by Gina Kincade
It’s the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had, but it’s also driving me crazy. Everything about this kiss is perfect, like her. My body hardens quickly. All my nerves tighten. My senses are on alert to everything she’s doing to me. I feel like electricity is pouring down my spine, and I wonder if I’m shaking from trying to hold in all the white-hot energy.
She slowly leans away, smiling, batting her long lashes, making my heart slam against my sternum, my stomach clench. God, I like her.
Her gaze drops, but only to my shoulder. She snuggles closer, crossing her nimble legs so she’s still beside me but backward to the way I’m sitting on the couch. Carefully, she touches my right shoulder.
“Is that Latin?”
I smile and glance at my tattoo sprawled on that part of me. “Yeah.”
“What’s it mean? I think it’s something about fear, but my Latin is…well, it’s nonexistent.”
I silently chuckle. “It’s better than mine, I’m sure. And it’s ‘Never let fear decide your fate.’”
She traces the lettering, smiling. “That’s a good one. Is this a dragon?”
She’s on my chest now, her fingers leaving hot spots as she touches me.
“Yes. I liked dragons when I was a kid.”
“You got this when you were a kid?”
“Fifteen. That’s why it’s kind of hard to figure out what it is now. All garbled. I grew a lot after I got it.”
“Your parents let you get a tattoo at fifteen?”
This is what I was hoping to postpone. Indefinitely. I’m going to talk about my upbringing, which will be vastly different from hers, and she’ll wonder if I’m still a fuck up.
I sigh, realizing I’m going to have to tell her. “No. I never knew my dad. My mom…I don’t remember much other than she used to sing. After my sister was born, my mom gave us to her mother. My sister and I didn’t find out until we were adults that she had cancer and had gone to get treatment but then died. Our grandmother never told us. Just said our mom left.”
The hand that had been on my right pec hurries to touch my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Ryder.” Her hand is trembling. “Is your grandmother still alive?”
I shake my head.
“Good. I mean, I’m sorry for your loss, but I would have called her and given her a piece of my mind, leaving you with the impression that your mother abandoned you. Jesus Christ. I’m making a horrible impression, I’m sure. And I’m sorry, but I’m so pissed your grandmother would do that to you and your sister.”
This is just one of the many reasons why my heart comes alive around Asha. In the past, if I told anyone about my grandmother, they would say they were sorry, give me a pitying look, which I fucking hated. But not Asha, fierce fighter that she is. She’s angry for me. Wants to protect me, which feels…weird. Good, but weird.
I remember when I was little and realizing I would have to protect my sister and myself and no one would help. It’s one of my first memories. From there, it felt as if it were the world against me. Except when I met Adam, who came from a normal background, but like Asha, had a response that didn’t make me feel even worse about myself. He wasn’t just understanding but portrayed sympathy in a way that made me feel…like I wasn’t a fuck up.
Because Asha’s had such a great reaction to everything I’ve said, I find myself telling her all of it.
“My grandmother was…sort of, well, she wasn’t a kind woman. Now, knowing what I do, after my sister got the PI to find out about our mother and hearing from nurses who had cared for her, I doubt my mother wanted our grandmother to raise us. But my mom got sick so fast. Then died. And my grandmother—Okay, my sister and I have different dads, and my grandmother thought my mother was too wild and…evil. She said that about our mother. Evil. And we were sinful children. She would give us these punishments for arbitrary reasons. Like not feed us for having too much fun.”
Asha’s eyes are growing bigger and bigger as I talk. Her hand on me rests on my shoulder, the other hand touches the opposite arm, which is making her appear to surround me. This little, tiny even, female is shielding me while her eyes glisten from tears, but her stance, the way she’s touching me, is protective. It moves me, making my heart hurt and yet feel golden and good at the same time.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“I’m telling you this because I wanted you to know what I did, who I was. I was a thief. A really good one. I was eight when I started. And the first and only time I was caught was when I was seventeen. So I stole a lot of crap between eight and seventeen.”
She closes her eyes. “That’s why you joined the military, isn’t it? You were given an ultimatum.”
I’m surprised she figured it out, but I guess when laying out my background, it might be apparent. “Yeah. I lived in a small town. The sheriff guessed I had been stealing for years but didn’t have enough to convict me of the other jobs. Just that one. He said he’d forget the whole thing, no jail time, no arrest even, if I joined.” I swallow, finding myself admitting even more. “I’d like to say I enlisted because I’m patriotic, but I didn’t learn how to be until I actually joined.”
She scoots closer, her bent leg partially on my lap, and she leans her head against my shoulder. However, I can tell it’s awkward for her. So I help her wiggle around until we’re sitting side-by-side again. She’s still got her head on my shoulder, touching my chest with her long fingers.
“You do know I think you’re even more perfect now.”
I choke out a scoffing noise.
“No. Seriously.” She looks up, her brown eyes full of unshed tears. “You’re so strong. And you tried to protect your sister. And—”
“And I’m a thief.”
She shrugs. “I would have done the same thing.” She settles against me again, her head on my shoulder, as I think about what she’s said.
From that first memory until this moment, I’ve often felt alone in this world. Not many would understand. Or maybe they’d sympathize and feel bad for my sister and me, but that doesn’t mean they’d put themselves in my shoes. It doesn’t mean I don’t palpably feel their simultaneous concern and judgement. But Asha grouped herself with me.
Fuck, I like her.
I’m getting all sentimental on her, sharing my past, and she’s gently caressing me. Again, I’m turning into the girl here and wish she would tell me something about herself, something that would make it so I wouldn’t feel so vulnerable. But I’m not going to ask for that. And maybe I should just get over feeling vulnerable. Just accept it for what it is.
“Every Fourth of July, there’s a powwow at my hometown in Lame Deer.”
“Yeah?” I ask, not sure where she’s going with this change of subject. But I’m kind of glad for it, because feeling vulnerable is a tad like getting a skinned knee and exposing it to the air. It smarts and stings, but as soon as it’s covered with a Band-Aid, it feels so much better.
She doesn’t look at me but she’s clearing her throat. A lot. And I realize that something about the powwow is emotional for her.
“Do you know what a powwow is?”
I shrug against her. “I think so.”
“Have you ever been to one?”
“No.”
“It’s like a big party. There’s food and music and people talking and shows. And dancing. Only, it’s tribal dancing. Have you ever seen some of the Indian dances?”
“Maybe on TV.”
She shakes her head that’s still on my shoulder. “It’s different when you see the dancers. When you feel the drums, how they beat into your bones, into your heart. When you hear the singers, and you feel their pain, or their longing. It’s—it’s spiritual.” She sniffs. “I don’t talk about it. I don’t talk about home because I haven’t been to a powwow for seven years now. I haven’t wanted to.”
“Why?” I clear my own throat then. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking why haven’t you gone? It sounds special to you.”
She shrinks into herself a
s she whispers, “Because it is spiritual. And they’ll see me. They’ll see through me.”
I think about what she’s saying. It’s vague, and I can tell she’s starting to get more and more uncomfortable. She probably doesn’t want to clarify what she means.
She’s exposing herself to me. She’s vulnerable.
The least I can do is find a Band-Aid for her.
“You’ve changed a lot in the last seven years?”
She nods, still not looking at me and shrinking even more.
“You think you’ve changed for the worse?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just changed.”
I don’t know what to say, so I offer the only thing I can. “Maybe this year, I’ll go with you. Maybe they’ll still see you, but I’ll be there to…to be there for you.”
She looks up at me, blinking, looking a little stunned. “You’d want to go?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Something flickers across her dark gaze. Something that looks a lot like hope. “I—I used to be one of the dancers.”
I smile. “I’d like to see that.”
“I wear a pink suede dress with elks’ teeth that rattle. Would that freak you out?”
I wince, because I feel like a pervert when I imagine her in that pink suede dress. I really like that image. “It—it sounds kind of hot.”
She smiles. “Even the elks’ teeth?”
“Yeah, sorry. I know it’s probably a spiritual thing, and me thinking it’s hot is more than likely really inappropriate.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I like your inappropriateness.”
That makes me laugh. “Thanks. I’m really good at inappropriate, so we’ll get along fine.”
She leans her head back against my shoulder. “Ryder?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you ready to take that shower yet?”
Asha
Ryder made a joke, wondering if I thought he smelled bad and that’s where the shower suggestion came from. We laughed, while I tried to reassure him he smelled great, and he does. Somehow, we got off the couch and are here, in his bathroom, the shower turned on, and staring at each other with our smiles falling away.
He’s been without a shirt this whole time, but it seems that now, with the water running, I notice him all the more.
“Do you workout?” I can’t believe I ask that, but I have to know how he has such defined abs and his chest is so big, so powerful, making me ache to run my fingers over him—both in professional admiration but especially from personal pleasure.
He nods. “You?”
I shrug. “I kind of run.”
“Kind of?”
“Well, I don’t do it every day. Maybe every other day. Sometimes I lift a weight or two.”
He softly chuckles.
“You lift weights, don’t you?”
He nods. “Try to.”
He’s being humble. I bet he’s one of those guys in the gym who other people watch, amazed he can push around things that weigh as much as a car. Or a country.
He’s looking at me, his gaze sliding down. “I can tell you run. You have great legs.”
“Really?”
He takes a long time before he looks into my eyes, slowly nodding and smiling at me in a way I think is like a wolf before he attacks a bunny. I feel a tad like prey and have to swallow. The thing is, I know he’s not going to touch me. Not only because he brokered the deal for the shower with the “no touching” clause but also he’s a man of his word.
So, after a big breath, I don’t feel the tingles of fear skitter down my back. Not any longer. This is just going to be a shower. To wash. And ogle each other, of course.
“We’d better get in the shower before you run out of hot water.”
He nods again.
“You going to stay in your pajamas for the shower?”
“You going to stay in that t-shirt?”
I shake my head but can’t find the nerve to take off said shirt.
He arches a brow. “Ladies first.”
I shake my head once more. “Oh, but this is your bathroom. I think you should go first to…take off your clothes.”
He growls and slowly lifts a hand to pull on his gray drawstrings. The knot is slowly undone, and I’m watching everything with an intensity I’ve never felt before. Between my legs there’s this sensation—a feeling of pleasure, yes, but also it aches, like I need something.
So this is hard-core desire—a need to feel full. Of him.
I swallow again and watch as he takes a breath, his stomach muscles contracting, then he pushes his pajama pants down, kicking them off and away. Holy…holy…holy something. I don’t know because words are suddenly hard to come by as I gaze at his narrow hips and his erection that’s stretched across his boxer briefs. He’s a big man. I mean big. Really big. Huge.
I’m reconsidering him being my first. There’s no way something that big could ever…
But at the same time, I’m really, really intrigued. He’s fascinating to look at. What I’m staring at twitches. I jump and giggle, covering my mouth with my hands.
“You’re getting him excited with the way you’re looking at him.” Ryder’s voice is a growl, and he’s smiling at me with that predatory look again.
“Him?”
His boxer briefs twitch again. “Him.”
I bite my bottom lip. “You have a name for him, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
I laugh, glancing up into his eyes that are darker than I’ve ever seen them. “What’s his name?”
He inhales. “When he’s good, he’s Steve.”
“Steve’s a nice name.”
“See, I thought so too.”
“And when he’s bad?”
He rolls his eyes and I swear I see a little pink land on his chest and rise through his neck to his cheeks. “Bone Ranger.”
I try not to laugh too loud, but come on. “Ryder, you are such a guy. Oh my god, you are such a guy to name it that.”
He glances down my body. “What do you call yours?”
I blink, and here’s where I get uncomfortable. “I—I’ve never—I—”
He steps closer. “We gotta give her a name. I mean, I know most women don’t like the word pussy.”
“Wow, you say that so easily.”
He shrugs with one shoulder. “I am a guy. I’ve said pussy a lot.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s really awesome.”
I laugh but feel a twinge of jealousy because he’s known other women’s vaginas and vulvas. God, I sound like a physician, don’t I?
He shrugs yet again, glancing at the space between us, looking a little sheepish. “Guys talk. To other guys. We’re a bunch of apes, telling stories. None you can believe.”
I like that he’s trying to make it sound as if he hasn’t actually been around other women and their…pussies. Yikes, that word is so weird. And it’s then I realize that Ryder has put me at ease. He’s distracted me from the fact that I’m uncomfortable with my body. I mean, I try not to be and in the mirror I kind of like what I see. But touching, being touched…until Ryder, I hated that aspect of my body. Often, I feel there’s a big space between me and my skin. Like I’m not quite connected to my physical being.
“So what do you want to call her?” he asks, looking excited and happy. At my crotch.
I shrug. “I’m really not sure.”
“Try out some names.”
“Caterina.”
He nods. “Exotic.”
I laugh. He’s so much fun and I love this, picking out a name for my pussy. Wow, that word does become easier once it’s been acknowledged.
“So is Caterina for when she’s good?”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Does Caterina ever get…naughty?”
I slowly nod.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, we’re never going to take a shower at this rate.”
I laugh, which comes so e
asy with him. “Okay, should we take off our clothes at the same time?”
He nods. “Good idea.”
I grab the bottom hem of the t-shirt, but he stops me by saying, “But, hey, I have one thing to take off. And you have two.”
“How do you know what I have to take off?”
He frowns. “I know.”
Then, feeling happy and carefree, I just fling off the t-shirt. “Fine. Now I have only my panties to take off.”
He’s staring at my breasts. “Holy fucking hell.”
I cup myself, covering my nipples. “I can’t tell if that string of swearwords is a good thing or not.”
He blinks and slowly looks up at me. “Asha, baby, I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It’s good. Fucking trust me. And when you cover yourself like that, it…shit, wow. You’re so fucking sexy. I’m sorry. I keep swearing. But I can’t stop. You’re so sexy.”
Slowly, I drop my hands, and his mouth opens a little. Already, I was turned on, but now my breasts feel full, achy, and my clitoris is screaming to be touched, which surprises me. I want him to touch me. He’s right. This is a wow moment.
“Let’s take off our underwear.”
He slowly nods, looking drunk.
“One…”
He smiles with one side of his lips.
“Two…” I curl my thumbs into the waistline of my panties as he does something similar with his briefs.
“Three!” I nearly scream and scurry to take off the last shred of clothing I have on.
I can’t look at him when I’m completely nude and race into the shower with him chuckling behind me. I’m giggling and feeling silly when he walks in. Oh lord. Oh lordy, lordy, lord.
Somehow, with him completely bare, he looks a lot bigger than I thought him to be. And I’m not just talking about the size of his penis. He is a foot taller than me, and although I’d grown accustomed to his mammoth chest and wide shoulders, seeing all of him makes me feel in awe. His legs are muscular and he has scars here and there that I’d like to touch and investigate, see if I know what wounded him. And although I won’t tell him this part, I always think that had I been his doctor, I would have stitched him better, made sure his scars were smaller, caused less pain. But that’s just a weird fantasy of mine.
