Crashing into Her

by Mia Sosa

  I don’t recognize his voice. It’s low and ragged, as though he’s struggling to make any sound at all. I’m not even going to try to recall enough of the English language to form a coherent sentence. Heavy breathing and whimpers will need to suffice. And to make matters worse—no, better, this makes it better—his erection is straining against his pants and announcing its presence along my lower back.

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  The answer is a resounding yes. In fact, it’s so much a yes that I’m teary with the anticipation of it. “Please. Touch me.”

  He doesn’t waste any more time and dips inside my panties with a deft hand, the back of it brushing against my mound. “Almost bare. Just like I remembered. Feels nice. Plump.”

  “Anthony, please.”

  He slips a finger inside, and I nearly combust from the heat spreading through me.

  “More?” he asks.

  My hands are grasping at his jeans, as though my neediness will spur him to do more. But he’s made clear he needs to hear the words, so I manage to say what needs to be said. “Yes, more.”

  He adds a second digit. “I could do this all night. Just touch you. Am I making you feel good?”

  “You are. Yes. But I need you to move your fingers a bit.”

  “Over your clit?”

  “Yes.”

  He slides his body down a bit, raising his knees for leverage and placing his lips against my temple. “Tell me when it feels perfect.” Then he makes a light pass over my clit, barely touching it, and I’m so desperate for his touch that I chase it.

  “Your clit is firm,” he says. “Feels nice against my fingers.”

  I moan in frustration, wanting more than the fleeting sensation of his digits dancing over my achy nerve endings. “Abstinence makes the clit grow harder, you know.”

  His chest vibrates under me. “Stop that. You’re breaking my concentration.”

  He dances over it again.

  “Not perfect,” I tell him. “That’s cruel.”

  He puts his free arm over my chest and cages me in. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.” Then he does just that, circling my pussy to draw its juices up over my folds. And with exquisite care, he centers two fingers on my clit and rubs it at a torturously slow pace.

  “Oh, that’s perfect, Anthony. Keep doing that.” I glance up at the movie, registering the green code raining down on the screen. Then I squeeze my eyes shut because I can’t possibly focus on anything else but the intense throbbing between my legs.

  “God, I want you to come so hard. I want that so badly for you. And tonight, when I’m back at home and in my bed, I’ll stroke myself to the memory of your sweet pussy swallowing my fingers and making them slippery.”

  His words trip something inside me, like a circuit reaching its limit and overloading. “Please do it faster. Anthony, I’m so close . . . I’m almost there.” His fingers are rubbing fast and tight now. Tiny circles directly on my nub. And then his free hand travels back across my chest and into my hair at the nape of my neck. He massages my scalp. And he isn’t gentle.

  “Yes, keep doing that,” I urge. “Yes, more of that.”

  “Shhh,” he whispers against my ear. “You’re getting louder.”

  I blink my eyes open. Someone could see us, I suppose, but I’m so close to the peak I don’t care. I shut my eyes because I don’t want to know if someone’s watching. I don’t want anything to stop me from reaching the orgasm that’s been simmering for what feels like hours.

  “Would it help if you imagine my cock inside you?” he says with a low growl.

  That does it. He circles two more times and I fly the fuck apart, clutching his thigh as I shudder in a state of complete and wanton bliss. I pull on his sweater, hiding my face in it as the orgasm rocks me, and I don’t let go as I regain my bearings. If anything, I tighten my hold on it, likely ruining its natural shape. Oh. My. God. That was frustrating, and naughty, and everything I needed it to be.

  Beneath the blanket, Anthony removes his hand from my panties and strokes my thigh. “You okay?”

  I nod, although my head wobbles from the effort. “I’m so much better than okay.” I lift my chin to study him. His eyes are glossy, his lips are red—as if he bit into them as he touched me—and his face is flushed. He looks so fucking primed to tear me apart that I wish we weren’t in public. “Are you okay?”

  He smiles. “I’m so much better than okay, too.”

  With that, I think a piece of my heart jumped out of my chest and latched onto his. That wasn’t supposed to happen, but it’s true, nonetheless. Nice going, Eva. If leaving yourself open to heartbreak were a class, you’d get an A+.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anthony

  “It happened. Don’t freak out on me, okay? We don’t have to make a big deal about it. Thanks for a great night. See you Wednesday.”

  Eva’s parting words have been running on a continuous loop in my mind since our non-date on Sunday. Unfortunately, that loop’s been interspersed with images and memories of that evening: the way she gripped my thigh as I touched her; the way her moans rose with each stroke; the way she buried her face in my chest as the orgasm slammed into her. I’m supposed to forget how she fell apart in my arms? Chacho, what a fucking joke.

  I look down at the invoices in front of me. Have I reviewed any of them yet? I have no clue. I’m tempted to pick up the entire stack and throw it in the trash.

  Kurt breezes into the office, his face ruddy and cheerful. “How’s it going, young man.”

  Shit. Kurt got some this morning. The fucking whistling is a big tell. “Must you make it so obvious you had good sex recently?”

  He looks at me dreamily as he settles into his chair. “Is it obvious? How do you know?”

  “Because you look like you’re blowing bubbles as you walk through a field of flowers, that’s how.”

  He frowns at me. “And that upsets you, why? Not getting any lately?”

  I drop my head onto the desk. “You don’t have to rub my face in your active sex life, okay?”

  His chair squeaks as he rises from it. Oh, damn. God save me if he’s feeling fatherly. Sure enough, he rounds my desk and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Chin up, kid. What’s got you so down? And what can’t be corrected with one of the random hookups you used to enjoy so much?”

  He’d be shocked to know I haven’t had one of those in months—since my night with Eva after Tori’s wedding. Although even I must admit that encounter doesn’t count as a random hookup anymore. I throw off his hand and sit up. “You make a good point, actually. I’m in a weird mood, but it isn’t anything I can’t resolve with the right attitude.”

  “There’s the Anthony I know and love.” He lumbers back to his chair. “So, you ready for today?”

  I give him a confident nod. “Ready.”

  “More importantly, do you think the trainees are ready?”

  It’s our job to make sure they are. “I think so. We’ll start off easy and work our way up. If I get a whiff of any fear that might interfere with anyone’s ability to perform a high fall, I’ll take them out of the practice rotation.”

  He clasps his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on the desk. “I knew you’d have everything under control. Plus, I’ll be there for backup, along with the rest of the crew. It’s not all on you.”

  “I know. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt on my watch.”

  “Someone could,” he warns.

  “No one has so far, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  He studies me in silence for more seconds than I’m comfortable with. Kurt’s never been a contemplative guy, so this is uncharacteristic of him.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m just noticing how you’ve come into your own recently. Not sure exactly when it happened, but you’re talking like someone with a serious stake in this business. I’m proud of you.”

  All that’s missing fr
om this heartwarming moment is for Kurt to slap me on the back and hand me a cup of cocoa. Mistletoe above us would be good, too. Still, I’m gratified that he’s finally seeing me as a potential partner. It means I’m moving in the right direction in his eyes. “Thanks, Kurt.” I hold both of my hands over my heart. “I’m touched.”

  He waves me away. “Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit.”

  The warehouse door slams, and then excited voices fill the air. The trainees are beginning to arrive. After straightening the stack of invoices—as well as a dozen other items on my desk—I slowly rise from my chair.

  One thing’s for sure, I’ll be taking my cues from Eva today. As hard as it would be to pretend nothing happened, if that’s what she wants, that’s how it’ll be. She knows where I stand; what she does with that information is her choice.

  I cross the room and study the trainees through the office window. When Eva walks in, I draw in a fortifying breath, mentally preparing myself for the challenge of forgetting for the next few hours that she’s someone more to me than just another participant in this boot camp. She surveys the room and everyone in it, and then she glances at me through the window. Her smile builds the longer we stare at each other, until she gives me a tentative wave. She doesn’t wait for me to return the greeting, though. Instead, she power walks past her classmates and settles onto a mat to perform her stretches.

  Just three days ago, her legs were trembling as I stroked her. Just three days ago, I would have risked life and limb to be inside her if she’d said she wanted that, too. Still, Eva’s a level-headed woman, and apparently she concluded it was better not to entangle herself with someone who won’t give her what she needs. Maybe that’s for the best.

  I put on my game face. For now, she’s a trainee, and I’ll treat her as such. With my clipboard in hand, I march out of the office and stride to the center of the room. “Gather around, everyone.”

  They shuffle over and wait for my instructions.

  “Today’s a big day,” I tell them. “We’re working on high falls. Here’s what you need to know. One, high falls are among the most dangerous stunts in a stunt performer’s toolbox. You can die performing a high fall. That’s just a fact. Two, the really high falls, sixty feet and above, are done by people with years of experience. Years. Your goal is to be able to handle a twenty-five-foot fall and work your way up from there. Over years. Years. Is that clear?”

  The trainees nod. One of them looks a little green, though. “You okay, Megan?”

  She wipes her brow and gulps. “I’m fine. Totally.”

  Megan’s not fine, but I’ll deal with that discreetly. “The ability to do a high fall isn’t a prerequisite to being a stunt person. In fact, your inability to do one type of stunt is rarely disqualifying. But as a new performer, it behooves you to figure out what you’re comfortable with. Questions about any of that?”

  Brett raises his hand.

  “Go ahead, Brett.”

  “What about you? Ever done a free fall?”

  “Yeah, several. My latest was from fifty-five feet, for a new cop drama. It was a jump from one rooftop to another, so not a vertical fall, and a bit more complicated than what we’re doing here. Kurt’s trying to convince me to put my hat in the ring for a high fall at eighty feet, but I don’t think I’m ready. The possibility of whiplash is too great. Anyway, know this: A stunt performer recently died performing a fall at twenty-two feet. Things happen. Things we can’t predict. This is our craft, and it involves a level of risk most people aren’t interested in taking. Figure out before the end of this program whether you’re one of those people.”

  I can’t help giving Eva a pointed look. She needs to understand what she’s getting herself into. I’d hate for her to injure herself doing something that isn’t her passion. But she doesn’t appreciate my advice, it seems. Nostrils flaring, she glares at me, and then she focuses on a spot behind my head.

  I turn slightly and see Kurt in my peripheral vision.

  He slaps a hand on my shoulder and shakes me. “All right, I think we’ve done enough to make you shit in your pants, people. Let’s get going. We’re starting inside with a fifteen-foot jump, and then we’ll head outside after lunch for a twenty-five-foot jump off the scaffolding.”

  We spend the next hour discussing the proper way to fall, how to protect your head and neck, the purpose of the various mats around the point of impact, and more.

  As expected, everyone handles the fifteen-foot drops relatively well. Except Megan. Off to the side, out of everyone else’s earshot, she tells me she just discovered—during today’s class, in fact—that she’s afraid of heights. Where that leaves her, I don’t know, but we have a brief discussion about her comfort level, and she agrees to sit out the remainder of practice.

  I gesture for everyone to follow me outside. The sun is shining, and the air is surprisingly clear and calm. No wind to speak of. Perfect conditions for getting everyone up on the scaffolding. Behind the warehouse, the eight-person crew double-checks the airbags and landing mats.

  I turn to the group. “I’m going to climb up and demonstrate a fall. Kurt will narrate what I’m doing. Then we’ll get all of you up there. Remember, we’re not doing anything fancy here. We’re looking for a suicide fall and a landing on your back. Always on your back. Got it?”

  They all nod.

  Before I even put my foot on the first rung of the tower, Eva’s pacing, both of her hands resting on the top of her head. Maybe fifteen feet is manageable to her but twenty-five feet is too daunting? The truth is, she won’t step off the platform unless I’m 100 percent certain she’s ready for it.

  Once I reach the top, I give myself a minute to focus. There’s nothing like the rush of a free fall. For those few seconds, you’re weightless, your body slicing through the air with nothing holding you back. Experienced jumpers like me don’t even feel the sensation of our stomachs dropping anymore.

  I give everyone a two-thumbs-up sign, and a crew member uses a megaphone to count off from five. With my arms out, I jump up in the air as I fall, leaning back to go horizontal before I hear the familiar thwap when I land in the center of the airbag.

  “Dawg, you made that look so easy,” Brett exclaims as I roll off the mattress.

  Dawg? He needs to cut that shit out.

  “What does it feel like from that height?” he asks.

  “More of that free-falling sensation you get at fifteen feet, but there’s also a sense of helplessness because you’re in the air longer and you’re wondering where the hell the airbag is. Ready to try it?”

  Brett claps his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

  As Brett climbs the scaffolding, Eva continues to pace, giving herself a pep talk. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

  I believe she can, too, but I’m not going to be up there with her, and she needs to be in the right mindset to successfully complete this stunt. “Kurt, keep your eye on Brett. I need to speak with Eva for a minute.”

  He nods and walks over to the airbags crew, shading his eyes to watch Brett as he ascends to the top.

  “You okay?” I ask her.

  “I can do this,” she repeats, ignoring me and continuing to pace. She’s massaging her hands now, her gaze darting from the top of the scaffold to the landing spot.

  I fold my arms over my chest, the clipboard serving as my shield in case I need it. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

  Her head snaps up and she jolts to a stop, giving me a frosty look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, now you want to acknowledge me,” I say, giving her a little iciness in return. “What I mean is, are you enjoying this? Was your adrenaline pumping through your veins as you fell onto the mat inside? Do you wish you could do it again? Over and over? Is there something else that makes you feel that way?”

  Eva narrows her eyes as she considers me. Then she moves closer, so close that I retreat to maintain an appropriate distan
ce between us, her insanely luscious mouth more distracting now that she’s only inches away. “Are you asking these questions of the other people in the class?”

  Well, damn. I’m not. And viewing it from her perspective, I can understand why that would piss her off. Hands in the air, I take several steps back. “You’re right. You ready to try thirty feet?”

  She squares her shoulders as though I’ve issued a challenge. “I sure am.”

  “Let’s do it, then.”

  Shaking out her limbs and stretching her neck, she bounces in place, alternating between small hops and knee-to-chest high jumps. My gaze never wavers during her short demonstration of power and athleticism. Odds are high Eva the pro wrestler will star in my dreams tonight. “I see your ankle’s better.”

  “I told you it would be,” she says without looking at me.

  When she places her foot on the first rung of the ladder, I follow behind, ready to climb the scaffolding as well. An invisible hand tugs on my shirt and pulls me back. When I turn around, I see Kurt behind me, shaking his head.

  “She can do it on her own,” he says. “You can’t coddle the women like that. Doesn’t look good.”

  Shit. He’s right. But only partially. Because I’m not coddling the women, plural, I’m coddling the woman—this woman—singular. It wouldn’t be appropriate either way, but in Eva’s case, I must admit it’s not coming from a purely professional place.

  She’s now on the fourth rung, watching Kurt and me, although I doubt she heard what he said. Still, I spy her pensive expression and knowing smile before she turns back around and resumes the climb. After a minute or so, she appears at the edge of the platform, feet together and arms out to her sides.

  Blowing out a deep breath, she gives everyone a thumbs-up and the count-off begins. On the one hand, I’m inclined not to watch; seeing her fall will be worse than the clawing feeling in my chest as I watch her prepare for the jump. On the other hand, I don’t want to take my eyes off her so that if this practice stunt goes wrong, I can help her in any way I can. The moment she’s in the air, my heart punches its way up to my throat, making it difficult to breathe.