by Whitley Cox
“It’s Battle of the Homelands tonight,” Ian said a little while later, dropping two steaming bowls of rich and hearty quinoa soup and some grilled cheese sandwiches in front of us. My stomach growled at the sight of it as I picked up a wedge of the sandwich, the cheese stretching all stringy and melty. I took a bite and let my eyes roll into the back of my head. Yeah, I was totally going to live here for the rest of my life
“What’s the Battle of the Homelands?” Derrick asked, spooning some soup into his mouth, but then letting it gracelessly fall back into his bowl after it burnt his tongue. Ian and I laughed at him.
“Kind of like ‘American Gladiators,’ only we’re not all just Americans here, so you fight for your country. We’ll have trivia, arm wrestling, sparring like they do on ‘American Gladiators,’ with those big sticks on beams. I think they call it jousting or something. I think Mikey wanted to do a beer shotgun competition… loads of fun.”
I chewed quietly, the flavors melding and bursting across my tongue, a celebration of sweet and savory all in one incredible bite. Another thing this place had in common with the Lima hostel — great food, and they were both party central!
“Sounds like fun.” Derrick smiled, accepting a beer. I’d ordered another pisco sour. I had to get my fill, replace all my blood with pisco, because I wasn’t sure where else I’d be able to get such a tangy and refreshing drink once I got back to Canada. Could you get pisco in Canada?
“We’ve got a party almost every night.” Ian grinned, pointing at our Lima hostel wristbands. “But I guess you guys already knew that. Ah, mate… you have some… uh… blue on your neck. Birfday Smurfday Party last night by chance?”
Mouths full of awesomeness, we both just nodded.
“We usually do Birfday Smurfday on the new moon. Don’t know why, it’s just become a tradition. But tonight’s going to be fun, too. I think there might be a few more Canucks kicking around for you two to team up with, represent the Great White North and all that. Call yourselves the Beavers or the…” He scratched his head. “The Polar Bears? I dunno what your animal is.”
“It’s the beaver.” I nodded, swallowing the last bite of my sandwich and pouting because there wasn’t any left.
“Well, then you guys can be The Hairy Beavers…” He winked. “That is of course unless you like your beavers hairless… because I certainly do!”
We really should have taken the evening to go into Cusco and explore. Go and grab a drink with the locals, or duck into a souvenir shop and try on goofy hats, laughing until our sides hurt and the shop owner told us to buy something or leave, but we didn’t. We stuck around the hostel dining room, drinking pisco sours and beer and chatting with the hilarious Ian. Slowly, as the evening progressed, the place filled up, and soon the dining hall was a cacophony of various languages, music, laughter and lovely international cheer.
Just as Ian had said, a few other Canadians were kicking around, and we found ourselves sitting with them and plotting strategy for the upcoming Battle.
Ava, Leila, and Paul were all from Ottawa and had been in Cusco for almost two weeks already. They hadn’t even been to Machu Picchu yet but had plans to do the Inca Trail at some point. They just loved the hostel so much that they’d spend their afternoons wandering around the city, visiting schools and hanging out with kids (all three had just graduated university with teaching degrees), and then in the evening they’d come back to the hostel and partied the night away. I didn’t know how they did it, to be honest. I’d only been doing this non-stop partying thing for a few days, and already my liver and guts were sending up copious memos telling me to cease and desist, otherwise they were going to revolt.
It was no Birfday Smurfday, but the night was a lot of fun, with a trivia challenge, done in the same style as “Jeopardy,” where you had to answer in the form of a question. We narrowly missed the victory, but the Swedes were just too quick and a little less drunk than us and claimed the win. Paul, a big beefy guy with shaggy brown hair and a beard, won the arm-wrestling contest, beating out the Argentinian with the neck tattoo (who had not been happy at all with his defeat). And I’d somehow (I’m still not entirely sure how I did it, as I was pretty drunk) beat the Lithuanian girl (poor thing was the only Lithuanian in the house, so she had to represent an entire nation on her own) when we faced off on the beam and jousted, trying to knock the other person off while remaining on the beam ourselves.
Derrick tied with the Australian guy (of course, because Aussies can drink) during the beer shot-gunning competition, and Ava and Leila put in a solid effort but yielded little success when forced to go up against the two French guys in a grueling game of tiddlywinks. When the scores were finally tallied, we were tied for first with the Swedes, each country sitting with an impressive seventy-two points, while the French guys sat there with bitter scowls on their faces, as the disappointment of their bronze metal slowly sunk in.
“All right, the tie-breaker!” Ian announced, climbing onto the bar. “You have your choice. Will it be brains or brawn?”
“What does he mean…hic…” Oh shit, I had the hiccups. “What does he mean by that?” I asked, turning to Ava.
“I think he’s giving us the choice of a task that involves using our brain, like another trivia question or something, or an activity that involves strength or stamina or something, like another arm wrestle.”
I nodded, another hiccup bubbling up in my chest. Holy crap, I was drunk.
“The first to do fifty push-ups wins, or…” Oh thank God, there was an or. If I did fifty push-ups, even the girlie kind, I was going to barf everywhere. “You and your team have to come up with a list of five questions for the other team about your country. The team that answers the most questions correctly wins!” Ian said, looking to Derrick, who was the leader of our little group, and then to Anton, the leader of the Swedes.
Anton and Derrick grinned at each other and then turned to Ian. “We’ll do the questions,” they both said.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked as we huddled in the corner with Ava, Leila and Paul, a piece of paper and a pen between us.
“Positive.” Derrick beamed. “I’ve been to Sweden; I read their The Ultimate Traveler cover to cover. I’ve got this.”
I gave him a skeptical look but nodded. “Okaaaay.”
It took us a good twenty minutes to compile our questions. Making sure that they were fair, but not too easy. We certainly weren’t going to ask them what our national animal was, but the official sport of Canada (most people think it’s hockey, but it’s actually lacrosse) was not off the table.
We handed the papers to Ian, who gave them a quick look, and then, he swapped them out and handed us our questions.
“No phones, no laptops, no cheating. You have five minutes. Annnnd go!” And he drained his beer before jumping down off the bar to go and make googly eyes at the Lithuanian girl who appeared to be licking her wounds from getting her ass kicked by moi over in the corner. She held a pisco sour in her hands and wore an inviting smile on her face as Ian stalked toward her. She made room for him on the couch, and within a second or two they were sucking face. Ah, hostel life!
“All right, let’s see what we have here,” Derrick said, rubbing his hands together in delight as he unfolded the paper. “What is the name of the bridge between Sweden and Denmark?”
Paul, Leila, Ava and I all looked at one another with blank faces.
“Öresundsbron.” Derrick grinned, writing it down, and even making sure he put the little dots above the O.
“How…hic…did you know that?” I asked in amazement.
He shrugged. “The Ultimate Traveler, I told you. Okay, next one, what is the name of the gulf that separates Sweden and Finland? Anyone?” We all shook our heads. “The Gulf of Bothnia.”
I gaped at him; the man was a walking-talking encyclopedia. And as he read through the questions, answering them with total ease, exuding confidence but not cockiness, I couldn’t get over how turned on I w
as becoming — like wanting to abandon the game altogether and whisk him to our room, tear his clothes off and ride him like a stallion turned-on. He was brilliant.
I was breathless, while a sudden warmth crept up my chest and neck and a slickness ran down between my thighs. I rested my hand on his shoulder, but that did very little to quell my need. Instead, it just ramped it up and made me want him even more.
“Okay, the last question, everybody knows what the Nobel Prize is, but does anyone know what Mr. Nobel’s first name was?”
I perked up. I knew this one! I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew it. “Al…hic…Alfred! His name was Alfred Nobel…hic.” Covering my mouth as I hiccupped again.
Derrick’s face turned from curious to smoldering as he wrote down the last answer. Was he as turned on by my brains as I was by his? Were we two nerds who were going to go hump like geeky bunnies as soon as we claimed our victory? God, I hoped so. I really, really hoped so.
He folded up the paper and handed it to Ian who had managed to extract himself from the lips of the Lithuanian girl and was back standing on the bar. Anton handed Ian his slip of paper as well. It was a minute or two as Ian toiled over the questions and the answer sheets we’d also provided, making sure that all I’s were dotted, T’s were crossed, and the O’s had those funky dots on the top.
“We have a winner!” Ian announced, lifting his beer and turning to face us. “The Hairy Beavers from Canada take the gold in the Battle of the Homelands! Five out of five questions right!”
Everyone erupted into cheers while Derrick grabbed me roughly by the arm and spun me into his chest, dipping me low, his mouth crashing down on mine. It was as if Canada had just won gold in the Olympics in both men and women’s hockey (this was something we go mental over), and it wasn’t just some silly hostel game. In a celebration of immense proportion, I half expected to be showered with champagne soon.
I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him into me, our tongues dueling and dancing as teeth nipped and lips caressed. I was wild for him, desperate to get his skin beneath my fingers, beneath my lips. I wanted to taste every inch of him. We’d made love just that afternoon, but already I was going through severe withdrawal. The man was my drug, and I was starting to worry how I’d ever be able to give him up cold turkey when we finally parted ways after Machu Picchu.
Ian walked over with a tray of shots, our prize for our landslide victory. Apparently, the Swedes had only managed to answer three of our five questions correctly. Who doesn’t know that the bridge between Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick is called The Confederation Bridge? Or that poutine is an ooey-gooey dish of carbohydrate loaded deliciousness made of French fries, gravy, and cheese curds?
Derrick grabbed a shot, but then, instead of slamming it back, he put it back on the tray, scooped me up and carried me over to the bar, laying me down on top. I gave him a quizzical look, but the eyes that stared back at me were pure fire, like embers flickering in hot coals. He took the shot from Ian again, and then lifting up my shirt he proceeded to pour it into my bellybutton, and he took a lime from the tray and popped it into my mouth.
He licked my chest and neck, sipped the tequila from my navel and then came at me for a kiss, squeezing the lime between our lips, the citrusy tang mixing with the tequila on his tongue, making me lightheaded and craving more. Whoops and cheers and laughter filled the air as he did a couple more shots off me, mixing it up between my belly button and cleavage, but always ending with a searing kiss that left me wanton and eager to whisk him back to our room.
We were kissing again, the lime still between our lips when he went to pull away, but I grabbed him by the collar. “Enough of…hic…this…” Fuck, I still had my hiccups. “Enough of this. Take me to our room and fuck me…NOW!” I didn’t even care if people heard me. I didn’t care if people knew what we were up to, I was ready to tear his clothes off right there and have my way with him, voyeurs and health codes be damned. My engine was revving, and we needed to hit the accelerator.
A wide grin spread across his face as he lifted me up An Officer and a Gentleman style and carried me toward the door. I kind of wished he’d been wearing a hat, so I could take it off and put it on my head. More laughter and more whoops and hollers erupted from the peanut gallery, but neither of us cared. I was only looking at Derrick. He walked us through the throngs of partiers, down the steps and to our room. It would have been so hot if he’d just kicked the door open and then tossed me on the bed, but, alas, real life is not always like that, and he was forced to put me down so he could fish his keys from his pocket.
“I tried to be all alpha and romantic,” he said with a discouraged grumble, jamming the key into the door and giving it a hard nudge with his shoulder. “But it’s just not practical leaving the door unlocked, especially not after Lima.”
I snorted. Lust and the animalistic need to fuck would never trump logic, at least not where we were concerned. We were quite the pair, pragmatic to the core. He turned the doorknob then looked down at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing thick and sexy in his throat. I wanted to lick it; I wanted to feel it move beneath my tongue. Wait a second, why couldn’t I? We were preparing to do far more despicable things to one another, why couldn’t I lick his throat?
I turned into his arms and rose up on my tiptoes, my hands on his shoulders for balance while I brought my lips to his skin, dragging my tongue up the front of his neck, tasting him, smelling him, feeling his pulse race and his throat undulate.
“Piper.” God, I would never grow tired of hearing my name from his lips. Never. And then he lifted me up by my hips and carried me inside, kicking the door closed for dramatic effect.
I leaped up and wrapped my legs around his waist, tearing at his shirt while peppering kisses along his face and neck. He slammed my back against the wall, his pelvis pinning me in place as his hands made quick work of my T-shirt.
He groaned. “Fuck, you are so fucking sexy.” I tossed his shirt to the floor. My jeans were next, he put me down for a second so I could shimmy out of them. He did the same, boxers too, so I figured, what the hey? And stripped off my skivvies as well. His eyes fell to my breasts, and I felt my nipples tighten. Just his look alone sent a burst of need coursing through my body, and I leaped back up onto his hips, my arms tangling around his neck as I planted wet, hot kisses all over his face and neck.
“Fuck me, Derrick, fuck me so hard… please.”
I could only describe the sound like a roar, a low rumble, with the teeth and nostril flare of a snarl, that burst from his chest and past his parted lips. He loved it when I begged. And even though we were now both naked, the way I clawed at him, the way he ground himself against me, his hands roaming my skin, it was as if we couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get deep enough. We both needed past the skin, past the muscle. I needed to feel him in my bones, in my soul.
He pushed into me, the length of his shaft rubbing between my legs just right, hitting that sweet spot and nearly making me come. I was so ready, so primed and willing, desperate to have him inside me.
“Please…” My head fell back against the cool brick. “Inside me…now.”
His teeth raked my jaw, and he snarled as his fingers dug painfully into my butt cheeks, and he hoisted me up. Slowly, ever so slowly I sunk down, sheathing him to the hilt. I let out a satisfying moan and just stilled for a moment, relishing the intensity of being full, of how well we fit together, how right it felt. Then we started to move, hard and fast, my head smacking the brick as he pumped up into me, thrusting harder and harder. The sound of flesh on flesh ricocheted around the room, interrupted only by our ragged breaths and feral groans.
I was drunk, really drunk, and usually, when I had sex while intoxicated, I was a tough nut to crack if I cracked at all. But not with Derrick. Within minutes I was crying, sweet tears of joy running down my cheeks as I came apart at the seams, his name on my lips as I let go and allowed the climax to claim me. It all just felt so good, the r
ubbing, the friction, the fucking. Oh God, the fucking. The way he fit inside me, so damned perfect, I felt every part of him, relished every buck, every ram. I felt it all, and I loved it all. Bright lights and swirling colors flashed behind my closed lids as I clenched and squeezed my body around him, quivering as he continued to plunge himself inside, seeking his own release.
He stilled, pressing me harder against the wall as his teeth found my shoulder and he bit down.
“Yes…fuck!”
His cock began to pulse, and I clenched around him again. Even though I’d found my release, I wanted to help him with his and increase his pleasure, make him feel as incredible as he made me feel. His teeth pierced my flesh until I gasped from the pain, but I loved it. I truly loved the pain and the pleasure dichotomy, and just as soon as the pain came on, it quickly bloomed and spread along my shoulder and chest into a pleasant warmth.
I felt him shudder against me as he ground out the last of his orgasm, his skin rising to gooseflesh beneath my fingertips as I traced them along his hard and sexy back, tickling and teasing, scratching him with my nails until he groaned in delight.
He kissed his bite mark and then lifted his head, his eyes glassy and sleepy and so full of appreciation and desire. His lips found mine. But this time, unlike the passionate tongue twirling make out sessions from earlier, it was a sweet little closed mouth peck.
“Wow!” His fingers kneaded my butt.
“Mhmm.”
“Have I told you how freaking sexy you are?”
“Mhmm.”
“Have I told you that you’re like the perfect woman?”
“Mhmm.” He helped me down to my feet, and I headed off to the bathroom.
