2. A Tiny Tattoo
TWO
A Tiny Tattoo
CALEB
“I don’t even know your name.”
Caleb Fields could barely speak when he pulled back from the stranger’s kiss, and couldn’t stop squeezing her wherever his hands roamed, as though he were drowning and she might keep him above water. He didn’t know what to do or how to touch her, and in his panic, every memory in his limited experience rushed beneath the waves and it was her, only her in front of him, with nothing and no one behind.
“You’ve been my Mystery Boy since the first time I saw you,” she said. “I’ll be your Mystery Girl.”
“You always have been.”
He kissed her again, again and again, savoring her lips. Even the ache in his neck from bending down to kiss her was a sweet pain because it kept her close, but he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around him—anything to be even closer.
“We could get to know each other,” she said, giggling as he kissed her neck. “I’m from Cincinnati. Now you tell me something.”
His laughter shook his chest. “I’m from a little nowhere town in Michigan. I’m a business major.” He slipped a hand under her shirt. “Your turn.”
“Political science.” She grabbed his cheeks and pulled his mouth back to hers. “I hold a few high school swim records,” she said, whispering against his lips, “but I’m not on the team here.”
With her back against the cheap, pine paneling, he couldn’t pull off her sweater or lift her shirt, and he grumbled his frustration at being so close to those breasts that suddenly obsessed him with his need to taste them and see what she would do.
“Hold on to me.” He pulled her away from the wall when she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their damp shirts clung together in what might have been a mood-killing discomfort had either of them noticed.
“Don’t drop me.”
“Never,” he said, moving down the hall and counting doorknobs.
“Do you live here?”
On the fifth one, he opened the door. “I have generous friends. This will do,” he said, laying her on the bed. “I was president of the chess club. I’ve got moves.”
Her fingers flew over the buttons of his shirt, pausing only to let him scoot her sweater over her shoulders. So close. He knelt next to her.
Tugging his damp T-shirt, she smiled. “We’re disgusting and we reek of beer. Take this off.”
“Tell me something first.”
“I’m really good at clarinet.” She slipped her hand over his stomach and traced the ridges of his abs to his belt, and began to undo the buckle. “I played in the All-State band in high school.”
“That’s sexy as hell,” Caleb said, pulling off his button-down and T-shirt before snagging the strap of her tank top under his finger. “And you don’t reek of beer,” he said, lowering himself to the pillow next to hers. He kissed her lips and down her neck until she grabbed his hair and stopped him short.
“Tell me something if you want my shirt off. To be fair.”
It was the worst moment in his life to shut down and forget everything he’d accomplished or even done—records he set, tournaments he won. Everything flew from his consciousness when he needed something to offer for one more touch. At least he could kiss the delicate curve of her collarbone and twist her blue and blonde hair in his fist while he racked his brain.
“I’m the youngest of four brothers and the only one unfortunate enough to have my facial hair come in red,” he said finally, and cringed as he spoke. Her laughter and curious fingers darting from his dark auburn hair to explore his cheeks and chin were worth wriggling the tank top over her head at last. “Stick around a few hours and I’ll show you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
As he reached again for the clasp of her black lace bra, a light overhead blinded him.
He hadn’t heard the door open, but the pissed-off voice was a familiar one. “What the fuck are you—oh.”
“Hey,” Caleb said, lowering his voice. Mystery Girl had turned from the brightness and didn’t see his friend in the doorway, covering his mouth in astonishment as he flipped the light off .
“Do you mind?” Caleb asked, unintentionally sounding more entitled than hopeful.
“No, man, we’re good,” his friend said, and the look on his face told him he’d hear about it in the weight room for weeks. “Condoms and lube are in the nightstand if you need them,” he said with a smirk. He clicked the lock on the doorknob and disappeared.
“Generous friends?” she asked, fighting a giggle. “He sounded a little mad.”
“I’m bigger than he is,” Caleb murmured quickly, intent on getting to that bra clasp before any more interruptions. He caught his breath as the straps loosened and the cups fell away, and when he slid it down her arms and off, he lingered on the button of her jeans.
He stared.
“You act like you’ve never seen tits before, Mystery Boy.”
“I only want to see yours.”
“I want you to stop staring and touch me.”
Her breasts were the perfect soft complement to the ridges of her ribs, he thought—made for the size and shape of his hands, and the hunger of his mouth. She arched against him as he drew one nipple between his teeth and felt it stiffen against his tongue.
“That feels so good,” she gasped.
He looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Your turn,” he reminded her, lips hovering over her breast and curved into a teasing smile.
“My parents own a furniture store and I know all sorts of weird stuff about how good furniture is made.” She moaned as he lowered his mouth again. “Those pants have to be uncomfortable by now, but I can’t reach you, and… oh, I like that.”
“I can reach you.” Caleb rolled off her just enough to undo the button and zipper of her jeans, and when she lifted her hips to slide them off, he hooked his thumbs under the sides of her panties and pulled them down, too. Barely opening his eyes, he reached for his belt and brushed his hand over his growing erection, already straining.
“My turn, right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Neither have I,” she said. “I don’t hook up at parties. Or… well. Ever. This is more like relationship stuff for me.” She averted her eyes and Caleb wondered if his confident Mystery Girl was as nervous as he was.
“No, I mean…” He gestured between them, then lowered his hand to her bare thigh. With whisper-light strokes, he traced his initials on her skin: a tiny tattoo, C.A.F . “I meant I haven’t done this before.”
She startled. “That guy just offered you condoms and lube.”
“It’s not public knowledge or anything. I thought he was considerate.” He reached up to stroke her cheek and hoped his hand didn’t shake. “So I guess it’s relationship stuff for me, too.”
“Do you want to?”
Sleep with her, have a relationship with her, whatever she meant—the answer was yes to all of it, and more. Yes, more than he’d wanted anything in his life, and he had to catch himself from taking her hand and leading her to touch him. He was so hard it hurt, and would ache until he could find a release with this girl whose name he didn’t know, but who captivated him from the first time their eyes met. Those gray irises seemed to shift from dark to light and back again in a few seconds’ time. The storm in her eyes was the crash of waves battering the shore, of tides curling back and rushing in, as though she were pushed and pulled in opposite directions with every blink.
Whoever she was, she was his lake. She was home, and he hadn’t felt at home anywhere for years.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything,” he whispered, his voice raw with the desire he gave up trying to hide. “Yes, I do. Do you?”
She scraped her nails through his hair, tingling his scalp until she reached the rubber band pulling it back from his face. With one finger looped in the elastic, she slid it off and tugged his auburn hair. “Yes. I want you. I want this.”
His hair tickled his cheeks as the uncombed strands fell over his face. “What are you doing there, Mystery Girl?”
She buried her face in the waves, brushing her lips over his head again and again. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I sat behind you. You’re so buttoned-up and preppy except for this chaos on your head.” She snuggled against his cheek while combing her fingers through his hair. “You have the sweetest smile right here, and you hardly show it.” She tapped his lips. “And you keep your hair tied up like your darkest secret. It’s got this angry energy, and I want to know everything about it,” she said, dragging a few locks over her cheek. “I can’t explain it, and now I’m sure you think I’m crazy.”
He pushed her up and stared in disbelief.
“Crazy, right?” she asked .
He swallowed twice and stumbled on his words. “No. I feel a little less weird seeing storms in your eyes. You’ve been mad at yourself lately, haven’t you?”
Her sharp intake of breath pierced the silence.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
Caleb drew her close, cupping her head in his hand as he tried to maintain some semblance of tenderness when he wanted to crush his mouth to hers. Her lips met his with a hunger he recognized, and when she reached again for his belt, he jolted from his haze.
His arm shot out and grappled blindly at the nightstand for a moment before he realized he never finished undressing, and his thoughts raced to Lake Michigan and back as he tried to do everything in order—belt, jeans, briefs, condom—and not forget that he was also supposed to be kissing her and touching her the entire time, not losing his mind wondering how the hell she could read three years of emotional bruising and rage in his hair.
Caleb blinked, and time slowed as he shifted between her legs.
“Tell me something, Mystery Boy,” she said, teasing herself.
His pulse pounded in his wrists as he watched her. “No. It’s your turn.”
“All right.” A childish smile spread over her face, rounding her cheeks with a pink flush. She pulled his head close to hers and whispered so her lips moved on his ear. “I’m a vegetarian who makes exceptions for Skyline Chili.”
“No,” he groaned, nuzzling into her neck. “Deal breaker. I can’t eat that garbage. ”
“We can compromise, then. You can keep this vegetarian, and I’ll keep the chili.”
The warmth of her mouth and the heat rising between her legs as he positioned himself licked his skin like flames.
“You’re brilliant,” he said, fighting to keep his breath steady.
She gasped when he touched her, pressing tentatively until he found the place he wanted, and her body responded by bucking up and toward him. She reached around his back and pulled him down, and he thrust into her without thinking to move slowly. When she cried out and clenched around him, he thought of pain and not pleasure, and immediately tried to pull out until he felt her urgent hands on his back telling him to stay.
“Like this.” Her voice was a breathy rasp as she guided him to find a rhythm. “Oh, right there. Don’t stop.”
He fought to keep his eyes open, relishing the bounce of her breasts and the flutter of her lashes with every stroke. When she scooted closer and wrapped her legs around his waist, shifting their angle, he had to clench every muscle to keep from exploding inside her after only two minutes.
“God, you’re killing me harder than cardio. I’m trying so hard to not lose it,” he confessed, slowing his movements to bend down for a kiss.
“I thought you looked like an athlete with that body, Mystery Boy. Where’s your endurance?”
“I thought I told you I’ve never worked this muscle group before,” he said, then bit her lip before another kiss. “Let a guy get his reps in, okay?”
Her laughter shook her body until he started laughing, too .
“I want to keep you laughing, Mystery Girl. The way you squeeze me when you laugh…” He slipped an arm around her back and rolled them both over, bringing her on top. “Tell me I’m not an inadequate first-timer. I want to make you feel good.”
“Give me your hand,” she said, and showed him how to touch her while she rocked her hips against him. “Just there. Light touches.” His lips went slack as he watched her squirm at the flick of his thumb and another quick trace of his initials. Growing up in a houseful of brothers close in age, anything not labeled was fair game. The instinct to mark her as his own felt more like juvenile petulance than protective, possessive manhood, but it came as naturally as breathing.
C.A.F . There, and there, his fingertips tickling deep in her navel, the crooks of her elbows, the soles of her feet.
He whispered as he watched her arch back and support herself with her hands on his thighs. “Tell me something.”
“It’s your turn.”
“I draw on everything.” He sketched a little M.G. for her on his chest, and his racing heart seemed to shake his entire arm through his fingertip. “Just—just not even thinking about it.”
“I like to draw, too,” she gasped. “I make—oh my God—little characters. I like fancy pens.”
He pressed up and against her as he held her hips down, and loosed a satisfied sigh when she wriggled against him. He moaned deeper as she sped up. “Tell me something boring, or I’m not going to make it another minute. Fuck, I don’t want to—American Lit, who do you want to read for that project?”
“Philip Roth. You? ”
His breath caught in his throat. “Salinger.”
“I love Salinger, so I think you’re stuck with me, Mystery Boy.”
“Maybe we can work together on the paper.” He slid his hands up her thighs and teased her again. “I think we’d be dangerously good together. Unfair to everyone else.”
“You have no idea how sexy that sounds,” she panted. “Talk books to me.”
He dug his fingers into her forearms and pulled her down, as close as he could get and still stay inside her while blonde and blue hair fell over his face. “Anything with you, stormy girl. And not just tonight.”
“It could never be just tonight.”