Текст книги "Hero"

Автор книги: Leighton Del Mia

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She tugs it over her head quickly. “What about me?” she asks as she maneuvers her arms through the sleeves.

“You?”

“You’re, you know, with both of us?”

I can’t suppress the bark of laughter from my mouth. “I’m not fucking you, Cataline. It shouldn’t have even happened once.”

“So you don’t find me attractive,” she says.

I purse my lips and free her mass of hair from the shirt’s collar, letting it fall on her back. “It’s not about that, Sparrow. I’m fucking more women than Lyla, and you should be thankful you’re not them. If you thought I was rough with you, that was child’s play.”

There’s a moment of crackling silence as she stares at me openmouthed. Suddenly she bursts into tears and jumps off the table, pushing me aside as she runs from the room.

I’m left looking after her for a few moments, and all I can think is,What the fuck?

* * *

Lyla looks dull. Blonde is the wrong color for her—it washes her out, giving her an ashen look of desperation. She’s always looked dull, but it’s particularly obvious tonight as she stares back at me from her pink comforter, spread eagle. I flip the light switch but remain where I am.

“Calvin?”

I turn the lights back on. “I’m not in the mood, Lyla.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ll call you another time.”

“But . . . I can invite Sabrina if you want? You liked that before.”

I snort. “Did I?”

“I can call her right now. Or if not her, I know another girl. Fifteen minutes max.” When I don’t respond, she asks, “Or would you rather just sleep?”

“When have we ever just slept?”

“Well, never—”

“And we never will. If we’re not fucking, we’re not anything.” I nod my chin at her. “Did you tell people at work about us?”

“No . . .”

“No?”

“Not really.”

She closes her knees and blinks. The bedroom looks like it belongs to a teenage girl. Even Cataline is too old for so much pink. I just shake my head and leave.

Cataline. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of her since the dining room earlier. Suddenly nobody sounds good but her. Lyla distracts me, but when she loses that ability, I have no use for her. And right now, it seems there’s no distracting me from my feisty captive. She’s stubborn and mouthy, and it pushes my last button. She writhes underneath me, trying to disguise her pleasure. I’m starting to believe I enjoy making her submit more than her submission itself. None of it makes sense.

Cataline brings out the darkest, sharpest angles of me. The only other people I let see that side of me are criminals. And whores, or girls like Lyla, who take it rough. Sometimes I go too far, but they never stop me. The thought of going too far with Cataline taps into an emotion I rarely, if ever, experience: fear. If I lose control with her, I could hurt her. And it would only take one time to break her.

23
Cataline

Some nights when I’m restless, I sleep with my eyes open. I read. My books are dreams I never want to wake up from. I’m in the library, between the pages of Les Misérables, when there’s a noise in the house. I sit up in my oversized chair. Keys jingle, and my palms sweat.

After learning about Lyla two nights earlier, I ran straight to the shower to scrub any trace of Calvin from my body. I scowled into the steam as I rinsed his touch from my hair. He didn’t deserve what he took, but I was lost to him anyway. For him I came in a burst of wild energy, like a wave smashing fast and hard against rocks.

Everything is still a moment and then Calvin’s leaning in the library doorway. His hair is disheveled, and his normally flawless suit is rumpled. “Nobody should have to work this late on a weekend, not even me,” he says as he loosens his tie and unbuttons his collar. “What are you doing up?”

I’m suddenly speechless, so I just lift the book in my lap and show it to him.

“A true bookworm,” he says with a lopsided grin. It’s half-assed, but it’s the first genuine one he’s ever given me. Without my camera on me, I’m mentally memorizing this moment. “That one should keep you occupied for a while.”

“You’ve read it?”

“You look surprised.”

“You don’t seem like the book-reading type.”

He laughs. “I don’t sleep well either.”

“You have demons too.” Even before I finish the sentence, I cover my mouth as though that might bring the words back. “I’m sorry.”

He enters the room slowly with his hands deep in his pockets. My head is vertical when he reaches my chair. I recoil as his fingertips sweep hair from my face. “Do I scare you, Sparrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His fingers graze down the side of my face, and, shamefully, I incline my head into his hand. It’s clear by my heated exhale how badly I want to be touched.

“I’m sorry I’ve never told you,” he says with a pause, “that you’re beautiful.”

My lids are leaden under his adoration. In the wake of his ghostly touch is pebbled skin, a changing of tides, a carnal need born of something different than lust. If he were to hurt me in this second, I would forgive him just for this feeling.

“Beautiful?”

“If I were . . . normal, maybe . . .” His hand is cupping my jaw now.

I want to look into his eyes, but I’m afraid doing so would end this moment. “What are you hiding, Calvin?”

“Nothing, Sparrow. Everything you see is everything I am.”

He’s warning me with what I know is truth. His hand withdraws, leaving me bereft, so I let myself look. I didn’t notice before that he’s wearing his glasses. There’s no emotion in his eyes.

“I should get to bed,” I say before I can find out if I’ve done something to upset him. When I stand, he doesn’t move. We’re so close, our distance can only be measured by heat. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor and swallow so loudly it makes me blush. I don’t know why I’m suddenly in trouble, but I know where it will lead. “I mean, if I’m allowed.”

“Are you asking my permission?”

I nod down. His hand contracts into a fist, and I brace myself for ripped clothing, or some variation of the other night’s performance. The surface of my skin burns in a way that I’m certain I’m turned inside out, and I don’t know if I’ll scream or melt when he touches me.

“I like you like this,” he says.

It’s not until he steps back that I exhale the breath I didn’t know I’d seized. “That’s it?” I ask.

“Obedience will get you far, Cataline. It’s what I’ve been trying to teach you.” He turns around to exit the library but stops and looks back. “That is, unless you were hoping for something else? It’s late, but I’m always up for an impromptu lesson.”

“No,” I choke out, shaking my head.

He answers with an exaggerated smirk. “Okay, then. Goodnight.”

In bed, I can’t keep my fingers out of my underwear. When I pull them out and smell them, I smell him. I taste myself for him, gliding my fingertips from the back of my tongue to the tip. The night he took me from the street, I turned from person to possession. Now I worry that when he entered my body and stole what I wouldn’t give him, I became his possession from the inside. I pretend my hands are Calvin’s and let them take me somewhere I want to be—even if it’s only in my mind, even if I would never admit it: with him.

24

Birds sing outside my window for the first time. The room is as bright as a spring day. Despite my late night conversation with Calvin in the library, I feel rested. Instead of sitting on my sill and daydreaming from behind glass, I go downstairs for a late breakfast.

I’m finishing a stack of homemade pancakes when Calvin walks in.

“Cataline,” he greets with a smile, wiping a gloss of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Sleep well?”

My eyes scan over his outfit, narrowing as I chew. “You’ve been horseback riding?”

“It’s beautiful outside. Nothing better than a crisp fall day.”

I look down at my fork as it zigzags through maple syrup. It does look beautiful outside, the sun brightening the woods’ brown-orange trees. I fight the question coming, but it’s barely a struggle. “Can I go?”

“No.”

“With you?” I ask, glancing up. “I promise to behave. I haven’t been outside in months. And I’ve never been horseback riding.”

“Never?”

I shake my head hard.

He shifts from one foot to the other. “In exchange for your best behavior, I’ll consider it.”

“Okay,” I say, unable to suppress a small smile. “I’d like that.”

Norman brings coffee for us, setting both mugs at my end of the table. Instead of his usual spot, Calvin takes the chair next to me. “I have no impending business, so I’ll be around today.”

I examine my plate, watching brown syrup suck crumbs under like quicksand. “Is that a warning?”

He laughs. “That’s up to you, I suppose.”

“What do you do? Like, when you have free time?”

“I rarely have free time. There’s always something to be done. I’ll hit the gym at some point today, though. Have you been in there?”

“The gym? No. I don’t run indoors. I feel trapped.”

“You should try it. Come with me. Some exercise will be good for you.”

I drop my fork with a clatter and look up at him. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

He laughs again, and I mentally begin tracking the times I’ve seen him smile. “No matter the situation, women all have the same concerns. No, Sparrow, I don’t think you’re fat. You’ve lost a little weight since your arrival.”

I nod. “I know. I can tell by the fit of my clothing.”

“Do you need new things?”

“No,” I say, my eyes widening. “I have more than enough.”

“All right, then. So will you join me?”

I search his face, and he lets me. “Really?” I ask after a moment. “I can come with you?”

His head tilts forward. “You can come.”

“Okay. Yes. Thank you.”

“Finish up, and meet me there in an hour.”

I’m left at the table with my empty plate, wondering if I’ve just walked into a trap. On the way to my room, though, I’m as giddy as if I’ve won something. I wonder if we’ll talk, or if he prefers silence when he’s exercising. I don’t think I mind either way. Predictability makes up my days except when Calvin is involved. Sometimes I believe even when that means something awful, it’s better than day-to-day nothingness.

Fortunately, my closet is stocked with untouched workout gear. I’m outside the gym in forty-five minutes. The door is unlocked, but I seat myself in the hallway to stretch.

I’m reaching over my right leg, my hand hooked over the toe of my shoe when Calvin appears. “Ready?” he asks. Without his glasses, nothing obstructs my view of his angular, handsome face.

“Don’t you need to stretch?”

He gives me a look and disappears into the room. I hop up and follow him through the doorway, where I’m hit with the smells of rubber and stale sweat. A seamless mirror makes up one wall of the equipment-filled room. There are TVs, free weights, and even a bookshelf with volumes on the human body and nutrition. Calvin is hunched over with his back to me as I wring my hands. “What should I do?” I ask him.

He looks over his shoulder. “Whatever you want, Cataline.”

I head away from him for the treadmill. “Can I use this? Or do you need it?”

He holds up his right hand, which is partially taped. “Want to hold it for me?” he asks, nodding his head at the punching bag. I blink between it and him until he laughs. “I’m joking.”

I exhale and nod. “Oh.”

The treadmill is top of the line, and it takes me a few moments to figure out how to set up my run. I’m trying to focus, but I can’t help watching as Calvin pushes hair from his face with his forearms. I hit “Start” just as he peels off his t-shirt and tosses it over a dumbbell rack. There’s nothing bulky about Calvin, but his strength is undeniable. There’s not a hint of fat on his immense frame. His muscles bulge and curve in the right places, and when he flexes, his six-pack becomes an eight-pack.

He is a work of art, each muscle sculpted by its owner. I get the feeling when he launches his fist into the bag, he isn’t even using all of his strength. I’m settled into my jog now, and my gaze drifts between my reflection and him. I wish somehow that I could see myself standing next to him. I want to know how he makes me look, how we fit together. We both have light eyes and brown hair, though mine is darker than his. Except for the age gap, we could be mistaken for brother and sister. We could be mistaken for a lot of things: friends, lovers, enemies.

His blows get faster, more aggressive. His body shines in the flood of harsh white light, and his hair looks damp and sticky. The heavy bag takes each thud with a dull vibration. It’s patient and obedient, accepting of Calvin’s violent fury. When I look down at the screen, I’ve been running for fifteen minutes, and my breathing is labored. What used to be just a warm-up is wearing me out too quickly. I drag the back of my hand across my forehead and distract myself by watching him. After some time, he pauses, his hands on his hips, his chest heaving. His shorts sag low enough to stir things in me I wish would stay dormant.

He doesn’t seem to remember I’m even here, so I let myself stare as he steps over to the bookshelf. He opens a book, sits on a bench with his back against the mirror, and begins reading. There’s a slight rattle in my chest, but I refuse to quit at anything less than three miles, which was only half my previous route. Calvin glances up after a few minutes and I avert my eyes, but not before he catches me. He nods in my direction. “You all right?”

I nod.

He tosses the book on the bench and stands. “I can hear you wheezing from here, and you’re beet red. I think it’s time to call it.”

“I’m fine.”

He walks over, yanks out the emergency stop and pulls me over his shoulder before I go flying backwards off the belt.

“Hey,” I squeal. “I’m not done.”

He sets me on my feet. “You’re done,” he states as we wipe each other’s sweat from our bodies. “Ease back into it, or you could hurt yourself.”

I cross my arms and glimpse myself in the mirror. My face is flushed, my ponytail sagging. I turn my back to Calvin when I fix it. I slide out the ponytail holder and gather my hair again but pause when his finger runs along the back of my slick neck. He takes the rubber band from my fingers. “Leave it down.”

“I’m sweaty.”

“Then we’ll get in the pool.”

“The pool?” I ask, confused. “What pool? You have a pool? And I can go outside?”

“Slow down,” he says with a small smile. “It’s an indoor pool, and it’s heated. Perfect after a workout.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

With a blink, his gaze falls to my neck and travels slowly down the length of my body. His eyes seem to make contact with my skin, pebbling it with just a look. My pulse is pounding at the base of my neck despite my efforts to calm it. He won’t care that I don’t have a swimsuit. Do I? He’s seen me nude. More than anyone else, in fact. Skinny dipping in a warm pool with him doesn’t repel me like it should. His tongue runs along the underside of his upper lip. “Back of the bottom drawer.”

My throat is dry from forgetting to swallow. “Hmm?”

His eyes jump back to mine. “Swimsuit. Bottom drawer. In the back.”

I stare at him. I haven’t opened that drawer since the day I arrived and found it filled with expensive lingerie. I wonder how he knows, why he would even care, what’s in my closet. “Right. I’ll, uh, go change.”

On our way out, he opens a door by the exit and hands me a white, oversized robe. “You’ll need this.” I accept it from him, folding my arms over its inviting softness. “Wait for me in your room. I’ll come get you.”

I have three variations of the same black bikini to choose from: one with a revealing but simple triangle top, one strapless, shoulder-bearing bandeau, and one banded halter that augments my cleavage. I try them each on and decide the triangle top is most flattering. My skin is still warm and sensitive from my workout, but it’s comforted when I enfold myself in the cotton ball robe.

After reading some pages from my book, I’m bored and decide to get a snack. When I’m almost at the kitchen, I overhear voices coming from the same room that I was caught sneaking around last time, when I was exiled to the basement. I will myself to ignore it, but my feet stop.

My fear of losing companionship, of going back to the cell, of missing my chance to go outside is strong. But there’s only one thing that trumps it all: my need for information. For answers. I pull my robe tightly around me, rise onto the balls of my bare feet and continue toward the cracked door. I tune to Calvin’s voice as I peer into the room and see him shirtless in only his swim trunks, facing Norman.

“. . . it’s been a week, and I can feel the difference. It has to be now.”

“I understand, sir. All I’m saying is perhaps you could take the night off. It is Sunday after all. Give yourself a break. We can do it in the morning, and—”

“I don’t get a break,” Calvin says, his jaw more defined than usual. “I have to be ready in an instant, and a week is too long to go without it. What if there’s an emergency, and I have to stop for an injection? A few minutes can mean all the difference.”

“One night will be good for you. Go swimming with the girl. Try and enjoy yourself.”

Calvin snatches something from Norman’s hand. “I don’t need a night off. When people’s lives are at stake, there’s no such thing as time off.” His hands tremble slightly as he uncaps a syringe and holds it up. “I need this. I’ll do it on my own if you won’t.”

Norman holds out his open palm for the needle, and I watch the foreboding scene unveil. Calvin extends his arm for Norman. After a moment of searching for a vein, Norman lowers the syringe to the inside of Calvin’s elbow, pierces the skin, and drains it.

Calvin’s eyes close as his chest expands with a deep inhale. He runs his free hand through his hair and exhales, long and slow, his shoulders loosening. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. After Norman removes the needle and replaces it with a cotton ball, Calvin’s hands twitch and go still.

I retreat from the open door while Calvin’s eyes are still shut, his breathing even. I move swiftly but quietly back to my room, dissecting everything in my head. He was soothed by whatever was in that syringe. I think of Calvin’s bad temper, the way his mood can shift in an instant. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, because now it seems obvious that his connection to the Cartel is drugs.

25

Calvin finds me on my sill. He stops in the middle of the bedroom with his hands on his hips. “Ready to hit the pool, Sparrow?”

I bite my lower lip. That drugs are involved makes me wary, but I know better than to let on to what I saw. “Birds can’t swim,” I point out.

“You’re right about that. But I’ll be there to save you if you sink.”

My load lightens seeing his good mood, and I smile as I stand. He leads the way to a locked door that opens to a wing of the house I’ve never seen. The pool is on the ground floor in a windowless, tiled room. It’s like stepping into another world, all cerulean glow and echoing water, seemingly cut off from the rest of the mansion. I follow Calvin’s lead as he removes his robe and sets it across a lounge chair. He doesn’t spare me a glance before diving seamlessly into the blue.

I use the steps to enter the warm water, watching him swim laps as I slowly submerge myself. When I’m up to my shoulders, I see Calvin through the steam, his long arms and legs slicing through the water like he was made for it. I duck under all the way with my eyes shut and listen to the dull, delayed chorus of his swimming. This feels like freedom. I pretend I’m on vacation with my boyfriend, and we’re at the hotel swimming pool. When I emerge, I’ll be bathed in the golden warmth of shining, shimmering, reflective sunlight. I wait until I have no more breath and shoot up from the water, gasping for air. Calvin’s nearby, running his hand over his face and swiping wet hair from his forehead. His eyes land on me, and though we’re looking directly at each other, all I can see is the essence of him amongst the steam, skin, heat, water.

“Why is this room closed off?” I ask.

“Because it’s for me.”

“And the rest of the mansion isn’t?”

“Just the fourth floor.”

“What about the library, cinema, game room . . . ?”

“For guests,” he says. “I don’t use them. The pool is mine.”

“Why?”

“Swimming takes the edge off.”

“That’s the only reason?”

He sniffs and glides closer to me. “I work hard,” he says. “Heat is good for my body.”

“You sit at a desk all day,” I point out.

“My workouts, I mean.”

“Oh.”

He’s circling me now. My body tightens up when he’s behind me and only loosens when he’s in my sight again.

“Are you a fighter?” I ask.

He stops treading water and plants his feet on the pool’s floor. “What?”

“In the gym, I saw a body-opponent bag. And you were reading about human anatomy and physiology.”

“You’ve heard that famous proverb, right? Curiosity killed the Cat?”

“Very funny.”

“Cats don’t swim either,” he notes.

“Would you let me drown? Earlier you said you’d save me.”

“What I need to do and what I want to do are not always the same thing.”

“So which is need and which is want? Save or drown?”

“I’ll let you figure that out. Just know that all it takes to put either into motion is a decision from me.” He’s closing in on me, and I retreat until my shoulder blades hit the lip of the pool. “Your fate,” he says, “is in my hands.”

“I accept that,” I say. His surprised expression is so rare that I almost lose my train of thought. “What I can’t accept is not knowing my fate. If you’ll just tell me if I’ll live or die, tell me what I’m doing here, what my purpose is, and if it’s . . . forever, I promise—I will be better.”

“You ask for a lot.” He steps within inches of me so our faces almost touch.

“Tell me that, and I won’t ask for anything else.”

He raises his hand to run his thumb over my cheekbone. The room is silent save for the acute splash echo of pool water. His fingers slide down my face and under my hair, where they wrap around the nape my neck. “You look sexy when you’re wet, Cataline.”

My eyelids threaten to close, but I force myself to hold his gaze.

He lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’d make a beautiful mermaid,” he whispers. “But, then, how would I fuck you?”

Steam dulls my senses, but the thrill that spirals down my spine is sharp. When I speak, the words barely reach my mouth. “I’m sure you’d find a way.”

He chuckles low and gritty with hot breath. “Close your eyes.” My lids are already half shut, so they fall easily. “Can you imagine my fingers in your bikini bottoms right now?”

A noise I don’t recognize escapes me.

“I love the way you feel. You’re so hot inside, and you get so wet for me. It takes barely anything. Even now, I’m not touching you there, but I bet your greedy cunt can’t wait to suck me right up.”

I should slap him for what he says, but I can barely move beyond the rhythm of deep breaths.

“Get out of the pool.”

“What?”

“Get out.”

He backs away and nods at the steps. My blood runs like fire through my veins, and I feel it pumping between my legs. I can’t believe he’s sending me away now, like this, and the thought makes me want to scream with frustration. When I exit the pool and reach for my robe, he makes a disapproving noise.

“I didn’t say to get dressed. Come here.” He looks at the edge of the pool. After the warm water, the tile feels like ice under my feet when I walk back to him. I stand right at the lip and look down. He’s submerged to the middle of his torso, and his head hits just at my knees. “I want to see all of you.”

I’m shaking at the loss of heat and because I don’t know what’s coming. He raises his eyebrows at me, so I reach back and tug on the string of my bikini top. With a bounce, it falls forward so it’s hanging around my neck. I clear my throat. “Calvin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

I curl my fingernails into my palms and breathe. “I’m not going to give you my body. If you want it, you have to take it knowing I don’t want this.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” he says evenly. “Now, remove it. Slowly. I want you to do it so I can watch.” I take a step back, but his hand catches my ankle. The top falls when I pull the string.

He reaches up and pinches the fabric of my bathing suit bottoms. “Everything.”

I hook my thumbs into the waistband. I slide one side over my hip and then the other. My backside chills as I peel away the wet suit.

“Very good,” he says. “Nice and slow. When you listen, you are a remarkably good little bird.”

The unfamiliar approval feels like his touch; I could almost lean into it. When I release the bottoms, they fall around my ankles. He frees my leg from his grasp so I can step out of the swimsuit and then replaces his hand. He pulls my right ankle open and then my left, baring me to him. When his lips touch my inner calf, I shudder, and it triggers an even stronger full-body tremble. My muscles feel weak and unsupportive, and I have half a mind to ask him to get out of the pool and hold me up. His eyes travel up my thigh until they reach my center. “Finger yourself.”

“What?”

“Show me how you get yourself off.”

“No,” I exclaim. “Not while you watch.”

“You forget that I can watch you anytime I like.”

I swallow through the lump in my throat and involuntarily glance around the room for cameras. “Do you?”

His eyes are blazing against the blue pool, but the green that melts me is gone. There’s just the black of his heart spilling out through his pupils. “No,” he says. “I prefer the live show.”

“Please, Calvin. I can’t—please. Don’t make me.”

“Every time you say please, my dick gets a little harder. The harder it gets, the less control I have.” He half rises out of the pool and snatches my wrist, lowering my hand between my legs. He pushes my palm against my clit so I’m cupping myself. When I insert my index finger, he releases my wrist and settles back in the water. I push my mound into my palm and moan softly as my finger plows deeper. When my embarrassment begins to subside and carnality takes over, I realize I like the way he watches me. The look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know: his control is waning, and it’s my doing. In this moment, I’m the one with the power. “Calvin,” I moan when his eyes meet mine.

“Watching is torture, knowing how you feel wrapped around my cock.”

I know he doesn’t need an invitation, but I open my other hand to him. He jumps out of the pool in a rush of water and picks me up in an instant. My legs instinctively circle his waist as he strides forward, backing me up against a wall. The heat of his mouth on mine stuns me, killing anything cold in me. His hips grind against me, my clit yielding to the hardness in his swim trunks as his lips feed off mine. The wall disappears from my back and is replaced with overwhelming heat.

He sets me on my ass, but his hand grips my hair, holding me to him as our tongues collide over and over, wet and slick, soft and hard. He tears away suddenly and my nostrils are flooded with woody scents. I’m sitting on a bench in a sauna, and my already prickling skin burns hotter. He’s ripping at his trunks and when they fall, my gut churns with anticipation to feel him. Without the cloak of darkness, the largeness of him almost has me scrambling backward. I can hardly believe he’s been inside me or that he will be again.

His big hands enclose over my breasts, and he trusses one up for his mouth. My nipple flames under the affection of his hot tongue. He pulls it deeper, taking it between his teeth so it delivers an electric current down the middle of my body. His hand kneads my other breast, and I can’t stop the endless moans spilling out of me. I’ve never wanted anything so badly before, and my body is calling for him with each flutter between my legs. He pushes my back hard into the step behind me as his mouth returns to mine.

“Calvin,” I beg.

“Say it.” He pulls my hips to the edge with one hand while he grabs himself with the other. The crown of his dick rubs over my clit. “Say it, or I’ll make you come like this.”

Ribbons of ecstasy wind through me. My thighs vibrate with his steady rhythm, and I know I won’t last long.

“I-I want you.”

“Wrong,” he says. He squeezes out a bead of pre-cum and massages me faster.

“I want you inside me.”

“Better,” he rasps, his fingers burrowing into my hip. “But still wrong.”

The world is falling apart, leaving gashes of orange, red, and yellow in its place. I don’t remember closing my eyes, but I’m grasping for something as everything swirls behind my lids. My body is in flames, heat licking me all over, and I’m wet and slippery, sweat and pool water stinging my eyes. I hear the echo of my name in my consciousness, and I touch it, hold onto it as I gasp back to life. “Fuck me,” I tell him. “I’m so high on you. Just fuck me, Calvin.”

There are only lost seconds before I’m being pounded into the wood. My eyes are still closed; this fucking is in black and white, so hurried, so hard, and bliss-bright lights burn my retinas before darkness swallows me. My body is all tremors and ripples as I come, and my mind is as high as heaven, as in, I can’t reach it, as in, I’ve never felt anything like this. My everything is entangled around Calvin as my world shimmers between dark and light. My arms and legs and pussy constrict to pull him deeper. My support cracks and splinters, and I’m suspended. I am both purging and gorging, my life seeping through my pores and Calvin’s cum filling the void it leaves, warming my already sweltering body that is just a pool of sweat.

I hear his words, fuck, are you okay, and my arms lock tighter around him because if I let go, I don’t know what will happen. And it’s blindingly clear in this moment how terrified I am of the unknown. There are fingers on my jaw, squeezing, and the world is back, cold and a flood of blue light.

“Cataline.”

“I’m here,” I say. Calvin’s face disappears and reappears like a light strobe. I can’t stop blinking. I’m lying on freezing tile. With a deep breath, I will my eyes to stay open.

Calvin squats next to me, his face examining mine. “How do you feel?”

“Like a miracle. So good.”

His expression turns amused. “That’s from the steam. For a second I thought you were going to pass out on me.”

I sigh, sated. “Is that what it’s like to get high?”

He just laughs. “Come on.”

“Wait.” My hand flies to his upper arm. “Did you like it?”