If I were a crier I’d break down and baulk out a horrible dying sound to express the rotting feeling inside, but I’m too pissed off for that. Feeling the anger needing a release I slam my fist onto the table, making our cups jump.
“She doesn’t give a flying fuck about our world if it doesn’t include ‘fun’.” My breaths are shallow and I’m feeling light-headed but I continue, saying, “Mary Jane stumbles—literally—in at six, high as a kite and not a clue as to why I wanted to throttle her.”
It takes a minute for me to calm down. It takes a minute of me growling to myself through the frustration that won’t quiet or behave in this public place. It takes a minute of me attempting deep breaths, to counteract the dizzy feeling in my head, to calm my pinging nerves.
By this stage, I’m too late already. I should have been more careful, but then again, I’m Kalli, the girl without social skills.
“Nate, I didn’t … I’m so insensitive. Sorry for …”
If I’ve had it shit all my life, Nate had every moment of that shittiness crash down on him at once when his mum died. When I get angry like this, it’s too easy to complain about how I have it when he doesn’t have it at all, and would love to have any extra moment with his mum.
“Hey, I never want you to keep this to yourself. Look what it’s done, eating you up.”
He reaches out to hold my hand. He caresses the skin between my thumb and finger and up to my wrist and back. I let him touch me like that though I have the urge to squirm.
If I close my eyes, though, Nate’s touch is like a hundred feathers sweeping up and down my body, sweeping away my pain and my rage and my everything, until all I believe in is the bliss from the sensation. When I open my eyes, there’s peace in his eyes, too.
“It’s just …” He swallows a breath, and it looks more like he’s swallowing a lump. “It’s just so hard to hear your mum stuff up all the good in her life, all her kids’ lives, when she has it. She has the opportunity to have so much good in her life and you guys with her.”
“She won’t know what she’s got until it’s too late.”
Don’t get me wrong, Nate, his sister and dad loved Nate’s mum. She was this petite, small woman with warm brown eyes, and the most perfect wavy auburn hair I’ve ever seen. But like all things, you can’t truly appreciate what good you have until it’s measured by the bad. And in Nate’s case, it was very, very bad.
“Eh, she doesn’t get it. May never get it. I’m over trying. All that concerns me is saving enough to support Seth and Tristan. If she goes down, I’m damn well holding on to those twins with a death grip. Their childhood won’t suffer, too.”
Nate is nodding, but I doubt he’s agreeing with my words. His dreamy expression shouts “trance” to me. He untwines from my hand and, staring at something near my shoulder, says, “Your …”
He trails off and reaches to grab my hair—what he must be looking at. He lays a strip of it in his palm and traces the curves down to the ends that rest at my cleavage, and Kalli, the girl of steel, melts in an instant with the thought of those fingers so close to her breasts.
Behind his lips his tongue swirls, and I’m overcome with thoughts of what that would feel like, too.
“This too.” I watch his finger rise, a whisper on my lips, a faint wind blowing across the skin.
It’s almost too much. Almost too much to just sit here and let him undo my control as want pulses at me to do something. In a moment, my eyes frantically search him and I find my torture: a sculpted chest, where I can see where his collarbone makes a V.
“I can’t decide if it’s your hair or your lips but I’d like to photograph you for my shoot. I need to put together a portfolio for one of my classes and you’ve given me an idea for a theme.”
Suddenly needing to do something with his hands, Nate gathers his mug, fumbling until he gets a grip and sips, smiling politely with his eyes. Where the froth and the cinnamon stick to his lips, he traces them away with his tongue. If it weren’t for the sullen mood, the sexual tension, and now whatever this is, I would have coated my lips with cinnamon so he could lick me clean, too.
“So you’d like me to strip naked so you can take some shots?” I say. “Just to clarify.”
Some girl I’ve seen before in class shoots me an evil look from another table, a deservedly disgusted stare for my filthy mouth. I’m not one for caring, so I shoo her away with my eyes and she darts back to her friend immediately.
“God, Kall Bell.” Nate groans, a guttural sound.
“Did you want to start this ‘project’ now?”
“Y … yeah, ‘kay.”
“Okay.” I gather our cups for the approaching waitress. Nate insists on paying the bill when they bring the cheque, then we start to leave. But we’re not. Nate hasn’t moved, he’s just pressing keys on his phone, the other hand under the table.
“Nate, you lazy ass. My naked body calls.”
As I’m about to ask why he’s ignoring me, he stands up, his hands moving away from his crotch. Although I don’t “do” private settings, this is definitely too public for what I need to do to him.
“Just needed to make an adjustment.”
Oh, fuck.
7
After parting, I rock up at Nate’s door in a coat stopping a few inches above my knees, a thick belt cinched at my waist, and heels. It’s quite cold, so this is totally acceptable. What wouldn’t be acceptable is if I took off the coat before Nate answered, waiting for him only in my black-lace G and push-up. His roommate is there so I don’t for Nate’s sake.
Gulping, he says, “Um, come in. Just watch your step. I’ll grab my equipment.”
I’m used to weaving around my friends’ dorms. Scout and her roomie are pretty good, but they’re about the only ones.
Nate has his camera packed up already, and shoves his tripod under his arm. Something about him like this is hot. Nate has always been attractive to me. Serious crushes only eventuate into more once you’re a tween and at that age I’d had my interest taken from me, so I’d missed the chance to do anything but gawk at Nate.
I get in his car where he’s taking me to parkland, a spot he loves going to for shoots. There are hills and little valleys and even swamps that offer hideouts perfect for seclusion. He’d offered me a studio room in an official building where photographers rented out spaces, but I don’t care what the situation is; I’m not being alone with a guy in a soundproof, closed-off studio. A car? Yeah, it sounds stupid but everyone can see in, and if things get rough I’ve prepared myself years ago to just open the door, roll out, and hope to survive.
As Nate finds a spot between a tree and a small swamp, I decide to change. Right there. I drop my coat, my eyes locked on Nate’s face.
He’s in such a trance he doesn’t notice the slow motion tip of his tripod. It falls incredibly slowly and, panicking, I manage to yell out, “Your tripod!”
After a swift grab, it falls into his hands. Still he stands there, camera in hand, eyes locked on my cleavage.
“Holy shit. That bombshell almost cost me thousands.” He winks.
Naturally.
Playing nice, I find some privacy and change into my clothes. This isn’t a popular spot since the nice views and play equipment are in different sections, but I make sure I’m out of Nate’s view. I’d hate for him to risk ruining that equipment again, since he seems so affected by my nakedness.
Nate apparently thought I’d look gorgeous in this 50s top and ruffled skirt thing. The hosiery takes forever for me to put on, with me trying not to poke holes in them, and once I have the skirt on the tight waist squeezes the life out of me. Needless to say, Nate’s shoot starts off bad.
He has me posing, hand to hip, swivelled to the camera. Then he tries seeing if I’d be comfortable on the grass, so I lie in various positions and he gets me curling on my side, always with the ruffles fanned over my calves in a way that looks beautiful on everyone—except me.
I don’t know what to
do with this skirt. The ruffles move everywhere and one marginal gust of wind makes me mad at how silly I look. Add this to my breathless state with this waistband sucking the air from me, and I’m far from the beautiful model Nate thought he was getting.
“Nate, stop.”
He pulls away from the viewfinder and his eyebrows crease. Not that he can’t tell how bad it’s going, but he’s still torn up about it, I’m sure.
“Another costume?”
“No, changing won’t help …” The thought drifts off. “Actually, do you have a trailer?”
“We can rent one.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
We pop into a thrift store on our way back with the trailer and manage to find an old piano, scuffed, exquisite and loved. Nate is still a bit clueless but I pay for the piano and he loads it into the trailer anyway and takes us back to the spot.
With the midday sun on us, it’s heated up a bit. I’m going to shiver, but he can always Photoshop out my goose bumps.
I climb on top of the piano. I’m hoping it’s sturdy, and if not …
Nate doesn’t ask questions. He watches me through the viewfinder and I hear the clicks as I slink out of my coat, arch my back and kick my legs up. With so much bare skin and my legs dangling from my thighs to my toes, the breeze is cold. Instinctively, I grab my breasts and knead my fingers around them until they’re comfortably hidden from the sharp breeze. Lace isn’t exactly warming.
I feel terrible for wasting more time, but I need to make sure Nate gets the best shoot possible. He’s gone out on a limb asking plain ol’ me to be his model, and freezing fingers and toes makes looking seductive in this weather like trying to smile as someone throws you butt-naked on stage.
I know it’s autumn, I know the 1950s outfit was all nice and such, but I’m horrible at pretending to be someone I’m not. Someone like Scout could do a beautiful shoot like that. She can play sweet when it counts and it’ll get her far in life, unlike me who is forever sour. I don’t know why I’m like that half the time.
Trying to warm my feet up comfortably isn’t working this way so I curl up on my side, a foot curled near my ass and a knee poking forward. I squeeze one arm under my bust to retain some warmth and splay out the other.
That’s when I notice the camera is still going off. Lost in my own world, I don’t know how many minutes have passed, but when Nate knows I’ve noticed, he stops clicking and strides over to me.
He grabs my waist and pulls me to him at one end of the piano. The thin bit of my lace G mashes to his sweater, hard against his tensed abs. He realigns his hands so his forearms hold up my thighs and ass and he has me at the small of my back. I wrap my legs around his back, my ankles crossing and feet dangling just below his ass.
“Kall Bell.”
“Yes, Nate?”
I know there’s sarcasm in my voice, but in such an intimate moment, I can’t possibly act serious. The other option will definitely hint I’m crossing the line as Scout predicted, and I don’t want that.
“You are impossibly easy yet difficult to photograph, standing way back there.”
“True, this,” I say. I squeeze him tighter between my thighs and realise it’s taken an instant for them to dampen and for a hot flush to warm me up. “Oh, first thing.”
I grab the end of his sweater and pull it up. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing for a guy who can’t talk about his cock in front of me than walking around with my wetness on him. It’s not a matter of if I soak him, but when. In the end, I’m the one who’s shocked into silence.
I know, me.
Silenced.
Nate has a pretty lean body but Lord Almighty he has some abs, sculpted from another world. I did mean to lift it, just to save him embarrassment, but now I’m the one blushing so bad my cheeks are about to light afire. Mindlessly, I rake his belly with my nails and discover he has an eight pack. Yup, I trace his skin so low, I see his V-line. It’s an achingly sexy sight that makes my body quiver for him.
He, too, shudders under my nails. His breath is muffled through only flared nostrils. His lips are pressed together.
I steal a sexy glance and say, “I’m soaked. Didn’t want to have you walking around with my mark on you.”
“Fuck, Kall.”
“So you won’t cry click, click then?”
He gets me. My stupid question doesn’t even get an answer. As if there were a choice at this point.
With my fingers looped over his jocks, he leans until there’s no gap between our bodies and kisses between my breasts. He trails his tongue down my belly and it aches so much I turn into an arched animal, body burning with desire. I buck my hips at the same moment as he dips in to lick down my core.
Jesus I’m going to come right now, with him licking my freaking belly.
The next moment he’s holding me wrapped around him and laying me down on the grass, him hovering over. He mashes his lips to mine, exploring my mouth with his soft tongue. He traces my lips, kisses the spot behind my ear, and shoots whispers of kisses down my jaw and neck that send me quivering again.
This.
This is our first proper kiss, no alcohol blinding us, and I’m worried what it’ll mean.
Nate hesitates too, but it’s for different reasons. “Um I know about your … but this is a bit open, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it hot, though?” I counter. I let my eyes drift over his shoulder and sweep the surroundings. There is a picnic bench and seats attached under a gazebo on the other side of the swamp, just poking above the hill. A couple are there, but not looking our way. There is also the threat of many more people, but since there’s nothing in this spot that attracts people, that’s all everything is. A threat.
He looks at me like I’m crazy for preferring this to a boxed in, dead-quiet room. For one, the air here is so clear you can breathe all the way to the bottom of your lungs and you won’t smell a hint of suburbia besides the sweet, greeny smell of the grass and flora. I’d hate to be indoors, stuck and claustrophobic.
I catch Nate also checking out our surroundings, biting his lip.
“You don’t feel that thrill?” I prompt.
Something in Nate must snap because he fumbles at my G and holds his two fingers there, covering the spot. His fingers are hot on me, and with half my heat flushed, I cry without thinking, “Do it.”
He shimmies down my G, but doesn’t look at me while he traces my curves and plunges in. Slow rubbing motions, quick finger thrusts, I feel my undoing when he makes a “Come hither” motion inside me. I find myself begging to please stay right there, and faster, and to fucking hurt me.
Yes, he had my spot the entire time. But I was greedy, pretending he needed to try harder.
I push my climax until the pleasure is too much to contain and I moan it out.
I wink at him. He looks at me adoringly, which is confusing because he just stuck one, two fingers in me and fucked me with them. Adoring wasn’t quite the look I had after making him come at the party.
Smug, yes. Thrilled, yes. Hot and horny, yes.
Scout’s words come back to me, Both him and I are not like you. We get real messy when we cross that line. Knowing this now, after I let him see me exposed beyond coffees and chats, I wonder if I just made the biggest mistake of my life. I wonder if this is the beginning of The Mess that unravels everything I’ve needed from Scout and Nate for years.
I slip my G-string back on and belt up the coat, which traps enough heat to remind me of the temperature rise Nate caused when he fingered me. Nate is sitting on the grass by his equipment, legs spread like a triangle, leaning on one hand. He must be checking the images because the camera sucks his concentration. He didn’t peek up once to watch me change. Not even as I walk close enough for the breeze to whoosh my hair and coat in his direction, surely filling him with my scent, and at the least the hem of my coat to his hair.
“That hasn’t ruined our friendship,” I ask him to be sure, “has it?”
His eyes are still diverted. His voice breaks when he says, “Nah, it’s fine Kall Bell.”
• • •
Last weekend I got him off and today he got me off. Was it just a return of favour?
It’s all I think about until today in the kitchen with Mum when she tells me her and Betsy are going out for a coffee. Milk carton in my hand, I shut the fridge door and walk it to my tea but I must have had more force than I intended because the door slams behind me. I put my milk back afterwards and this time nudge the door shut with my fingers.
“Mary,” I say, coming up to sit at a kitchen chair. I prop my hands on the table with the tea cooling between my arms, and watch her fuss over a pot. “You’re having a coffee, right?”
“Kalli!” Mum gives me a moment’s glare then brings the pot to three containers on the counter.
“It’s an honest question. It’s not like you haven’t gone out, left the babysitter without enough pay so she had to leave and have your four-year-old boys home alone until your teenage daughter rocked up in the middle of the night to find this mess.” I snap my fingers in the air, seemingly overcome by the realisation. “That’s right, you did that last Saturday!”
“Oh, shh. You’re so serious all the time. Everything’s fine. Smile.”
I smile for her.
She starts pouring the custard from the pot into three cups. “That’s a freaky smile there, but see? Happy. Don’t you feel good? You guys are awesome, but I’m just having some me time.”
“Uh-huh,” I manage.
She dunks three biscuits into the custard and walks to the fridge to let them cool in there. Mum’s good for making cute little treats for us, but we’d much rather lose the dessert and have her cuddle up to watch a movie as a family.
We take what we’re given.
“You’re such a great daughter. You just need to work on loosening up. Anyone would think you’re the mother.”
“I am, most of the time, Mary.”
“Most mothers would take offense to what you call me.”
Being Kalli Page 5
