Chapter 6 — Hollis Point #6
“No.” Her hands found my face, forcing me to look at her.
Her blue eyes were clear, certain, holding mine with an intensity that left no room for doubt.
“I want you to come inside me, Luke. All of it. I want to feel it. I want to know you’re mine, that you chose me, that this is real.
” She rolled her hips, taking me deeper, and the friction dragged a groan out of me so deep it hurt. “Please. Inside me. Now.”
I came with a force that nearly blacked me out.
My cock swelled inside her, pulsing, and the first burst hit so hard I saw stars, my hips driving into her without restraint, balls tightening, shaft throbbing as I emptied myself deep inside her pussy in pulse after pulse after pulse.
She felt it, I knew she felt it, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open on a gasp as my cum flooded her, hot and thick, and the sight of her taking it, wanting it, her body milking every drop from my cock. Jesus Christ.
She came with me. Or right after me, her pussy clenching around my still-pulsing cock, her thighs shaking against my hips, her back arching off the blankets with a cry that I was pretty sure the main bonfire could hear.
I didn’t care. Let them hear. Let the whole fucking lake know that Shay Hollis was coming on my cock under the stars, taking my cum like it was something she’d been waiting for her whole life.
Because she had been. I could see it in her eyes, in the way her body relaxed under mine, in the smile that spread across her face, slow, satisfied, wicked in its certainty, as I collapsed beside her, breath ragged, sweat cooling on my skin, my cock still half-hard inside her because my body hadn’t gotten the message that we were done.
We lay there tangled in the blankets, firelight warming our skin, and the only sound was our breathing and the distant crackle of flames and the soft lap of water against stone.
My cum was leaking out of her, warm and wet against my thigh where our legs were still intertwined, and the reality of what we’d just done settled over me like something physical.
I’d crossed another line. The second one.
Shay Hollis, wild child, dirty-mouthed truth-teller, was lying beside me with my cum inside her and a smile on her face that contained absolutely zero regret, and the families were half a mile away roasting marshmallows and trusting me to keep their daughters safe.
The irony should have been crushing. It wasn’t.
It was warmth, clear and quiet, and when Shay turned toward me, her body curling into mine, her hand finding my chest over my heart, I understood with perfect clarity that I had chosen her exactly the way she’d asked me to, not because she’d pushed, not because Kiki had gone first, but because I wanted her, and wanting her felt like choosing the truth instead of hiding from it.
“Fifty,” she whispered against my skin.
I laughed, the sound rusty and real. “We’re counting already?”
“Absolutely. That’s one.” She kissed my chest, right over my heart. “Forty-nine to go. Minimum. Though at this rate, we might hit fifty by breakfast, and then I’ll need a new number, and math was never really my thing, so this could get complicated.”
I pulled her closer, my arm around her waist, and felt her smile against my skin.
“Complicated is good,” I said. “I like complicated.”
She laughed, low and warm, and I held on to the sound because it was hers, because I had heard the joke and the truth underneath it, and because I knew I was going to want that laugh in my house, my bed, my mornings, every place she had already started planning to invade.
***
The fire had burned down to embers by the time our breathing slowed, crimson coals pulsing in the dark like the last heartbeat of something we’d killed together.
Shay lay across my chest, her dark hair spilled over my shoulder, her body slick with sweat and other things, her pussy still gripping my cock in weak, aftershock pulses that made my balls ache even though I’d emptied everything I had into her.
I didn’t pull out. Couldn’t bring myself to.
Her weight was warm and real against my ribs, her breath hot on my neck, and the night air cooling our skin carried the distant thrum of the main bonfire half a cove away.
Music, laughter, the harmless chaos of a party that had no idea what had just happened at its quiet edge.
“Jesus Christ,” Shay whispered, her voice wrecked. “I think you broke me.”
I laughed, the sound rusty in my throat, and my hand found the curve of her ass where my fingers had left faint red marks. “You asked for it. Every inch. Those were your exact words.”
“They were.” She lifted her head, her blue eyes finding mine in the dying firelight, pupils wide and dark.
“And I meant every fucking one of them.” She kissed me, slow and thorough, her tongue against mine tasting like champagne and sweat and the particular salt of her own arousal, and when she pulled back, her smile was something I hadn’t seen before.
Not the wild grin, not the dirty promise.
Something softer, almost shy, buried under layers of bravado she was letting me see through.
“We should clean up,” she said. “And then there’s a tent with my name on it, courtesy of five women who know me way too well.”
The tent stood thirty feet from the fire ring, a simple dome affair with a battery lantern glowing inside, its soft light spilling through the nylon in a warm amber wash.
Someone had thought of everything: blankets piled on the blow-up bed, a cooler of water bottles, towels folded neatly on a camp chair.
The kind of setup that didn’t happen by accident.
“Eden,” Shay said, nodding at the arrangement as we ducked inside.
“One hundred percent Eden. She’s been planning this all summer.
The cooler, the towels, the fact that there’s exactly enough room for two people and not one inch more.
” She dropped onto the blow-up bed, which made a ridiculous squeaking sound and bounced slightly under her weight.
“Oh my God. They got us a fucking air mattress. This is the most romantic and least dignified thing I’ve ever seen. ”
I sat beside her, the bed sinking under my weight with another comical squeak, and reached for a towel from the stack. “Your friends are terrifying.”
“They’re brilliant.” She took the towel from my hand and started wiping herself between her legs with efficient motions, unself-conscious, matter-of-fact. “Kiki’s idea, probably. She’s the practical one. I’d have just dragged you into the bushes and called it a night.”
The image made me laugh, and Shay smiled, that real smile that reached her eyes, and passed me the towel.
I cleaned myself with less grace, aware of her watching, of the way her eyes tracked the movement of my hands over my stomach, my thighs, the place where my cock was finally softening after the third orgasm she’d wrung out of me in the last hour.
When I set the towel aside, she was still naked, still beautiful in the lantern light, her olive skin glowing gold, the sharp white lines of her bikini standing out against her tan.
Her breasts were heavy and full, nipples dark and tightened from the cool air, and the curve of her waist flowed into hips that my hands had memorized against the firelight.
She looked like something carved, something real and warm and entirely mine in a way that made my chest tight.
She reached for me, pulling me down beside her on the squeaking air mattress, and curled into my side with a familiarity that should have scared me and didn’t. Her leg hooked over mine, her breast pressed against my ribs, her hand flat on my chest where my heart was still hammering.
“I’m still Shay,” she said after a while, softer than the joke she tried to put around it.
“I know.”
“Good.” Her fingers curled against my chest. “Don’t put me back in the chaos box tomorrow just because I got brave tonight.”
“I won’t.”
She breathed out like she had been waiting for that answer, then tried for a grin and almost made it.
“This is weird,” she said.
I looked down at her. “The air mattress?”
“Not the mattress. This.” She gestured between us, her fingers tracing the line from my chest to hers.
“The after part. I’m better at the before.
The dirty talk, the grinding, the part where I make you lose your mind.
The part after, where we just lie here and I don’t have anything clever to say?
” She smiled, a little crooked. “I’m working on it. ”
I cupped her face in my hand, feeling the warm skin of her cheek against my palm, and she turned into the touch like she’d been waiting for it. “You don’t need to be clever, Shay.”
“Yeah, well.” She kissed my palm, her lips soft.
“Habit.” A beat of silence, then her voice dropped, lower, honest in a way that stripped away every layer of performance.
“I’ve wanted this since I was nineteen. Since that summer you helped Dad with the dock and you were shirtless for three days straight and I spent the entire time finding reasons to bring you tools you didn’t need.
” Her laugh was quiet, almost embarrassed.
“I brought you a Phillips head screwdriver six times. You were using a flathead.”
“I noticed.”