Badd Kitty

by Jasinda Wilder

  She blushed hard. “I mean, I want to touch you.” She bit her lip again, and I had to restrain myself from taking that lip from her and licking it and tasting it. “I want you. I just want more.”

  “How much more?”

  “A lot more.” She whispered this across the rim of her wineglass.

  I sat back, grinning, as Eliza entered with the main courses, made sure we had what we needed, and left again. I let the heat of the previous moment dissipate, returning the conversation to her past.

  “So. You and your ex.” I watched her try to shift tracks, probably assuming I’d pursue the other train of conversation. “You hesitated when you said it was good. Why?”

  She didn’t answer for a beat. “Um. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of my relationship with Tom. It wasn’t—”

  “Just tell it like it is, Kitty. Don’t dress it up or play it down.”

  “I—we—” she fumbled, and started over. “Things with you have changed my feelings on it, a little, I guess.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugged. “Things with Tom and me were good. I liked being with him. We lived together for five years and were together for eight. That’s a long time to be with someone, you know? So…it was good. I was content with what we had.”

  I eyed her as she held a silence. “But?”

  She huffed a laugh and dropped her head forward. “God, you’re relentless, you know that? How do you always know when I’m leaving something out?”

  “I don’t know. I can just read you.”

  She sighed, took a bite of her salmon, and then continued. “But…I guess too much contentedness can be a bad thing. I sometimes found myself wanting…I don’t know how to put it, other than just that I wanted more. I wanted him to want me in a way I didn’t feel like he did. We had sex regularly, don’t get me wrong. But he just seemed totally happy with it being pretty much the same thing every time, and sometimes I wanted a little variety. A little more heat, or spice or whatever.”

  “So is that what killed the relationship?” I asked.

  She shook her head, loose curls bouncing. “No, not at all. I don’t think I ever really even thought about that aspect of my breakup with Tom until recently.” She glanced at me. “Until you.” She shook her head again, and I couldn’t help admiring how the shake of her head sent her tits gently swaying and jiggling. “No, me and Tom breaking up was about the fact that we dated for three years, moved in together, and lived together for five years, and he never proposed, never wanted to talk about marriage or kids or anything.”

  “And you wanted that?” I asked.

  “I mean, I thought that’s where it was going, yes.” She scooped up a forkful of basmati rice. “And he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he said he was pretty sure it wasn’t that.” A pause. “He said, and I’m quoting as closely as I can remember, here—‘we have a good thing going, so why change it?’”

  “We had a saying in my smokejumper unit: Complacency kills.” I finished my food in a few bites, and then continued. “Which seems true for a lot of things. I’ve never been in a real relationship, but I think that if I ever were in one, I wouldn’t want it to be just this okay, content, blah thing.” I held her gaze. “I don’t know if you realize this about me, but I like things to be exciting.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ve maybe gathered that about you, Roman.”

  “So, let me ask you this.” I covered my plate with my napkin and sat back in the chair, eying her. “How does all this tie into you being hesitant to give over control, or to let go, loosen up, or whatever?”

  “Because with Tom, sex was…about togetherness. It was sweet. Loving. We held each other afterward, and whispered sweet nothings that would probably make you barf.” She laughed self-consciously. “Sex wasn’t about being crazy, or going wild, or…or losing control. Nothing I’ve ever done has been about intentionally losing control. I guess it was an unspoken thing in everything my parents taught me, a subtext—that we should always be in control.”

  I thought for a while. “That does explain a lot, actually.”

  She finished her food, pushed her plate away, and stretched a little. “So, tell me about your experience, where you’re coming from.” She held my gaze. “And be as honest as you made me be. Real talk.”

  “Real talk, huh?” I figured why not let her have it. She asked for it, right? “So my dad was—is, I guess—an alcoholic. We all knew this from an early age. He never hit us, nothing like that. Isn’t one of those sob stories. He was just a heavy drinker. Our mom took off when we were seven, and our dad just…well, he did the best he could. You heard a lot of this when I told it to my cousins. But he was one old drunk and we were three uncontrollable hellions. We did basically whatever the fuck we wanted. He worked, and he drank until he passed out. Which left us to our own devices. We also lived in a rural area, which is putting it nicely. Fuckin’ boonies, is what it was. Not much to do out there but drink, smoke, fight, and fuck. So that’s what we did. We learned it real early from the folks around us—our friends, most of whom grew up similar to us. Not a lot of supervision, no one to care much beyond keeping us fed and alive.”

  “That sounds like a very…rough…upbringing.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” I laughed. “We three were the biggest, meanest kids around, so everyone was always trying to take us down a peg, and we were always too stubborn to quit, so we were always in a fight. I think I grew up sportin’ a black eye and a broken nose more often than not. I think most folks assumed it was from Dad, but he does love us, and somethin’ fierce, too. Just in his own way.

  “Anyway.” I paused to consider. “When I was fourteen years old, I hooked up with a senior named Vanessa Cloud—I think we talked about this. Of course, I’d messed around plenty before that, but that was the first time I had actual sex. Since then, it’s been a steady stream of girls. The pursuit of sex and hot chicks came second only to graduating high school. We just wanted to get the fuck outta there and fight fires in Cali, which had been our dream from way back. We saw one of those Smokey the Bear commercials, and decided we were gonna fight wildfires. And then, once we were gone, it was just our way of life—fight fires, hit the bars, hook up.”

  I paused, choosing my words carefully. “In my experience, sex is about feeling good, connecting for a while with someone you like. It’s about a physical feeling, a sensation. It’s about the moment. The experience. The high, the rush, the thrill. It’s about the opposite of control, for me. In my line of work, I have to be in control, at the top of my game, hyperaware of my surroundings and my crew and everything, the fire, the woods, the air, the dirt, my body, my gear—everything, every single moment. Sex is a chance to let go of all that. Just feel. Just be.”

  She shivered, her eyes warm and intense on mine. “That sounds…I like the way you make that sound.”

  “It’s a visceral thing, Kitty. It’s the purest experience of life. It’s fleeting, it goes by so fast, but in that moment, you’re just—you’re fully alive, fully immersed in the moment and the sensation, and that’s all there is. No worries, no stress, no bills, no pain, or exes or anything—just that moment, that feeling.” I hold her gaze. “It’s about surrendering control, Kitty. Willingly giving it up, letting it go, and just living in your body, in that moment, with that person.”

  “What about the emotional aspect of it?” Her voice was quiet, almost inaudible.

  I shrugged. “Never been important to me.”

  “Not at all?” She sounded almost…sad.

  “Nope.” I paused, my breath catching in my chest, honesty emerging out of me. “Not until now.”

  9

  Kitty

  * * *

  My heart constricted, squeezing inside my chest. I wanted to believe he meant until me. That I made him feel emotions, or want to feel them. That I made him want to explore the emotional component of sex with me.

  “Until now?” I asked, breathing the words.

&nb
sp; He opened his mouth to reply, but Eliza entered at that moment, carrying a tray full of desserts.

  “Would either of you care for dessert?” she asked, angling the tray toward us.

  I shook my head; normally I’d be all about the tasty-looking items on that tray, but in that moment, all I wanted was to be left alone with Roman.

  He watched my reaction, and then smiled at Eliza. “No, thanks. I think we’re okay. Maybe bring another bottle of wine, and then just let us have some privacy for the evening?”

  “Absolutely.” She vanished with the tray, returning moments later with another bottle, uncorked, which she set on the table for us. She indicated an intercom panel on a nearby wall. “I’ll be up in the cockpit with Captain Martin. If you need anything, just press the green button and speak, and we’ll both hear you.”

  “Thank you very much, Eliza.” Roman’s smile was charming, but I could tell he was impatient for her to leave.

  Eliza headed for the door, and then paused. “Just as a by the way, the cockpit and cabin where Captain Martin and I will spend the evening is acoustically sealed from the rest of the ship, and has a limited view, meaning he can see in one hundred and eighty degrees from the helm, but cannot see rearward past mid-ship.” Her smile was polite, discreet. “So, you will have absolute privacy in the saloon, in the main bedroom quarters, and outside toward the stern. We will carry on with our planned tour northward along the Inside Passage unless you inform us otherwise, planning a return to Ketchikan around sunrise.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Roman said, visibly impatient now, which Eliza noticed. “Thank you.”

  She smiled again, backing out of the saloon. “I’ll leave you alone now. Thank you for the opportunity to serve you.”

  And then, finally, she was gone. As soon as she was out of sight, Roman left the table, snagging the bottle of wine and our two glasses, heading out to the stern. There was a couch built into the side of the boat just outside the saloon, with a table secured to the floor. He set the bottle and glasses down, poured us each a glass, and handed one to me. Instead of sitting down, however, he moved to the very rear of the boat, leaning a hip against the side, bracing a hand on the railing. The boat left a white wake in the green-gray water. Trees rose in a thick blanket to our right, open water to our left. Roman had timed this whole thing absolutely perfectly—the sun was just now setting, an orange ball plunging itself into the sea, bathing everything in a golden orange-red light, staining the sea, the boat, the sky, everything. The only sound was the faint rumble of the engines and the gentle sweep of the prow of the boat against the waves, an occasional seagull cawing overhead, wheeling and tilting.

  For a while, we just stood side by side at the back of the boat, watching the sunset, sipping delicious wine, and enjoying the moment. We didn’t speak, and the silence was comfortable.

  I finally turned my gaze away from the red crescent of the sun as it prepared to vanish entirely beneath the horizon—Roman was staring down at me, his blue eyes sparking with intensity.

  “So, what did you mean, ‘until now’?” I asked, the question burning a hole in my heart.

  He didn’t answer for a moment. “Just that until I met you, I never cared about the whole idea of emotionally connecting with someone through sex. I never wanted to emotionally connect with anyone. That’s just not what sex has ever been about for me. And, honestly, I wouldn’t know how to…” He shrugged, at a loss for words. “How to even do that, I guess.”

  I couldn’t help a laugh. “How to do what? Emotionally connect with someone through sex?”

  His grin was wry and rueful. “You laugh like that’s ridiculous.”

  “Because it is!” I shake my head. “Do you really just go through life without feeling anything? You’re just numb to everything except the desire to have sex and…what else? Fight fires and punch people?”

  He laughed. “Yes, Kitty, that’s exactly it. Those are the only things I feel in my life—have sex, fight fires, and punch people.”

  “Well, you did say your entire life was about fighting, sex, smoking, and drinking.”

  He laughed again. “What I actually said was, growing up where I did, the only things to do were drink, smoke, fight, and fuck.” He lifted an eyebrow at me. “I didn’t say that’s all my life consists of now.”

  I quirked an eyebrow back at him until he started laughing.

  “Okay, fine, it pretty much is. Except I don’t smoke, and while I do drink, not as much as you’re probably assuming.” I think about the other day, and the amount of whiskey I put away. “At least, not typically. I also don’t get into too many fights anymore.”

  “You don’t? You swagger around like your greatest joy in life is to knock people’s teeth in.”

  His grin was predatory. “Yeah, well, that’s the vibe I like to give off. I act like I’m the toughest, meanest guy in any room—and usually, I am—which means most people won’t mess with me.” He gestured at himself. “When you look like me, guys get intimidated, and when guys are intimidated, they wanna show how tough they are by trying to start shit with me to prove they’re not intimidated. Which is dumb, because that’s just a good way to get your teeth knocked in. So I swagger around like I know I’ve got the biggest, brassiest balls around in part as a way to prevent assholes from starting something with me.” He winked at me. “Plus, I generally do have the biggest, brassiest balls around.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “And so humble.” I sighed. “So you don’t drink that much, don’t fight that much, don’t smoke at all…which leaves the last one as your primary activity.”

  “Not gonna sugarcoat it, and not gonna lie about it.” He stared down at me, his gaze unapologetic and unwavering. “Until I moved up here, yes, fighting fires and having sex was the way I spent the majority of my time.”

  “Having sex without any emotional connectivity,” I clarified.

  “Pretty much.” He shrugged. “It’s not like it was just this…blank, emotionless transaction, though, Kitty. I don’t know what you’re picturing or imagining, but I do feel things. I have emotions. I’m not a robot.”

  “So what do you feel, then?” I asked.

  The sun was gone, leaving a reddish smear on the western sky. I shifted, leaning my butt against the stern and eyeing him sideways.

  He thought about his answer for a moment. “About what?”

  I gestured with a hand, a circular, all-inclusive movement. “I don’t know—everything. In life, during sex, with your brothers, with your cousins…” I hesitated, meeting his eyes as I laid out the last one. “With me.”

  “In life? I worry about my dad. I feel doubt about the bar Rem and Ram and I are trying to open, and whether it was a good idea, whether we really have the skills to make it happen right. I feel love for my brothers. We’re super tight, super protective of each other. But this bar is making things tough. I think I maybe railroaded them into doing it with me, and I’m not sure they’re feeling the project the way I am. Or this town, or the cousins. I don’t know. We haven’t talked much about it, so I’m not sure where they’re at, but I just feel like things are in limbo.

  “In terms of my cousins? That’s a tough one—there’s a lot there. It’s weird suddenly having a family. I grew up thinking it was just Rem, Ram, Dad, and me. And with Dad drinking the way he did, I figured it was only a matter of time before he died, leaving the boys and I alone. He had a heart attack earlier in the year, which was what brought us back to Oklahoma from California.” He hesitated. “That and what happened in the last fire we fought.”

  “Can I ask about that? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

  He shrugged. “It’s heavy.”

  I gazed up at him, taking his hand in mine. “For me, this date is about getting to know each other, so if you don’t mind talking about it, I’d like to know.”

  Roman hesitated, and then let out a slow, tight breath. “Okay, since you put it like that.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then
started the story. “We were sent to jump into a fire in the Klamath area. Super remote, a wicked intense fire that was spreading fast through some challenging terrain. It started out like a fairly routine fire—although, there’s never such a thing as a routine wildfire. Each one is different, with its own challenges and dangers. This one should have been over quick, though. We got there early, dropped into a nice position and went on the attack. We were getting ahead of it, establishing a boundary.” He shrugged. “You probably don’t care about the details, though. Upshot is, she jumped our boundary and started running on us. Got away from us, and we got split up. Rem and I were paired up, working our way along the base of a ridge, trying to connect with Ram, Kevin, and Jameson who were around the other side of the ridge. Peterson and Mackie were north of us, up on the ridge heading down—the idea was for the three teams to converge, heading the worst of the fire off before it spread any further.”

  He paused, staring at the wake.

  “A tree fell. That shit happens all the time, and part of the job is staying alert, watching the forest, watching the fire. But sometimes, shit just happens. A tree snapped suddenly, without any real warning.” He paused again. “Um. So the tree knocked Ram aside, and left Jameson on the other side of it, alone. Kevin was beneath it. He, um. He took the worst of it right on his shoulder, and then it landed on him. Basically crushed him immediately. Ram went nuts, trying to lift the fucking thing off Kev. Jameson called us over to help, but by the time we got there, Kev was dead. And we still had the fire to get under control. We chopped the tree into a manageable piece, got it off him, got his body clear of the fire, and had to go back to work.”

  “Roman, god, I’m so sorry.”

  He turned away from me, jaw grinding. “Kevin was our best friend. We’d known him since we joined the Forest Service, went through training with him, transferred to the Redding Smokejumper crew with him. He was like our fourth brother. When that tree went down, and I wasn’t there, couldn’t get there in time to save him? I fucking—it messed with me. I know I couldn’t have saved him. He was dead the moment the tree hit him. I know that. But if I’d gotten there sooner, if I’d…yada yada yada, bullshit, whatever. I know better. But my head still keeps spinning these stories about what I should have done differently. Same with Rem and Ram, too—Ram especially. He was there, he watched it happen, watched Kevin die and couldn’t do shit to stop it. It really fucked him up, and when one of us is fucked up, we all are. And then Dad had a heart attack, and we just…we needed time away.”