Intensity

by C. C. Koen

  The pain I felt from our earlier interaction subsided the more interested he became in learning about me. As I responded, he’d twirl his fingers in my hair, gazing at the strands as they fell on my shoulders. When he tired of that motion, he entwined our fingers together, set them between our thrumming hearts and held them there as I talked. Before I realized it, the sun rose, and sleep came at dawn instead.

  “Serena, where are you?” The urgent baritone yanked me into the present.

  I turned around in my chair as Linc marched through the sliding glass doors, joining me outside.

  “You ready to go?” he prompted with an attitude that said I should’ve prepared for departure and been out the door a long time ago.

  “Uh, go where?”

  “It’s a surprise.” His bright smile promised a good time. I, however, remained stuck in place, flabbergasted, since he’d never taken me anywhere before.

  “What kind?”

  He exhaled a long tiresome breath as if I were four years old asking, “Are we there yet?” Seated next to me on the lounge chair, he propped his arms across his grey T-shirt like I should’ve followed his command already.

  My eyes had a mind of their own, embarking on a solo trip, bypassing his stern face and zeroing in on his bulging muscles, smack dab in the front of my nose.

  He placed a thumb under my chin, directing my wayward gaze up to his twinkling blue eyes. The crook of his mouth tilting up a tad.

  Dang, he caught me. I smacked his hand away. “Where we goin’?” My mood and tone sent a don’t mess with me warning. If he thought he could yank me around, when I got done with him, he’d beg for mercy.

  No sooner had the question left my mouth, Linc tossed me over his shoulder. Suspended upside down, I face-planted right on his ass. “What the heck are you doin’?” My hands clutched the humungous pockets on his cargo shorts, and I steadied myself. All the blood flowed to my head and stung like an ice cream brain freeze.

  His hyena laughter continued as he exited my apartment, carried me into the elevator, and through the garage. All the while I had the benefit of admiring his—assets.

  Aw, too bad, so sad for me. I might’ve even rubbed the plump, firm cheeks a teensy bit with my thumbs and fingers. Hehe.

  Set on my unsteady feet in front of a super-bad-ass, black muscle car with white racing stripes down the center, a pounding head rush came on, making me woozy. I gripped his upper arms, hoping I wouldn’t fall over. He bent at the knees and looked me square in the eyes. “I promise, it’ll be worth the wait. I’m about to make one of your dreams come true.”

  Oh yeah? He could’ve done that last night, but no.

  My inner-sass couldn’t be contained. I launched a quick-fire retort that came with an over-exaggerated head shake. “I don’t know, you’ve been havin’…issues satisfying me.” His narrowed expression said he got the underlying meaning.

  He yanked me against his well-sculpted form, nipping my earlobe and following it with a gruff counter. “Is that a challenge, Serena? Because you already know I’m a very determined man. I promise you, my performance isn’t an issue, but exactly what you need.”

  Huh? What was that supposed to mean?

  My curiosity grew to epic proportions during the drive. Without any further elaboration about his parting claim or where we were going, I became more and more perturbed. Sassy attitude upped a hundred percent, I crossed my arms along my chest and aimed my scrunched up tight nose and best snotty face toward my target—Linc. One-battleship…two-battleship…all the way to fifty-battleship. Damn, he didn’t even clue in to my displeasure. His stare remained fixed on the road, not once glancing my way. The man had balls of steel, in more ways than one.

  Okay, next strategy. I inhaled and exhaled real loud, sighing once, twice, three times while watching the passing scenery.

  No response. Still ignoring me.

  At the very least I wanted to know where we were going. The other perplexing message would have to wait, for now. Another strategy formed, I stomped my foot on the plastic floor board and continued to huff, acting like a four-year-old, and I couldn’t care less. His cool demeanor and constant yin-yang annoyed the shit out of me.

  I peeked at him several times, and it was apparent he’d remained unaffected by my actions. His silent lip-syncing to the soft jazzy tune playing on the radio and carefree attitude should’ve been reassuring. Not. My foot stomping slowed to a rap tap tap, and my huffing, although not as frequent, still sounded loud in the tight space. He had to hear me.

  Okay, maybe more movement, something that would for sure capture his attention. I tossed my body to the window and then back real fast, glaring when I faced him. Regardless of my moves, he remained focused straight ahead, his thumb tapping on the steering wheel to the music. Six inches separated us, so he had to see me. I gazed out the window at the homes as they passed and reconsidered my tactics.

  At that moment, his fingers crept up and down my waist. I twisted around in my seat and glanced down. Since I wore a halter top, my tan ribs were easy access for his wandering hands, which increased in pressure and vigor. “Linc, that tickles.” I squirmed and shifted closer to the door, presenting my back to him. Hmph.

  He tugged on my pigtails, flicking them multiple times, back and forth over my bare shoulder. As he repeated the act on the next pass, I grabbed his arm. “Stop it. What are you, four?”

  I know…pot calling kettle black.

  His cocky comeback—a wink, followed by straight and narrow concentration on the rural road.

  I turned my back to him again, but that resulted in a pinch to my thigh. Daisy Duke- inspired short-shorts weren’t something I’d wear, but they were a birthday gift from Fallon, which got them out of the box and on me for the first time. Without much room, my long legs couldn’t be moved all that far away. I attempted to scoot them out of his reach anyway.

  The swerving car catapulted me against the door. I threw both arms out and clutched the dashboard, glaring over my shoulder at the man and the maneuver landing us on the side of the road. He threw the stick shift into park, unlocked my seat belt, and latched his big paws onto my upper arms, hauling me across the center console. My legs widened and straddled his lap as he lunged, mashing his mouth onto mine. Our tongues joined in on the wild ride, mating in a wanton kiss, fueled in part by the unfulfilled naked romps my body had tired of.

  He dragged his lips away from mine at a bewildering slow pace, licking along my collarbone, trailing crosswise up my neck, and flicking the outer rim of my ear, tickling it. Between his hot and heavy inhales and exhales, he whispered not-so-sweet-nothings. “Serena…” Tongue flick. “No way…” Flick. “Not telling.” He added one more parting flick and a smirk that I felt on my earlobe, but couldn’t see.

  I bit down on his neck, my teeth clenching in a vise, and providing a temporary payback for losing this particular battle of wills. My overreaction could also be attributed to the indecent sucks on my shoulder he reverted to when he finished speaking.

  Oh, I’d surrender, but not before I taught him women always had the upper hand.

  I leaned back along the steering wheel and jutted my thirty-six B chest outward. His quirked brow issued a wordless challenge, and his warm palms, flat on my bare thighs, injected a fire into my bloodstream, urging me on. My plunging and form-fitting halter top happened to be a godsend, hugging every inch, and turning my boobs into a C-cup at least.

  My devious plan began at first base, a seductive grin creased my lips, and I licked them sensually up and down, biting the bottom one. He leaned forward to kiss me but I shook my head, and he stopped. Next, with my thumb and forefinger on second base, I circled and pinched my nipples. His eyes dropped, zeroing in on my breasts. At third base, I ground the crease of my Daisy Duke shorts into his crotch. He secured his hands on my hips, rotating his pelvis upward with each turn I made. Dang that felt good.

  Concentrate, Serena. Time to make him suffer—crave me for a change.

 
On to the Grande Finale, I sucked a finger into my mouth, imitating a porn queen and issuing my best throaty moan, cranking my hips forward and pressing the center seam of my shorts on home base. I rubbed back and forth along his thick shaft, teasing and taunting him.

  His grin stretched all the way to his forehead during my escapade, and his hands crept upward toward my nipples.

  Oh yeah, I could win this round.

  Diving across the console, I plopped in my seat and snapped the belt closed with a decisive click. My bull’s-eye gloat met his open-mouthed gaze.

  “Where we goin’, Linc?”

  His jolting laughter made his chest bulge out to an “Incredible Hulk” physique. He slung an arm over the steering wheel, reached across with his other hand, and pulled my palm up to his lips. In the center, he placed a kiss so tender and sweet that my toes, ankles, knees, and every other body part insisted it felt it too. His cornflower-blue eyes flicked up to mine, and he murmured a sultry concession. “You win.” The insinuation could mean anything. Before I could decipher it and ask, he revved the engine, launching the car onto the road, and off we went.

  I closed my eyes and relaxed against the headrest, smiling in anticipation of all the possibilities. Could his declaration mean he’d finally take the next step?

  Rihanna’s voice singing “What Now” competed with the wind humming through the lowered windows. Her lyrics were spot on, resembling my thoughts about this unexpected excursion.

  What curveball would fate throw me this time?

  Lake Fulton Marina, located thirty minutes north of Crestfallen, had boats of all sizes and types tied along the docks. Its shoreline had a tiny beach area on the other end, far away from the launch pads. Warm temperatures and a sun-filled afternoon urged many families to lounge on the sand and carouse in the water.

  Linc pulled a picnic basket from the trunk, grabbed my hand, and walked us toward the wooden boardwalk.

  “You have a boat here?”

  “Yes.”

  “When’d you get it?”

  “Hmm…’bout six years ago.”

  At last, a direct answer and teensy morsel about the elusive man.

  “That’s it.” He pointed toward a sailboat, thirty or forty feet long, bobbing up and down with the current. His large body was closer to it, and I had to peek around him to read the sparkly maroon script on the stern.

  “Serenity?” The question gurgled in my throat along with an imperceptible gasp. Prickles spread from the base of my neck to the roots of my hair, sending a shiver down to the tips of my toes and turning my legs to lead. I searched his face for a clue and waited for an explanation to the origin.

  He shrugged and held out his palm to me, stepping one foot onto the boat deck, the uneven surface and rocking motion unnoticeable in his sturdy frame. Sure-footed and confident, he curled his fingers, urging me to come closer. I took hold of his firm grip, which provided the right balance for my long legs, adjusting to the height difference with ease.

  Burnished wood trim against the white hull added a warmth and hominess. Any reluctance I had at the beginning of the excursion vanished at the glorious waterway awaiting me.

  He motioned for me to take a seat, pointing toward a cushion at the back. As swift as the breeze, he tugged on lines and unwrapped cords, agile and effortless. Mundane work for some, his whistling tune and uncontained positive energy demonstrated he enjoyed the preparations.

  Not long after, sails casting to and fro, we drifted further away from the marina.

  Bright sunshine painted the sky a fluorescent blue. Birds’ high-pitched squawks spread a message for all to hear. Followed in turn by sing-song tweets and twitters. Rolling waves slapped the hull and splashed sprinkles on my face, fixing like dew and refreshing my basking, overheated skin.

  Captain Linc’s impressive stature at the helm showcased his magnificence, amplified more so by the boat’s undulations and the expansive sea as his backdrop. Curiosity about the boat’s name not forgotten, I opened my mouth to ply an answer out of him, but he beat me to the punch. “Why’d you get that tattoo?”

  Ah, so he must have found out what it meant. Interesting. Confident in the seclusion of our setting, my quip came out in a tit-for-tat, indicating he’d better be in a revealing mood. “You gonna tell me why you chose Serenity?”

  Again, his shoulders jerked up and down. This time though, over the bustling wind he announced, “We’re all searching for it.” He pinned me in a direct stare. “Can you deny it?”

  I tipped my face up to the heated sky, closed my eyes, and drew in the sea-scented breeze. A voice I knew well stirred internal, recalling the perceptive insight I had heard repeatedly and believed since childhood. “My grandmother used to say that destiny presents us with gifts of unlimited potential, offering us choices from a bountiful selection. Our actions dictate what happens in the future. Fate forewarns us though, by throwing obstacles in our way. Sometimes they’re silent, other times they’re obvious, and an attempt to steer us in a certain direction. If the path is right, it’s confirmed in some way, affirming, ‘Yes, this is the right way.’ On occasion, because fate works on its own timetable we get impatient, and our efforts to move on are resisted, so we’re slowed down, which is meant to warn us, ‘Wait, not yet.’ Then during the most difficult times of our life, there’s an inner voice that holds all the answers, but it’s often ignored. That, my gram says, is fate’s soulful call whispering, ‘I have something better planned for you.’”

  “The path to serenity appears amid the storm.” His reverent translation of my tattoo implied he believed in divine intervention too.

  I nodded, wanting to acknowledge I’d heard him, but also because I agreed a hundred percent with the notion. Memories from the past clashed with the present, causing me to tear up. I turned so he wouldn’t see them and watched the rippling waves.

  Gram’s inspirational expressions helped me when my mother’s rejection got the best of me, or when peers didn’t accept my wallflower status, or worst of all, when she was diagnosed with cancer. Hearing him recite the quote like she did many times brought back painful memories, but it also soothed, infusing me with her perpetual optimism too.

  Linc dropped the anchor, bringing the boat to rest in a hidden cove. He set the wicker basket on a cushion beside me, flipping open the woven panels, and taking out clear glass plates, silverware, and beige cloth napkins. He reached in again and wiggled in my face multi-layered sandwiches, fruit and pasta salad, and giant frosted brownies.

  “Did you make all that?” I elbowed him, tilting my head toward the feast.

  “Absolutely.” His toothy grin exposed the little white lie. I attempted to pick up a plate, but he swept my legs out from under me and hauled my butt onto his lap. As if he hadn’t just performed a Superman feat, he recited the menu in a casual flair. “We have turkey and roasted peppers, ham and cheese, or veggie. Which do you want?”

  Sun highlighted the fine age lines on his face and little green sparkles dotted the blue in his eyes, letting a vitality and brilliance shine through. His mask disappeared, gracing me with the “in” I desired. A wave rocking the boat jostled my brain, and I answered him. “Turkey, but I should sit over there,” pointing to my original seat, “that way we have room to eat.”

  “No. Stay where you are.” His order not harsh but soft and tender, his grip tightening instead. He prepared two plates with a little of everything, including a brownie for each of us. I reached for a turkey sandwich, but he picked it up before I could and brought it up to my mouth.

  I looked at it and then at him. “I can feed myself. Give me that…” My lightning fast reach did no good, because he suspended his long arm well over my outstretched hand.

  “Let me,” he insisted, adding a puppy-dog pout.

  “Linc,” my warning started but died out. A vision of him flashed as a little boy, plump lower lip jutted out, demanding his way or else. His haunted disquiet nowhere in sight.

  My mouth opened and wi
th a constricted heart, I let the adorable man feed me lunch.

  When we got back, I had just enough time to take a shower and get dressed for work. Hectic as usual, the mad pace at which I prepared drinks left no time for conversation beyond “What can I get you?” I turned to help the next customer and ended up head-on with Mr. Miller. You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.

  “Serena, is that you?” He set his arm along the edge of the bar and leaned in real close. First, examining my face and then sliding to my breasts, which overflowed from the single- banded strap molded to them, covering my nipples, but exposing the top and bottom mounds. Another birthday gift.

  Determined to do my job, I responded in a deadpan manner. “Yes. What can I get you?”

  “You work here?” He flung his suit-clad arm around the room while speaking.

  Taken aback by the obvious question, I replied in monotone and drawn out, “Uh…yes.” It clicked then, why he was here, and my demeanor switched to snarky. “Drink, Mr. Miller?”

  Face reddening, he stammered, “Umm…Uh…” In a jerky fashion, he peered around the room and must’ve figured out the repercussions of being seen at this club. “Look…is there somewhere we can talk privately?” he yelled over the music.

  Just then, Linc appeared at Mr. Miller’s side. “Is there a problem?” He glanced between us.

  Mr. Miller took a few steps back, jutting his chin toward me, and said, “I need a few minutes alone with her.”

  “In my office, over there.” Linc pointed across the lounge, motioning him forward. Without missing a beat, he turned toward me and directed, “Get Paulette to cover you and come join us, okay?”