One Match Fire

by Lissa Linden

  She draws her fingers down my stomach and dips farther into my shorts. Her fingers graze my burning skin. “What will you do with me in your bed?”

  I grab her wrist, stalling her before she can wrap her bare flesh around mine. I need a condom. An extra barrier to deaden the senses on a dick that’s so hard it could split apart if she so much as breathes on it. “I’m going to fuck you.” I lock eyes with her. With this girl I knew—this woman who owns her pleasure and mine. “Hard. Fast. And then I’ll do it again.”

  She licks her lips and drops the towel. “Race you.”

  Her ass jumps with each stride and beckons me forward. I try to run after her, but stumble like my feet are too big for my body. She’s far ahead of me by the time I get control of my limbs. I gain on her as she’s crossing the field. I’m close enough to hear her rapid breathing when we breach the fence to the front yard. My fingers curl around her hip at the front door, pulling her ass against my throbbing cock. She drops her head back onto my shoulder and I reach around with my free hand, sliding over the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs.

  “Yes,” she breathes. “More.” She pushes into me, circling her hips against my finger. Grinding against my cock. Wearing through any rational thought.

  I release her hip but she stays flush against me, her back to my front. I push the door open and step forward. She moves with me, like our bodies are fused together—front to back, ass to cock, finger to clit.

  Tags jingle in the kitchen and a giggle slips out between Amy’s ragged breaths. “Will Chuck be joining us?”

  His nails click on the floor and I find my voice. “Chuck, go to bed. Stay. You—” I nip Amy’s neck. “Come with me.”

  “With you,” she pants. “For you. Whatever you want.”

  I guide her to the master bedroom, slicking my finger through her lips and back to her hard nub. “You’re so fucking hot, Amy.”

  She pulls away and crawls onto the bed. It’s all I can do not to whip my shorts off and beat myself silly as her glistening folds sway between her hips, taunting me with their slick warmth. She rolls onto her back and props herself on her elbows, knees bent, open and exposed. “Condom?”

  “Right back.” It kills me to leave her for the twenty seconds it takes to run to the guest room—to my room. I’d been so focused on getting her to bed that I’d forgotten the master isn’t mine anymore. It’s hers. I tear through my already packed boxes until I find the condoms, box crushed from months in the bedside table, but still nearly full. I ditch my shorts on the floor and grip the box with a force my dick would kill for.

  Amy’s head is pressed into the comforter when I get back. Her heels dig into the mattress and her hand is between her legs. Small puffs of air escape her body as she writhes against her fingers. And it’s so fucking beautiful that I don’t want to interrupt, but can’t stand not touching. I squeeze my dick in my fist and groan through the nearly painful spasm of pleasure.

  She pulls her hand from her folds and looks for me through hooded lids. “Are you ready to fuck me now?”

  I tear open the foil square and roll the condom up my shaft as I cross the room. “You have no idea.” I hook my hands under her knees and pull her to the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure I can be gentle. I want you so fucking bad.”

  Her eyes flash. “Then take me.”

  I drive into her with one thrust. Her muscles bear down on me and I fall forward, landing with an elbow on each side of her waist. My knees shake with the effort not to lose my load right then—not to empty my balls before I can hear her scream. She wraps her legs around my hips and I sink deeper. She moans and rocks against me. “Move,” she breathes. “I need you to move.”

  I grit my teeth and pull my hips back, groaning when I thrust back into her warmth.

  “More.” She writhes and rolls her hips. “More. More. More.”

  I draw back and pound into her again and again, pushing her back onto the bed with each thrust, but I can’t bear to be away. I crawl on top of her and grind against her clit. She moans and pushes her hips up to meet mine. I graze her clit over and over as I work myself in and out of her body.

  I take her nipple in my mouth, biting down as her cries grow louder, faster. I palm her breast and keep her hard bud between my teeth as I lick it. She stills. Freezes with her mouth open and eyes rolled back. Then she breaks, coming apart around me, squeezing my cock with her pussy and clinging to my shoulders. I press my face into her neck and give in to the weight in my balls, exploding with guttural growl.

  My cock throbs with our shared aftershocks and I kiss up her neck. She tastes like lake and sweat and my dick refuses to soften. “Jesus, Amy. You’ve wrecked me.”

  “This is so much better than what wrecked feels like,” she says.

  I push her hair from her face. “What does that mean?”

  She rolls her lower lip between her teeth, then shakes her head. “I don’t even know,” she says. “I think my brain has leaked out all over my thighs.”

  I press my lips to hers and swallow her protest when I grip the top of the condom and separate our bodies.

  *

  She’s naked in the kitchen when I come out of the bathroom in a dry pair of shorts. Standing on her tiptoes, she’s showing off her defined muscles and looking through the cupboards like she runs the place. Which, well, she kind of does. “What’re you looking for?”

  Her skin is still flushed. Her hair is tangled. And I already want her again. I fold my hands over my junk to hide the erection I didn’t think I was even capable of so soon after such mind-numbing release.

  “Water glasses,” she says. She opens the right cupboard without prompting and takes out two glasses. She fills both and hands one to me, raising her eyebrows when she sees what I’m hiding. “Maybe I should put on some clothes.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  She presses a fist into the hollow of her waist. “Like what you see?”

  I gesture to the tight crotch of my shorts. “Clearly.”

  Amy pulls one side of her lips into a grin, but her eyes drift to the floor. She drains her water and turns back to the sink, reaching for the dish soap.

  “You don’t need to do that,” I say.

  “It’s no big deal.” Her shoulders hunch forward as she scrubs the glass. “I made the mess. I’ll deal with it.”

  She scrubs the glass like it’s a pan with burned-on food and not a simple water glass. She doesn’t speak, or look at me, and but it takes her shoulders shivering to unglue my eyes from the way her hair grazes her back. Kicking myself for being the giant asshole who was too busy fantasizing about what that hair would feel like on his own skin to realize she was getting cold, I duck into the guest room and choose a button-up shirt from my closet. She’s still rinsing the glass when I return.

  “I think that’s clean.” She looks at her hands like she’s surprised to see them still moving. I hold out the shirt when she turns off the water. “Here.”

  Amy rearranges her face into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She shrugs into my shirt and pulls it tight around her. It just grazes the tops of her thighs and my throat clenches, but not because her post-sex hair looks amazing tumbling over the collar of my shirt, but because she won’t look at me. Her eyes dart from the sink to her feet to the clock—to everything that isn’t me.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  Amy turns her back to button the shirt. “You just gave me two mind-annihilating orgasms. How could I not be okay?”

  But the teasing tone is missing. The confident woman who’d spread her legs and worked for her own pleasure is gone.

  And I’m sixteen. Falling to my knees in a cloud of diesel fumes.

  Because she’s shut me out again. And I still don’t know what I did.

  Chapter Nine

  My fingers shake as I feed buttons through the holes. This hasn’t happened in a while. This feeling of nakedness that goes deeper than skin. Not since just after Dan. Not since I’d learned t
o use my body for bliss and leave before the sweat dried. But bolting buck naked to the rec hall hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d just walked to the kitchen on rubbery legs like I’d done it a thousand times. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  But the way my body reacted to Paul wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal. It was a version of myself that I’d never seen. A version that didn’t think. Didn’t consider if my thighs were jiggling or my stomach rolled when I bent. A version that put my hand between my own legs not to tease him. Not to make him want me. Not to show myself the power I hold. But because I wanted it.

  A version of me that he called Amy, but wasn’t.

  The sharp trill of a landline makes me jump. “God dammit,” I mutter.

  Paul chuckles. “I don’t remember you being so skittish,” he says. The phone cuts off mid-ring. “Hello?”

  I wring out the kitchen sponge and set to work cleaning the backsplash. The smear of pasta sauce behind the stove stands out in the otherwise spotless house. The house is basic. The furnishings are either thrifted or bought so long ago that they’re pretty much back in style, but it’s comfortable. And it’s mine. Or it will be, as soon as Paul leaves.

  “It’s only a few boxes and my pack,” he says from the living room. “Yeah, most of that stuff belongs to camp.”

  My breasts bounce as I scrub the grout and my sensitive nipples rub against the stiff cotton. I’ve never reacted to anyone that way. Not with such abandon and need. Sure, I’ve enjoyed sex before, but I’ve never lost control like I did at the dock, where I didn’t give a shit about where I was, how I looked, or whether he was feeling good. I hadn’t cared about anything but how fucking good I felt.

  Not until he’d tried to ask about the art on my hip. Until I’d teased him into distraction so mercilessly that I’d taken myself along, too. Until it stopped being about distracting him and started to be about the feel of his skin on mine. His lips everywhere. The way my body craved his rough hands and soft tongue with a need I couldn’t control, barely containing my orgasm in the quick minute it had taken him to come back with a condom.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and run my fingers over the tattoo. I force myself to breathe slowly, lowering my shoulders with each exhale. The sound of his voice filters into my ears as I calm down. Regain control.

  “I was thinking around lunch. Yeah. You should miss rush hour both ways. The new camp director? She’s…”

  I strain my ears to listen. Tilt my head toward the living room. What? I’m what? Hotter than I used to be? A good lay? Currently freaking out because I’m still in his bloody kitchen when I should have fucked and run, like normal?

  I throw down the sponge and turn, intending to sneak closer to the doorway. To abandon any pretext that I’m not totally eavesdropping. But Paul is leaning on the doorjamb. He holds eye contact. Makes sure I’m listening. “She’s amazing.”

  My stomach clenches and I dry my palms on his shirt.

  “Got to go. See you soon.” He pulls the portable phone from his ear without breaking eye contact.

  I bunch the fabric in my hands. “Was that your ride out of here?”

  “Yeah. Just over a week until I hitch a minivan ride to civilization.” He puts the phone on the kitchen table and steps toward me. “So, about that repeat I promised…”

  I freeze in place. Helpless to stop the hammering in my chest. The screaming in my brain. The war between the two. I hold up my hand. “Stop. I need to know. What do you want from me? Exactly.”

  Paul frowns. “I want to hang out. See what happens. We’ve already talked about this.”

  “Pretty sure my abandoned swimsuit and that rumpled bed already happened.”

  “And that’s all you want from me? A couple of orgasms and you’re set?” He comes close enough that I can smell the lake and trees in his pores.

  I pull my shoulders back with a confidence I don’t feel. “What do you think?”

  He shakes his head and steps closer. “I think you’re way more cut out for this job than I ever was if you’re fully satisfied after just two orgasms.”

  My back hits the counter. I tilt my face up. His breath tickles my cheek. “You’ve wanted to be camp director since you were twelve,” I say. “Tell me why you’re leaving. The real reason.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets. “I’ll tell you that if you tell me about your tattoo.”

  My eyes widen.

  “Oh yeah,” he says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided that question once already.”

  I lick my lips. “Fine. But only after you tell me why you up and quit the one thing you always wanted.”

  His eyes linger on my glistening lips, then he takes a step back. Spins. Rubs his neck. “Dreams change.”

  “So you suddenly did a one-eighty? I call bullshit.”

  “No, that’s not it. I had big dreams for this place. Things I would do. Improvements I’d make. Lives I’d change. And I’ve done that. It’s been five years of seeing kids grow up and gain confidence and turn into pretty great people. And that’s been amazing—better than I imagined it would be, honestly.”

  He squeezes the back of his neck and my hand seeks him out, resting on his toned shoulder. “Why are you leaving, Paul?”

  “I just quit, okay?” His voice rumbles. “It was time for something else. You should get that.”

  “Did something happen to make you stop loving this place?”

  He jerks away from my touch. “Fuck no. I have so much love for it. I wouldn’t have lasted this long if I’d lost that, but Bobcat warned me when I took over. He told me I better give myself to this place like it was a woman, because it would rule me just like one, and fuck if he wasn’t right. I guess I should pass that same advice on to you.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’m covered there.” I crack the knuckle on my index finger and touch my hip. “It’s a pit bull. She’s the Leah side of Amelia. Of me. The side I became in college, when being Amy didn’t fit anymore.”

  Paul’s eyes lock onto mine. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that Amy was a nickname?”

  I shrug. Note the contrast of my skin on wood floors. “Amelia was my grandma’s name and I still see her, all liver spots and wispy hair, whenever I hear it. It’s not a name I really related to, you know? I just wanted to be Amy. Amelia makes people think of an old woman, and really, I had enough problems without opening up a whole new way for people to talk about me behind my back.”

  “Nobody talked about you behind your back.”

  “There’s no point in lying to me, Paul.” I swallow against the gravel in my throat and bring my hand to my hip. “This pit bull is my reminder that no matter who I am as a person, I’ll be judged based on how I look. But this little dog is tough. She can use her looks when she needs to. Can put on the act. She can protect herself, even if she is a giant softie inside.”

  The tick of the clock counts the beats of our silence. “Amy, did someone hurt you?”

  “Are you seriously asking me that?”

  His eyes search my face. “I kind of want to hurt whoever hurt you.”

  I cup his cheek and force myself to look at him. “I didn’t take you for a masochist.”

  He recoils from my touch. “Me?”

  I channel Leah, harness the confidence that comes with being her so I can speak before I lose another chicken fight. “Not just you, but you were the first. Did you know that you talk in your sleep? Well, you did one night, anyway. When I was sleeping next to you.”

  “I did?” He pushes his hair back. “What did I say?”

  I ball my hands into fists and swallow hard. “It started with ‘Don’t want her,’ moved onto ‘Kiss me,’ and ended with you moaning Tanya’s name. All the counselors heard. Some of the campers, too. But at least they didn’t know who Tanya was. Didn’t know that she’d be on the bus to you just as I conveniently rolled away. That I was just something to take the edge off until your girlfriend showed up.”

  “Amy…” />
  “But I was so stupid. I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was Tanya you didn’t want. That maybe it was me you wanted to kiss. Only it wasn’t. I heard the counselors ribbing you when we were hiking back the next morning. Asking if you were excited for Tanya to get here. And you know what you told them?”

  His voice is flat. “That I couldn’t wait for her to get here.”

  “It was a long time ago, but I still remember the way you looked at me that summer. It was different than before. Like you were really seeing me.” I clear my throat and shake my head. “But it wasn’t me you were seeing. It was just my body. Just Leah.”

  Paul comes to me slowly, like he’s afraid I might bolt. His fingers tickle my cheeks and he tilts my face up. Makes sure I see him. “You have never been ‘just’ anything. Not to me.”

  I turn my head. “You don’t have to do this. Really.”

  His thumb strokes my cheek. “Look at me.”

  The softness in his voice draws my eyes to his.

  “Is that why you didn’t come to the last dinner? Because I made you feel like I used you? Like I just kissed you because of the way you looked?”

  I force my trembling lips to curve. “Like I said. I was young. Inexperienced. I thought you liked me.”

  Paul releases my cheeks and grips the back of his neck with both hands. “I don’t know what I was dreaming, and shit, I’m sorry for what you heard. But you need to know that I liked you. I liked the girl I met on the bus, the eight-year-old who liked the same chips as me. I liked the girl who flicked a stinger from my toe and helped me to the first-aid office when we were eleven. I liked the girl who kicked all of our asses at orienteering in all the best summers of my life. I liked that girl. But I didn’t know how much until that summer. Until the summers after when you didn’t show up and a part of what made this place home was missing.”

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Tell me,” I say. “Did you break up with her when she got off the bus?”