by Penny Wylder
There are some enthusiastic yeses from that group, along with more than a few smug looks. “Girls?”
“Hell, yes,” Margot says, and almost everyone agrees.
“How do we do it?”
Eric smirks. “Everyone line up. Face off. Everyone gets a single shot. Closest to bullseye gets the point for the team.” Then he focuses his eyes on me. “Persephone and I will go last.”
There’s lots of cheers at that, and everyone is already lining up to start, and Michael and Margot are at the front of the line. Surprise surprise.
“Take your time,” I whisper to her. “Land the shot as if you’re completely alone.” She nods and grabs an arrow.
Across the lane Eric is giving his own advice. I wonder what it is.
Margot doesn’t even look at her opponent. She takes a deep breath and focuses only on the target. There’s calls of encouragement and discouragement from both sides, but she ignores them all. She takes her time just like I told her to, and when she releases the arrow it flies straight and buries itself almost in the exact center of the bull’s eye. There’s a collective ‘oooooh,’ from both teams, and poor Michael goes a little pale.
But he draws his own arrow and focuses down the lane. It’s not a bad shot. Much better than the one that he bragged about taking his time with, and still within bullseye range, but not as close as Margot’s.
He glares at her, and she smirks, but there’s not any animosity there. We’re going to have to keep an eye on the two of them.
But that’s the way it goes. There are excellent shots on both sides, and the score fluctuates back and forth, the number of people until I have to shoot dwindling quickly. The boys are up by two, and then by one, and the last of the campers are up. Emily is the one who’s about to shoot, and as much as I know that she’s going to be a pain in my ass this summer, I want her to win.
She doesn’t need any encouragement from me—she’s been practically bouncing on her toes waiting for her turn. And she doesn’t wait, pulling back the arrow and firing so quickly I hold my breath, because it barely looked like she aimed. But the arrow lands just right of center, and she grins like a cat who’s eaten a canary.
The last boy—a camper whose name I don’t know—steps up and aims. He does his best, but I can tell that he’s new to this, and his shot goes wide. It hits in the outside circle, and all the girls erupt in cheers. We’re tied.
It’s down to me and Eric now. I look over. “One shot or best of three?”
There’s a chorus of ‘best of three,’ and Eric shrugs as he steps up to the plate. We did plenty of archery together, and he’s definitely good. I have no idea how often he’s been practicing, so I’ll take nothing for granted.
Eric pulls back on his first shot, and I’m distracted by his arms. Nothing but corded muscle is there, flexing as he pulls the string back and aims. I can imagine those arms in a very different context, and I force myself to take a deep breath. I’m not the only one who notices the way his shirt pulls tight over his shoulders. There are definitely whispers around me from the girls. I can’t even blame them.
He fires a little high, and it’s a decent arrow. The second shot—equally as distracting to me— lands to the left of the bullseye. And the last one is right down the middle. The smile he shoots me is full of heat and daring. He wants me to do better. And I’m not going to let him win just for the hell of it.
I step up to the plate and tune out the sounds around me, focusing on nothing but me and the target. I sense the air and the way it’s flowing. The angle of the target and myself. All these things that I’ve been trained to do over the years that happen almost reflexively.
Archery is a paradox. Because in order to hit the bullseye, you can’t aim at it. You have to aim above it and take into account the speed, quality of the air, and the fall of the arrow. I take a deep breath, pull, aim, and release in one smooth motion.
It lands true, and relief pours through me. One down.
The second shot veers a little to the right, but it’s still close. I know it’s the last shot that’s tricky, because I have to avoid the two other arrows. I hold my breath and pick where I want it to land. There’s a tiny breeze, and I adjust, and feel when I need to release the string.
The arrow slices through the air and lands exactly where I want it to: right next to my first arrow. I did it.
The whole group of girls screams and mobs me, because it’s clear who the winner is. My grouping is clearly closer.
The boys look disappointed, but Eric has a grin on his face that’s so wide I think that his face might split open. “Class dismissed,” he says, nodding his head toward the dining hall. “I owe you a coke.”
It’s hotter than hell right now, and after that and having to watch him and those delicious arms, I’m not going to say no. “I need one, and I won’t turn down a free drink.”
The ancient soda machine is right outside the camp director’s office and cabin. I think it was originally placed there way back when because it was one of the first buildings with electricity in the camp. But now it’s more so kids don’t try to shake soda out of it. Most of the campers here are good kids, but you never know.
Following Eric has its advantages. Namely watching his ass in those jeans. Being close to him today. The yoga. The archery. Now. It’s not doing anything good for my self-control. When we reach the machine I have to pretend that I haven’t just been checking him out.
Eric puts in quarters for him and for me and hands me the drink when it spits out of the machine. I lean against the wall of the cabin and he leans against the machine. We’re both panting a little in the heat, but I’m unwilling to move farther away from him. My brain is not cooperating with the need to stay away.
Resisting is exhausting, and being here with him is making me fall back into our old, easy patterns like nothing ever happened. “Is this the same machine?” I ask. It looks like the same one, but that machine was ancient even then, and I would have thought it would be replaced by now.
“It’s the same one, yeah.”
I laugh. “It’s probably as old as we are.”
“Just about,” he sighs, and his whole body seems a little heavier. “Same with the bus. I should replace them. Would if we could, but the camp really can’t afford it right now. If we want to pay our staff, upgrades aren’t in the books right now.”
“Really? Why?”
He shrugs, and gives me a carefree smile that I don’t think is the whole truth. “You know how it is. It’s been a hard couple of years.”
We’re silent for a moment, and this feels a little like it used to. Cicadas sing and the noise of the campers travel to us from the distance. The cold of the soda is good, in the heat—burning even though we’re in the shade.
“I miss this,” Eric says. “Days like this.”
“What do you mean?” I suspect that I already know, but I want to hear him put a voice to it.
“I mean when life was simpler and easier. When there were less things to worry about.”
“Are things that bad?” I ask, studying him.
He turns his body fully toward mine and takes a step closer. “Not right now,” he says softly. “Not with you.”
I can’t say anything, because I’m struggling to breathe. Taking a sip of coke, I pretend that he isn’t affecting me at all. It doesn’t work.
“Seph,” he says, using my nickname even though I told him not to. I can’t imagine him using anything else in this moment. “I’ve never forgotten that summer, you know.”
“Oh?” I look away, and he guides my gaze back to his with a brush of fingers on my cheek.
“It was the best summer of my life.”
My stomach does a flip. His eyes burn into mine, the blue of heat and flame. Using his thumb, he brushes a drop of the soda from my lower lip. A barely there touch that has me shaking, resisting the urge to lean into him. His gaze drops to my lips, and he sucks in a breath.
And then he’s kissing me, and I’m letting hi
m. God, it feels so good to remember how this feels. He pulls back, searching my eyes, looking for me to say no. I can’t.
As many times as Eric Elmore wants to kiss me, I’m going to let him. And he leans in to kiss me again. Harder this time.
8
Eric
Present
The second my lips meet Seph’s the second time, all bets are off. My can of coke is on the ground and I’ll scold myself for littering later. Right now there’s no time, because if I don’t get this woman naked and underneath me I’m going to spontaneously combust. And Seph is right there with me. Her arms twine around my neck and I haul her closer to me, dragging her to the door to my cabin while at the same time unwilling to let go of her or take my lips off hers.
I need to get her inside, or I’m going to fuck her against the wall, and I can’t have the campers seeing that. Somehow, I manage to pull open the door and get us through it, and I slam it closed and press her up against the door, flicking the lock. Seph’s body feels so good against mine. Like the answer to a question that I’ve been asking for years.
It’s crazy how familiar it feels, even though it’s been years. My own body has never forgotten. I groan against her lips, and her fingers claw into my shoulders. We’re trying to consume each other. I press her harder into the door, letting her feel how hard she makes me. And savoring that softness of her that I felt earlier when I pulled her out of the water. Finally giving in fully to that animal attraction that roared yesterday just at the sight of her.
This is all brutally familiar. Just like that first summer when we couldn’t get enough of each other. It’s like as soon as I saw her all of that came rushing back with a force that I couldn’t contain. And I love the way that she’s clinging to me, but I have to be sure.
“Do you want this?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
It’s more of a moan and I’m so hard that I can barely force more words out. “Are you sure?”
“We shouldn’t,” she says, pulling my mouth to hers again. Everything is white fire. “But we—I have to.”
That’s all I need to hear. We’ll talk about why she’s so dead set against this later. In this moment it doesn’t seem important. Nothing is as important as the feel and the taste of her. I need to have everything. I need that memory that I already have of her to be layered with new ones of her skin.
My hands find the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head and tossing it aside. It leaves her hair a mess in its wake, and I’m enamored of that crazy halo of red. I have a déjà vu seeing that red hair spread out before me, wanton and tempting. Jesus.
Seph’s hands are on me, exploring my chest and my arms, roaming over the shirt that’s still damp from the lake. I strip it over my head because I want her to touch me. I pull back just far enough to see her. To look at her and encourage her to look and touch and taste. I’m glad that I’ve been working out. Every ounce of soreness that I’ve dragged from my body is worth it to see the way her eyes devour me. Deep, feral satisfaction fills my veins. That’s how I want my woman to look at me. And Seph is my woman.
Seph’s fingers drift across my skin, and I shudder under her hands. she looks dazed and awed and like I’m the best thing that she’s ever seen.
She’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.
The bra she’s wearing is more daring than I expected for under a camp t-shirt. White and sheer and lacy, cupping her perfect breasts and putting them on display like a perfectly packaged present. Reaching out, I touch them. Softly at first, and then harder, enjoying the weight and the give. Her nipples pebble into hardness when I stroke my thumbs across them, even through the fabric, and she leans back against the door with her eyes closed. She’s panting for breath, lips parted and dewy with the remnants of my kisses.
I brush my hands down the sides of her ribs, watching as goosebumps appear even in the summer heat. “Seph,” I breathe. I’m at a crossroads, because I need hard and fast, but I also want to savor her.
Maybe we can have both. “Don’t move,” I tell her, striding across the room to my suitcase and grabbing a condom from the box I travel with out of habit. Thank fuck. I honestly didn’t think that I would be getting laid at all this summer. I had resigned myself to coming into my hand in the shower for the next two months. I’m glad that the universe threw me a bone.
My pants are gone by the time I reach her again, and Seph is down to her bra and panties. I stroke my cock as I watch her, and she’s squirming with anticipation. I cannot wait to be inside her again. Pressing her into the door again with my body, I let my cock sit between us, hard and straining. A wicked promise.
“We’ve never had sex against a door,” I say with a smile.
She smiles too, but grabs my shoulders and squeezes. “And we might not if you don’t start fucking me. I’m going to take matters into my own hands in the next thirty seconds.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and I let my lips crash down on hers again. It only takes seconds to slip the condom on my cock and scoop my hands under her ass to lift her. Trapping her against the door with my body, I reach between us and shove her panties aside and fit myself against her. I remember the last time we were together it was hesitant and new—but still amazing.
This time she’s already soaking wet, and neither of us have the patience for soft and slow. That can come later. I ease into her, taking it slow, since I’m bigger than I used to be.
Seph goes entirely still as I enter her, sucking in a grasp of breath and her pussy clamps down on me, squeezing and making me go blind with sensation. Holy shit, I’m going to lose it and we haven’t even started.
Capturing her lips, I don’t let her take another breath. I ravage her mouth as I begin to move. Not smooth and not soft—just raw, brutal, fucking.
Plunging into Persephone is like plunging into fire. Just like the hell that the mythical Persephone was banished to. Driving my cock into her over and over again feels like coming home. Something I hadn’t truly realized that I was missing until just now, and that I can’t believe that I’ve lived without all this time. I don’t plan on living without it ever again. She’s mine whether she knows it or not, and I’m going to prove it with every thrust of my cock inside her.
The door rattles behind us with the force of my fucking, and I love the sound—the audible proof of this. Seph breaks away from our kiss, throwing her head back and crying out, eyes closed in rapture and fuck it feels good to see her like that.
I already feel like I want to see more of her. See that look of total abandon on her face and know that I am the source of it. I’m swirling down into something deep and dangerous, driven by need and pleasure and something that I don’t dare name. I can’t. Not now.
The orgasm is building in my spine, but I’m holding onto it. Seph is going to come apart on my cock before I even think about coming. I drive deeper into her, grinding against her clit with my hips while I wrap my hands more firmly around her thighs. She hooks her legs more firmly around my hips, pulling me against her. That little sensation of her feet pressing into my ass drives me crazy. She wants me. She wants more.
“Oh fuck,” she says, voice unsteady and nails gripping my arms. “God. Fuck. Yes. Please.”
Every word is punctuated by another thrust of my cock, and I shift to push in deeper. As deep as I can go, and she takes me beautifully. Our bodies slam together with that raw sound of animal sex, and pleasure builds through my body so quickly that I feel like a live electric wire. I swear to god sparks could be coming off me.
The sound of her pleasure drives me forward, and I keep my rhythm steady, bracing myself so I can reach between us again and touch her clit, stroke her in time with my movements, and her voice is loud in my cabin as she falls apart.
Her pussy spasms around me, squeezing down again, and it’s all I can do to hang on to my own orgasm. I fuck her through her own, feeling her relax and shake and breathe, melting against me in the most perfect way. And when she opens her eyes and
looks at me, I lose control. My rhythm falters as I take what I need, pushing deep and letting the pleasure flood my bones.
I groan, pressing my lips against her neck and holding myself deep. My cock jerks, bright waves of ecstasy pouring over me as I grind against her. It’s so good, sharp and bright and fierce, passing through me and clinging to my bones and passing through.
We collapse against the door together, breathing hard and wrapped up in each other. “That was…”
I don’t have the words. Mind blowing. Life changing. Entirely what I wanted and yet not what I was expecting at all. That was hands down was the best sex I’ve ever had. The only other time I’ve felt like this was…with her.
Obviously Seph isn’t the only person that I’ve ever slept with, but she’s the only person that I’ve ever felt this kind of pleasure and satisfaction with. She was my first love, and I know that’s part of it. If it’s more than that…
“Yeah,” she says. “God.”
I’m still inside her, and I don’t want to move, but I’m also not entirely ready for this to be over, and if I want us to continue, we need to separate. But not quite yet.
Now that the frenzy has passed, I lean down and press a kiss to her lips. They’re soft under mine and taste sweet. Like a whisper of chocolate and a hint of rose. She’s perfect.
I keep kissing her as she lets her legs slip back down to the floor and we separate. But I hold her close, tangling my fingers in her hair until we’re both short of breath again. “Do you have anything on the schedule this afternoon?” I ask her.
She bites her lip. “Lifeguarding this afternoon. But I have a few hours. Why?”
“You haven’t realized?” I raise an eyebrow and smile down at her. “We’re not remotely finished.”
She takes a shaky breath and blushes, but she doesn’t look disappointed. “We’re not?”
Drawing my lips across her shoulder, I pull her away from the door and peel her out of the rest of her clothes so that she’s entirely naked in front of me. Seph is fucking radiant. A goddess that I can’t take my eyes off, and one that I plane to defile in ways that the gods would likely not approve of.
