off to the side, alone, checking out the partygoers.

  I see the minute he spots Kael because everything about him changes. His posture. His demeanor. His face. He starts searching the place for me. When his gaze finally catches mine, he looks…momentarily happy. But then his mouth turns down and he leans back against the post he was holding. He brings the can to his lips but never looks away from me.

  “Fuck this shit,” MaryLou sputters, before yelling, “Hey Larry, Kael!” Our husbands hear her booming voice, even over the drone of the melee, and when their heads turn our way she follows up with, “Glowing tombstone time!”

  “Oh boy,” I mutter under my breath. The glowing tombstone is a tradition in Dusty Falls. There’s a small town fifteen point three miles away on Highway 169 that you’d miss if you blinked your eyes driving through it called Saint Peters. Saint Pete’s houses four old homes and a small Catholic church—called, you guessed it, Saint Peter’s—where I attended kindergarten through second grade. And on the hill behind Saint Peter’s is an old cemetery that has about a hundred plots. On a cloudless night, with the moon hitting it just right, one of the tombstones actually glows from the road. It’s eerie and beautiful.

  I know exactly what MaryLou’s doing…and I love her for it.

  For a second, I think Kael’s going to protest. He hates drunken glowing tombstone trips, but then he spots Jilly. Two beats later he eyeballs Killian. Watching us.

  “Oh, hell yeah. We’re in,” he shouts. Before I know it, he’s at my side, palming my nape, lips taking mine in a hunger-filled, possessive kiss. Larry grabs two other couples, which is all that can fit in their minivan, and soon we’re heading out, each fisting two beers. Kael catches Jared as we pass. We say our good-byes. Kael says we may be back, but we both know we won’t.

  “I’m not sticking my naked ass on that tombstone,” Larry announces as we make our way to the back door.

  “Your fucking pansy-ass is so spanking Leila tonight,” Kael smoothly replies. Leila Goulding. Age 29. Died 1849.

  “I bet Leila’s seen more ass than my gynecologist,” MaryLou says, snaking her arm around her husband.

  “She’s seen more balls, that’s for damn sure.” Larry palms MaryLou’s ass. “I swear mine tingle for days after they touch that crumbling sandstone.”

  “Maybe it will fire up those swimmers.” Kael huffs a laugh when Larry shoves him playfully in the chest.

  Laughing and bantering, we all file out, leaving the McQueen party in full swing behind us. And though I don’t look back, I don’t have to. I know the weight of Killian’s stare. It’s laden and searing.

  And still all too welcome.

  “Go away,” she demands tersely through gritted teeth.

  “No.” I could give a shit if she wants me here or not. I’m ditching classes for her. She needs me. And as usual, she won’t admit it. Stubborn, stubborn girl. Jesus Christ, she just plain pisses me off sometimes.

  “I’m tired, Kael.”

  “Then I’ll lie down with you. Scoot over.”

  She doesn’t move. Crosses her arms and tur
ns her swollen little mouth down. Like that’s going to do anything but fire me up more. So I stoop low, lift her up against feeble protests, and gently lay her a foot or so over, careful not to jostle her. I then settle myself in, tugging her into my empty arms.

  Oh fuck. My soul sighs long and loud. I’m surprised she doesn’t hear it. I am absolutely whipped for this tiny but mighty thing I’m finally holding close again. This last year in college, away from her, has been excruciating. The parties. The girls. The games. I don’t need any of it. Or want it. The only thing I want is currently acting like a spoiled-ass brat as she grabs a fistful of my shirt and yanks.

  “Hey,” I cry, prying open fingers she now has firmly twisted in my chest hair.

  “Hey, what? You’re such a baby.”

  I rub the smarting over my nipple first and lace our fingers together so she can’t do it again. “Let me reach downtown and give your rug a couple quick tugs. See if your eyes don’t water.”

  “Kael.” She swats me. It stings, but I laugh. “That’s gross.”

  Jesus. If she thinks that’s gross, she wouldn’t want a glimpse into the inner workings of my filthy mind. With her perky tits pressed into my chest and the heat of her pussy currently burning a hole through my jeans, she’s the very epitome of clueless.

  Me and my cock? Yeah…been having a little heart-to-heart with him ever since I walked into this room, saw her spread out on her bed in terrycloth short-short-shorts and a barely-there tank. White. Sans bra. Even now I’m talking him down.

  She wriggles against me. I groan.

  “Stay still,” I chastise, reaching down to still the leg that’s creeping way too close to my inflating woody. Fuck, dude. Work with me here.

  “Why?” She tips her head up, this sweet innocence written all over her. She has no idea.

  Clueless.

  So fucking clueless.

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “I am,” she shoots back before promptly closing her eyes.

  She relaxes her hand over my heart and pretends to sleep while I pretend I’m not staring straight down her gaping tee. Fuck. Me. I see a hint of pebbled brown. My mouth waters. I make myself look anywhere but there when all I really want to do is strip her from this shirt, tongue my way down her neck, and suck that perfect nipple until she’s writhing underneath me.

  There are so many depraved things I want to do to her almost sixteen-year-old killer body. But I run the words that would end me and my budding legal aspirations on repeat: jailbait, jailbait, jailbait.

  In the state of Iowa, at nineteen, I could technically be charged with statutory rape if I so much as lay a fucking inappropriate finger on her before her sixteenth birthday, which is in three weeks.

  Even then, she won’t let me touch her, though. She doesn’t think of me that way. Never has. She’s got a teenage “crush” on my brother while I have officially been “friend-zoned.” And that smarts more than any hair being pulled on my body. Hell, I’d pluck them out myself, one by one, if she looked at me the way she looks at Killian. The shit of it is…Killian returns some of her feelings. I see the way he looks at her out of the corner of his eye when he doesn’t think anyone is watching. I am in for a lifetime of torture if these two hook up. It will fucking end me.

  But I will never give up fighting for her. Ever. Killian doesn’t know Mavs the way I do. He never will. He doesn’t know she leaps into her bed from a foot away after she’s shut off the light. Or that she eats green beans right out of the can, cold, not because she’s impatient, but because she likes them that way. Or that she has the tiniest little twitch in her right eye when she’s getting ready to spew her personal brand of sarcasm.

  No. She’s mine. Period. He can’t have her.

  Trying my level best to ignore that black rock from him she keeps on her nightstand, I take in the muted show on TV Land. Gilligan’s Island. God, how I love this girl’s quirks. Old shows. Old movies. Old music. Old clothes. She’s a classic through and through. So very opposite from her snobby family.

  “How’s the mouth, Swan?”

  “How do you think?” she snaps, eyes still screwed shut.

  “I think you need some more painkillers to curb that sass. That’s what I think.”

  Brilliant eyes the color of blades of grass after a heavy rain snap open and latch on to me. “You’re not supposed to be mean to a patient after surgery. That’s against the rules,” she sasses back. I can tell it’s hard for her to talk.

  “You didn’t have surgery, Mavs. You had two wisdom teeth pulled.”

  “Well, they gave me anesthesia and anytime you get anesthesia it’s technically considered surgery.”

  I don’t argue. It’s pointless.

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing,” she says lowly. I push a piece of that thick, shiny chocolate hair I love so much back behind her ear. Her eyes flutter shut this time. She looks happy and peaceful. She looks so right next to me. My God, I love her. She is maturing into an exquisite woman.

  “Hungry?”

  The shoulder she’s not lying on lifts. That means yes.

  “I can’t eat any solid food for another three days,” she mumbles.

  My girl’s jaw is swollen and starting to yellow on one side where she clearly bruised. If I could carry all her pain, I would. In the span of a heartbeat.

  “Good thing I brought your favorite nonsolid treat then.”

  She pops up like a jack-in-the-box, using my gut as leverage. Practically pushes all the air out of my lungs. “You did not!”

  Her eyes glitter. Literally. Like stardust or laser beams. And her smile? Jesus. It would make any sane man do stupid, stupid things to keep it there. She looks so damn excited I want to kiss her, slam my mouth to hers, taking everything I’ve held back from taking all these years. Instead, I slide a hand under my head and grin. “I did.”

  She bounds to her knees, her “tiredness” and “surgery” all but forgotten. Right now she looks every ounce the fifteen-year-old she is, affirming I can’t push her for anything. She’s not ready.

  Mavs jumps on top of me, throwing her hands down on either side of my head. She’s now nicely placed her scorching center mere inches from my rapidly hardening junk.

  Oh…fuck.

  Breathe, perv. Just breathe.

  Then she dips, her nose touching mine. “Where is it?” she prods playfully. She starts wiggling again. I can’t take it. She scoots back even the tiniest fraction and she’s not going to be clueless much longer. I clamp my hands around her waist, trying not to picture her naked…riding me…those amazing tits bouncing…head thrown back in ecstasy…tight pussy sucking me in…

  Holy living God, I want her.

  “Freezer,” I choke.

  I don’t even have the word all the way out before her door flies open and she’s running down the hall, bounding down the steps to the kitchen. I have about forty-five seconds before she’s back. I use that time to scold the unruly adolescent in my jeans who refuses to obey. I’m hard as a fucking two-by-four. Two strokes is all it would take and I’ll be shooting all over her pristine white sheets.

  Slowly, I inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Repeat again. A third time.

  It’s no use. With every breath I take in, I smell her. She’s all around me. Honeysuckle. Roses. Tulips. I have no fucking idea what kind of flower she smells like, but I forever associate it with her.

  I prop myself against the headboard and throw a pillow in my lap at the very second Mavs walks back in. Blissfully unaware, she settles in beside me, hands me a spoon, and unmutes the TV.

  We eat her favorite ice cream—strawberry explosion, a creamy concoction that boasts chocolate-covered Pop Rocks—in silence. Pretty soon, we’re both laughing at Mary Ann, who is currently trying to sing “I Wanna Be Loved by You,” but keeps forgetting the words. I love this episode. It’s the one where Mary Ann hits her head and thinks she’s Ginger.

  After a while, Mavs sets the bowl of melting ice cream on her n
ightstand and lays her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Kael.”

  “For what, Swan?” I throw my arm around her and hold in my moan when she snuggles.

  “For coming. I know you should be at school.”

  “If it’s a choice between you and Statistics, you win every time.”

  She cranes her neck, looking up at me. Smiles. Moves a few inches to kiss me innocently on the cheek. Her lips are soft. Supple. Cool from the ice cream, but they feel so damn good. My free hand involuntarily snakes in her hair. I tip her head back. Her eyes bulge a little.

  I want to taste her. God almighty, how I want my mouth on hers.

  “I have another surprise for you.”

  Her grin wrenches me under. Bewitches me.

  “It can’t be better than strawberry explosion.”

  “Oh, but it is,” I tease, bopping her on the nose.

  That smile widens. I’m gone to it. To her.

  “What could be better than that?” Is it my imagination or did she sound breathy? Did her eyes dilate just a tad? Did her muscles relax into me a bit more?

  “North by Northwest.”

  “Get out!” she squeals, throwing her arms around my neck, burying her face in the crook.

  Please don’t mount me again. I’m not sure I can take it without going to jail.

  “Where is it?”

  “On the seat of my car,” I tell her. Like an idiot—or maybe it was a blessing—I forgot the DVD when I came in. I was more worried about the ice cream melting. “How about we watch another episode of Gilligan’s Island and I’ll go get it. That is…if you’re not too tired.”

  “I’m not too tired.” But she is. She sounds like she’s fading.

  My lips find their way to her forehead. They linger too long. “Time for a pain pill?”

  She hesitates. Finally, “Maybe.”

  “Okay. Stay here and rest. I’ll get you some water.”

  I’ve just slid from the bed when she grabs my hand and tugs until I look back at her. Time is suspended as she just looks at me and breathes. It seems as if she wants to say something but can’t.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, unsure what to do. My heart is beating out of my chest.