17. Troy
seventeen
troy
Fortune Favors the Bold
“D on’t move.”
Despite the fact that she’s as rigid as a board, Sarina’s heated breath at the shell of my ear and her soft breasts against my chest have me letting out a low groan.
I take a bite of the marshmallow before putting the rest in her mouth. She chews it distractedly, and I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, recalling the way she tasted. The action only manages to make my dick throb.
Her eyes flick from my still heated gaze to whatever is behind us. Perhaps I should be more worried, but I can’t seem to convince myself—or my dick—that it’s more important than the woman straddling me.
“Sweetheart, with you on my lap like this, moving is the last thing on my mind. Though, I’ll admit, I was hoping you’d be moving in a more rhythmic and naked way.”
Sarina places her hand over my mouth, shushing me like she hasn’t heard a word I said, but her warm skin only makes me salivate. At this point, unless there is a rabid grizzly bear out for blood, I have every intention of seeing how far this can go.
“There’s something behind you. A raccoon, maybe? And it’s holding something . . .” She gasps. “I think it’s holding a beer can!”
A beer can? All the ones I brought with me are stowed inside the cooler in our bear box. I’d made sure to lock it before I sat down. Is it something he grabbed from one of the neighboring camps? I do recall Rome and I walking past a group of college kids setting up their site earlier. They were blasting “Sweet Home Alabama” like they were at an outdoor rock concert.
Apparently, their lead guitarist and party animal decided to crash our campsite right in time to cockblock me. Asshole.
I start to turn, but Sarina’s grip tightens on me, her lips now fully against my ear as she peeks out the back of my chair. Her curls waft over my face. “Don't. Move.”
Goddamn, she has no idea the torture she’s putting me through with her lips on my skin, her fingernails biting into my shoulders, and her breasts rubbing over my chest with every breath. Add on the fact that even her slightest movements over my rock-hard cock are sending waves of pleasure coursing through my blood, and my sexual frustration level is at an all-time high.
“Oh, my God,” Sarina breathes, lowering her hand. “He’s big!”
I had every intention of making her say those words tonight, but this wasn’t the context I was expecting.
“ He? You’ve determined it’s a he from this angle?”
Sarina snorts as softly as possible, wiggling in my lap again. At this point, I have to wonder if she’s just doing it to drive me insane. “Please. I’ve seen plenty of testosterone-filled stupidity in my life, and this guy is a wildlife ad for it.”
I chuckle, the sound rumbling inside my chest. Since the moment we met, she’s had this effortless way of making me laugh.
I whisper against her neck, unable to stop myself from brushing my lips over her skin, “Rina, as much as I’m enjoying you finally being this close again, you’re going to have to let me take a look.” My hands tighten on her hips. “Unless, of course, you want to continue squirming like that over my cock and see what happens.”
She takes a sudden inhale, her grip uncurling from my shoulders as she looks down between us to where our groins are pressed together. The realization of what she was doing seems to wash over her like a cold bucket of water.
I finally turn to look at our uninvited guest.
There he is—the world’s worst wingman—standing on his hind legs with a can of Miller Lite like he’s at a backyard barbecue. At this point, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he lifted up his wife beater and slid a sweaty palm down his protruding beer belly before scratching his balls. The bastard is so shameless; in fact, he literally makes eye contact with me, tilts his head back, and chugs the liquid like he’s trying to win a contest.
“Holy shit!” Sarina whisper-shouts, her mouth falling open. “He has an entire six-pack!”
“He’s like a frat bro at homecoming,” I say, just as shocked, watching him throw the empty can over his shoulder. Fucker’s littering on our campsite!
Taking another one from the pack, he opens it with ease, and chugs that one as both Sarina and I watch in silent disbelief.
Fuck. Are we going to have to call a damn Uber to drive this asshole back to his tree?
“I seriously can’t believe he’s going to drink all that beer,” Sarina whispers, stifling a laugh that makes her shake against my chest. “Should we do something?”
I watch as our raccoon visitor sways, stumbling backward, before righting himself and continuing with his task of finishing another beer. His balance might be shot, but his determination is unwavering.
“Pretty sure he doesn’t have his AA sponsor’s number handy.”
“Shut up.” Sarina chuckles, her face tucked into my neck, forcing me to hold in a groan.
“Wonder if he’s just going through a rough patch. Maybe the lady raccoon he’s been pining after for months friend-zoned him. Or maybe,” I lower my voice, “he finally convinced her to get on his lap right before some asshole ruined his one chance to kiss her.”
Sarina’s laughter fades, and I expect her to pull away, to rebuild those high walls. But then she surprises me by lifting her head to meet my eyes.
She’s close enough that I can see the extra layers of makeup around her right eye. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it, along with the way she’s constantly touching up the spot, like she’s trying to hide something beneath it.
Her lips hover over mine, her eyes dancing with mischief, but there’s no disputing the desire burning there, too.
“Pretty bold of you to assume he had a chance at all,” she murmurs, trailing her thumb along my bearded jaw, her body and actions contradicting her words.
“I’m a believer in the Latin proverb that says, ‘fortune favors the bold’,” I whisper back, my voice husky.
She licks her lips, watching me watch the movement before she shifts on my lap, the warmth of her center rubbing up my hard shaft, making me groan. There’s no denying she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Are you saying fortune favors you, Mr. Trojan ?”
My hands tighten over her hips once again, my heart beating erratically inside my chest. “I’d say chances are looking good for me right now, Ms. Spicymustard.”
A soft giggle erupts from her before it abruptly disappears and her lips hover right above mine. Our breaths mingle as the tension crackles between us, mimicking the embers from the campfire—hot and dangerous. And just when I’m about to close the distance once again . . .
The asshole raccoon, who’s made it his life’s mission to ensure I walk around with blue balls, hiccups loudly, yet again ruining our moment.
Sarina and I both turn to look at him, watching him swagger and sway as he takes himself in the opposite direction from us before disappearing into the woods.
But when our eyes collide again, the look in hers is all wrong—the veil of lust and desire hidden once again. She drops her beanie-clad forehead to mine, hands circling my shoulders and breaths still ragged. “Troy?—”
“Don’t,” I cut in softly, my thumb tracing her bottom lip. “I already know what you’re going to say. But just know this, Rina.” I grasp her chin gently between my finger and thumb. “One of these days you’re going to realize I’m nothing like the pricks you built those sky-high walls for. And when you finally lower them? Nothing will keep me out.”
From somewhere in the darkness, we hear the distinct sound of another hiccup punctuating the night before there’s commotion and yelling from another campsite.
Looks like our drunkard raccoon friend found more beer.
* * *
I press a kiss on my little girl’s forehead before slipping into my sleeping bag beside her. But sleep is the last thing on my mind.
Memories of having Sarina so close, yet . . .
The way her eyes hooded, how her chest rose and fell. The way her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of my neck and she licked her lips, preparing to close the distance between us.
I play the moments back one by one like the scenes from a movie that leave you at a cliffhanger, only for the sequel to never get made. Only for the characters in the film to be forever suspended in time without a definite fate or ending. Every noise from their tent has me wondering if she’s as restless as I am; if she’ll replay the moments we just shared tomorrow the way I know I will.
Christ. How long can I keep this up, pining for a woman who continues to push me away? Would it be better for me—and Pearl—if I just accept what Sarina’s been telling me for weeks? Maybe friendship is all I can have with her. And maybe I just need to come to terms with that.
But fuck, could I stay friends with her if I saw her with another guy? Could I watch him pull her into his lap the way I did tonight? Watch her walls come down for him while they stay firmly in place for me?
The thought alone has my molars grinding, my fists tightening inside my sleeping bag. Because I know the answer. I couldn’t. Not after knowing what it’s like to have her, even if it was for one night. Not after tonight, when I saw the internal battle she was having etched clearly on her face. Not when I know exactly what I’m missing out on, but I think she does, too.
Maybe that’s where the problem lies. Maybe I’m trying to scale walls that will only get higher if I continue to push any harder. Maybe they need to come down on their own whenever she’s ready.
She knows how I feel. Fuck, if she’s made herself clear, then so have I. She’d have to be blind to not see how much I want her. So maybe I just need to accept that the ball is in her court. That she’ll either choose to pick it up and throw it back, or she’ll quit the game completely. Either way, maybe that has to be enough for now.
The faint sound of Pearl snoring pulls me out of my thoughts, tugging a smile from my lips and reminding me that this weekend isn’t just about me and Sarina. No matter what happens between us, this weekend will hopefully live on in our memories.
I might just be making my personal memories with the ghost of her touch lingering on my skin.