Fighting My Affections

by Elizabeth Wills

  “I guess you’re not doing any fishing,” I say, knowing her and Ri are only going to bask in the sun, while Striker and myself fish with the kids.

  She gives me a look, like I should know better. Then proceeds to move around the kitchen, gathering other snacks and of course a large bottle of wine, and yup, just two glasses. Apparently, they plan on getting sloshed again. That’s fine by me though. The girls get pretty funny when they’ve had a few too many.

  Riley enters through the kitchen door. “I grabbed our bag from the car.”

  “MAX!” Kiley yells as she walks into the living.

  She is something else when it comes to that boy. I almost feel sorry for him at times, when I can sense she’s driving him crazy, but then he keeps inviting her to come over. They’re like an old married couple.

  Dylan rises from the kitchen table and tosses his bowl in the sink. “Dad, I’ll run out and grab the bait from the garage.

  “I can’t wait to catch the biggest fish. You guys can’t fish like me. I have a secret weapon,” Colt speaks around his mouthful of food.

  Kiley walks back in with Max in tow. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be a secret anymore,” Colt replies.

  Kiley sticks her tongue out at him, annoyed by his ranting, which is typical between those two.

  I walk over to Riley. “Need me to do anything, baby?”

  She looks to me, shaking her head no with a huge smile on her face. I swear she’s a different woman than the one I met when I came back to town. It’s crazy how life has changed. We have laughed and smiled more in the past six months than I have over the last eight years.

  Riley told me last night that she finally feels free. While I knew what she meant, I made sure to do things to her body that let her know she would never be free of me. I’m all in, and while we plan to take things slow, I know that she will one day be my wife. We haven’t talked about it, but I know she’ll say yes. I can tell by the way her eyes lock with mine at times, like there’s not another person in this world.

  Being here today, with our friends, reminds me of how thankful I am of the life I have. These people have filled a void in me I didn’t even know was there. Striker became close with Mase and me, after he started coming to the gym a couple days a week. He said living with a woman was making him soft around the middle; apparently she wasn’t happy unless she was fucking or feeding him. Reagan would die if she knew we talked about the girls when they’re not around. Riley, however, would just join in.

  Turning, I lean back against the counter, taking in the chaos around me. Kids run through the kitchen. Adults are rummaging around, gathering more things than we could ever possibly need. It’s noisy and overwhelming, and I love every minute of it.

  “Is Mase meeting us there?” Striker asks, tossing me a beer. Fishing days mean beer for breakfast.

  “Yeah, he’ll be a little late but he’ll be there. Said something about needing to stop by the hospital.” I crack open my can and take a swig.

  Striker raises his eyebrows at me in question. I just shrug my shoulders. Mase stops by the hospital every so often, he hasn’t confirmed it, but I have a feeling it has to do with that little nurse he had the hots for after his head injury.

  “Everything is ready to go.” Reagan grabs her bag and kisses Striker on the cheek as she passes him, heading to the door.

  “Come on kids, time to go!” Striker hollers.

  I grab our bag from Riley and wrap my arm around her shoulders, placing a kiss on her temple. “Don’t get too tipsy today. I can’t have you passing out on me later. I expect some good lovin’ when we get home tonight and get Kiley to bed.”

  She steps in front of me, wrapping her arms around my waist, pulling our bodies together so she can rub her pelvis across my dick. “I’ll be a good girl. I wouldn’t want to miss out on that.” She leans in close and whispers in my ear, “I’m wet just thinking about it.”

  I growl as she walks away, leaving me there with a semi. Damn, that woman does things to me.

  “They sure hold all the control, don’t they?” Striker follows behind me as we leave the house.

  “Fucking right they do.”

  We stand there for a minute, watching our girls load up the vehicles. A slanted smile sits firmly on both our faces.

  “Aren’t you glad you forgave her?” Striker’s question is facetious as we watch the kids argue about who sits where.

  “I had no choice.”

  We both laugh and he walks down to join the group. There is no other way to answer that question, whether teasing or serious. I had absolutely no choice but to forgive Riley. When someone is a part of you, it’s impossible not to. I needed her in my life. This life, right here, is the life I always dreamed of giving her. The outcome was the same, but fate had its own plans on how to get us here.

  Extended Scene

  Reagan

  Trudging through the woods, I can’t get the picture of my drunk mother, passed out on the couch, out of my head. I find her in that position more often than not, here lately. I’m sick of it. Turning eighteen may be the best thing to ever happen to me. Well, other than Striker.

  I swear when he put his lips to mine, the world tipped on its axis. Several weeks have gone by since our special moment, when he spoke of his true intentions toward me, but I’m still trying to comprehend how a simple swipe of his tongue against mine sent delicious sensations throughout every inch of me. Even when I think of how kissing him feels, I shiver all over again like we are back in that moment. I’ve been a big puddle of goo since and I love every minute of it.

  I smile to myself as my thoughts turn to brighter parts of my life. The air cools as the sun continues to descend. I continue the last few feet of my walk to my favorite spot in the woods. If I loved it before, I love it even more now. Passing the last bush that tucks my log away, creating a little nook for me to feel secluded, I see a pair of familiar boots. My heart leaps in my chest.

  “Hey, Alma. What took you so long?” Striker asks from his seat on the ground.

  His muscular back leans against a fallen tree and his legs are straight out, crossed at the ankle. He looks composed and relaxed at the sight of me; completely opposite of how I’m feeling. My insides vibrate with anticipation as his eyes travel up my body.

  “What do you mean? I didn’t know you’d be here.” My voice trembles, giving away how nervous I feel.

  I have never, in all the years I’ve known Striker, felt nervous in his presence. However, since his lips touched mine for the first time, I’ve been a tense bundle of hormones. We’ve kissed for hours, sure, but I can’t wait to feel what it’s like to have him inside me. I didn’t realize until he admitted his feelings for me that I felt the same. It doesn’t feel like we’ve only been dating for a short period of time. To my body, it feels like I’ve been waiting for his touch for years.

  Our connection has run deep since I first moved here. Maybe it was the fact that we are both parentless in some way. Dalton never understood the feeling of abandonment that came along when a parent left you. Striker, on the other hand, knew it all too well. While Dalton has always been supportive and caring, Striker has been there to see all the anger and resentment I hold toward my mother and father. He encourages me to talk about it and I do the same for him. Some days we just sit quietly, at this very spot, allowing the other to have a shoulder to lean on, with no expectation for words.

  Striker uncrosses his legs and pats the top of his thighs. “Come here.”

  Yes, I’m still angry at my mom. It may have been my reason for escaping out here, but finding Striker here shifts my mood, and all I can think about is him. On shaky legs, I approach his lap, lowering myself until I’m straddling his thighs—exactly where he wants me.

  His hands come up, sliding under the hem of my shirt and wrapping around my thin waist. “I saw your mom stumble into the house, thought you would make your way out here eventually.”

 
; Striker pulls on me slightly and I go willingly toward him, until I’m flush against his chest. My breathing accelerates at his nearness, just like it always does. He moves forward, his lips a hair’s breath away.

  “Time creeped by sitting here.” He kisses me softly on the throat. “Gave me plenty of time to think of all the things I want to do to you.”

  His tongue comes out, swiping across the sensitive flesh where my neck and shoulder meet. I feel it all the way to my toes. I moan in response. Striker lifts his pelvis, while pushing down on my hips. The forced pressure against me is something I’ve never experienced before, but I don’t want him to stop, ever. I could live here, in these woods, with our bodies pressed tightly together for the rest of my life and never need another thing.

  His right hand releases my hip and makes its way up to tangle in my hair. With our height difference, we sit face-to-face in this position and he uses it to his advantage. Aggressively, he devours my lips; pulling, sucking, and claiming my tongue with his. My body is like a live wire, needing more of the current he’s sending through me. I’m burning with desire.

  His kiss continues, his right hand still buried in my hair, guiding my mouth to his. His left hand tickles my side as it ascends to my breast. He hasn’t touched me here yet, and the trembling of my body accelerates, becoming noticeable under his touch. Pulling his mouth from mine, Striker rests our foreheads together, his hand still controlling my movement.

  “You’re shaking,” he whispers.

  With the nearness of his hand to my breast, I recall I removed my bra as soon as I came through the door from school. If he continues, his hand will be met with bare flesh. I want that more than anything, but to say I’m not nervous would be a lie.

  “You’ve never done more than kiss me before. I’ve never been touched there.” My eyes drift down to my chest, getting my point across.

  “I don’t have to touch you if you aren’t ready. Do you want me to stop?” His hand moves back down to my hip.

  He’s allowing me to call the shots, and I know without a shadow of a doubt; I want him to keep going. I don’t want him to stop until we are both exhausted from the pleasure we feel when we touch. If I’m this crazed over his hand gliding over my ribs, I can’t imagine what the feel of his naked body moving with mine will do to me. Yup, I want it all.

  Grabbing his forearm, I move his hand back to where it was, stopping for just a fraction of a moment before continuing up until his hand is cupping my breast.

  He growls in response and squeezes slightly. “You’re not wearing a bra. Fuck, I hope you don’t go to school like this.”

  Shaking my head, no, I ease his worry. I can’t help but take in a deep breath, causing my breast to press firmly into his hand. I’m silently begging him to proceed, unable to form the words. There’s a heavy ache between my thighs and my body moves on its own, causing a delicious friction between us.

  “What do you want, Alma?” He kisses me fiercely again. “Please, tell me what you want.”

  With all the courage I can muster, I break my silence. “I want you, Strike. All of you.”

  Standing me on my feet, Striker pulls off his shirt, revealing his lean chest to me. I’ve seen him shirtless more times than I can count, but knowing now that this man belongs to me, and I have free rein to touch him in any way I please, changes how I see him. His body is the sexiest thing I have ever laid my eyes on.

  His muscles flex under his taut skin, as he lays his shirt down on the ground. Standing to his full height, he looks down at me. His beautiful eyes, hazy with lust. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. How can I want him more than my next breath, but feel ready to run in the opposite direction, all at the same time? I know I won’t, though. The thought of not living up to his needs weighs heavy on me, but I can’t sacrifice my own desires, and the longing to feel him intimately pushes me forward.

  Placing both of my hands flat against his chest, I watch in awe as they travel across his smooth skin. My lips beg to feel the softness and I let my body lead the way, abandoning all unwanted thoughts. I trail kisses along his chest. His body rewards me as he shivers from my touch. I place a hand over his heart. The pounding drum under my palm matches that of my own heart. Could he be just as nervous as I am?

  His hands reach the hem of my shirt and rid my body of the material. I feel overly exposed being out in the expanse of the woods. My hands itch to cover my naked chest, but I don’t. I know no one will come. I sit out here often and never run into another soul, unless it’s the soul that speaks to mine. I want to show him everything. There’s no need to hide.

  Striker places his hands under my arms and lifts me from the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist in response. The feel of his bare chest pressed against mine is exhilarating. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have thought being pressed against another naked form could feel this good.

  Bending forward, he holds me firmly to him until I’m lying over his shirt on the hard ground. The beat of my heart reverberates in my ears; increasing in intensity and speed as he moves down my body, placing his mouth on my chest. He kisses and sucks. I moan and my toes curl at the new feelings he’s stirring in me. He proceeds lower on my body, still kissing and sucking. My lower belly tightens. I clench my thighs, trying to fight off this urge: this sense of need.

  Striker’s tongue swirls around my belly button, as his fingers tuck in the waistband of my jogging shorts. I lift my hips in silent agreement for him to remove them from my body, exposing me to him completely. When he slides them past the heel of my foot, he lowers himself onto me. His hardness meeting the apex of my thighs.

  I’m suddenly self-conscious about how wet I feel and worry about his jeans. “Striker?”

  “Yes?” he questions, as his hand travels over the front of my thigh.

  “I’m just worried about your…” My words are cut off.

  Striker’s fingers graze my entrance. Up and down. Up and down. Oh my, what was I about to say?

  Dipping the tip of his middle finger in to me, slowly and teasing, he remains composed. “What are you worried about, Alma?”

  A moan deep from within my chest breaks free from my lips. His finger penetrates me deeper.

  “Mmmm. I don’t remember.” I don’t recognize my voice. My breathing becoming more rapid with every pass of his hand.

  I’ve only touched myself a couple times, but I’ve always felt uncomfortable about it. I know what’s building inside of me. I’ve just never experienced it. It’s like my body’s clawing for something that’s just out of reach. I hear how wet I am as he continues. I try to ignore the discomfort it brings, because the sensations Striker’s causing take forefront in my mind. He doesn’t seem to care. He even seems to enjoy it.

  My eyes close and the world fades away; all except the cool breeze against my sweltering flesh and the push and pull of Striker’s hand between my legs. He shifts but doesn’t stop caressing me. My live wire, now wrapped tight, feels like it will explode at any moment. I’m teetering on the edge, afraid of where I might fall. It’s almost painful, but in a good way. I don’t want him to ever stop.

  I hold my breath, waiting, knowing something amazing is about to happen. Suddenly, his hand is gone. I don’t understand why he stopped. My eyes meet his and then I feel him, unclothed on top of me. Without me knowing he was able to remove his jeans, and he’s hard and steely pressing against me, but not into me.

  “You’re so beautiful, Rea,” he whispers, then kisses me with an adoration you can only read about.

  This showering of love onto someone isn’t real, but somehow, he’s pouring his love into me with every sweep of his tongue against mine, as our bare bodies burn with the desire to be closer. This is love in its purest form. My body responds by giving to him, all that he is giving to me. My moans mesh with his moans. His fingers intertwine with my fingers.

  We kiss for what feels like an eternity. My body still heated from his touch and my pelvis clenches as it waits for him to f
inish what he started.

  Striker lifts and resettles between my legs, his hardness pressed to my entrance. He looks deep into my eyes. I drown in the chocolate depths of his. I know with certainty; this moment will be engrained in my heart for all of eternity. I pay extra close attention to every feeling and make note because I will return to this memory often.

  Lifting both of my knees, I bend them at his side, opening myself to him. Striker reaches between us, grabbing himself in his hand. With devastating slowness, he guides the tip up and down, spreading my wetness and stroking himself over an external spot that makes my body jolt in pleasure.

  “Does that feel good, Alma?” His lust-filled words turn me on.

  I want him to keep talking. “Yes. Keep doing that.”

  He hits the spot again. “You like your swollen clit played with, don’t you?”

  So that’s where it is, and hell yes, I do. He keeps going, rubbing himself against me, while placing succulent kisses along my neck. There’s a pressure building in me again, and I hope he doesn’t quit until this feeling bursts inside of me. My hips begin to move as though they are begging him for what they want.

  He moans against my throat. “I can’t wait any longer. I need inside you.”

  “Please,” I beg. “I’ve waited an eternity for this with you.”

  He positions himself there, still grasped in his hand, and kisses me deeply as he pushes forward into me. His body is like a tight rubber band, stretched to its breaking point. I feel him stop and then he surges forward until he’s buried in me completely. There’s a twinge of pain, but my body is continuing to beg for more. As he moves in and out of me, I sink into the ecstasy Striker is creating in me. It’s a dark hole I never want to surface from.

  Our sweat slickened bodies glide against each other. The feel of his body joined with mine brings a peace to my heart I have never felt. He is my one true love—I will never let him go.