Adrenaline: An Ode to Love and Heartbreak Page 3

  Tonight was crazy. I started drinking early at work. I’m not cool about my alcohol at all—I prefer whatever light beer there is—but when I need to relax a little extra, I do the cheapest white wine on the house and that’s it.

  The conversation with Bo stressed me out to the nth degree. I can’t get it off my mind. It’s one thing to deal with his hasty phone calls when he’s drunk and misses me after a show or a bad lay. It’s another to know he might be here in person soon.

  Bo was the reason I didn’t go home to Sweden for Christmas last year. Mom and my sister came to visit me instead, because fuck him; not one peaceful day do I have without thinking of us.

  Los Angeles. My nerves turn the place into minutes from Deepsilver instead of half a day. I worry until my hands are unsteady. Hormones overload me, and without my doing, my skin puckers at the thought of him crossing the country every chance he gets to possess my body and mess with my mind.

  Only he wouldn’t, of course. He’s on a student budget like I am—it’d be too expensive. Yeah, he can’t afford to visit.

  But what if he does?

  I haven’t seen Bo in over a year. Judging by the way I go weak when he lowers his voice on the phone, I’m nowhere near being done with the walking heartbreak he is, and my studies don’t keep the memory of him at bay. Thank God for work.

  Cameron and I manned the patio bar tonight. According to him, we might as well have been on the North Pole for how cold it was. The crazy University of Deepsilver kids don’t mind low temps—especially the law students who are off their rockers. They do love the patio heaters, though.

  In my case, I had no complaints about my bud Cam’s warm embraces either. Whenever the line cleared, he moved in behind me and hugged me tight under the pretext that I was shivering. I wasn’t.

  It’s funny to think of. In the time I’ve been in Deepsilver, I’ve unintentionally entertained my surroundings. Not only here but in Sweden too, people enjoy my company because of what they call my “creative outlook on things.”

  But in Deepsilver, my friends keep my mind light too. See, when you harbor heartaches for years, years, without the peace needed to heal, a light mind isn’t easy to achieve. What my American friends have accomplished with me means the difference between living and surviving. They quiet my storm. Silence the adrenaline bursts that kill my joy.

  Yeah, I love these people and this country. I couldn’t have come to a better place. Even after such a short time, my gut tells me this is where I belong.

  Cameron squeezes my hand as we wait for a cab outside the coffee shop. Everything is walking distance in our little college town, but he insists.

  “I don’t want you worn out before we get to my place,” he says, his tone less playful than the words.

  I look up and meet his gaze. Cam’s eyes are a light green but you wouldn’t know it unless he wears colors that make them stand out. Blue shirts cause them to seem wrong, mismatched somehow, while against green fabric they twinkle like cat eyes. It’s weird. Black too is good for his eyes. Makes you want to drown in them.

  I let out a sigh at the thought. The guy’s just edible, and finally, once and for all, we’re going to have sex. Hopefully, he’s as delicious as I suspect.

  And then I’m back to Bo again. He’s the reason I assaulted Cameron in the coffee shop today; I expect this fling to keep my ex out of my head for a minute.

  With Cam, things won’t get complicated. I’m not in love with him, so doing this doesn’t scare me. He’s just happy-go-lucky, super-handsome funny-guy Cam. It’ll be like sleeping with your gorgeous best friend or your cousin, maybe, for the way we bicker. Mmm, scratch the relative part.

  And plus—Cameron can freaking kiss.

  “Ready to be wooed by a thirteen-incher?” Cameron says loud and clear next to me in the taxi.

  “Shut up, dork. Don’t worry—I’ll be careful with your peanut. Promise I won’t break it,” I quip back, and Cam loves it. He tries to remain serious, but then he lets out a burst of laughter.

  In front, the cab driver’s cheeks redden. Really? Is he embarrassed on our behalf? Sure enough, he turns up the volume on the radio.

  “Yeah? You’ll baby it for me?”

  “Definitely, sweetheart.” I pump my chin up, giving off my best you-can-trust-me-ma’am air. “I’ll babysit your gnocchi and polish it off for you afterward.”

  “Polish it off?”

  Okay, he’s dying laughing. He still drags me into his body in the backseat, parts my knees, and wedges me over his thigh so I’m half lying, half sitting on him. Then, this boy rakes a hand up into my hair and holds me tight. How sexy would this be if he weren’t still laughing?

  “Um, what’s so funny?” I say, because having him this close and knowing we’re about to hit the sack together is turning me on. It’s strange to be turned on while the object of your desire is busy cracking up like a lunatic.

  I feel a tug at my scalp and realize he’s drying tears of laughter with my hair. “Nothing, Inga, just—ah.” Damn, he’s trying so hard to quit laughing. “Promise not to polish it off, okay? I’d like to keep my fifteen inches of pure heaven after the deed.”

  For the love of all that is holy. What the hell is happening? Is this sweet, funny Cameron? He pushes me in the door to his dorm room, past the first bunk bed and into the far corner. The room is huge and dark, but there’s a definite form in the bed we just passed.

  “You live with someone?”

  “Dan. He’s dead asleep, though. Don’t worry. He’ll never know.”

  “Are you fucking serious? This is public sex, Cam. This shit get you off?”

  “Enough, all right? Hand me my ass over it later.” He sucks on my mouth like a man starving, little gusts of warm air escaping his nostrils and giving me goose bumps.

  “You’re fucking nuts.”

  “Hell yeah, just…” He rips my top open so hard, four buttons clink to the floor. “I really want you.”

  “I can tell,” I mumble against his mouth. Cam takes a step back, eyes glinting in the darkness. His breath is heavy with want for me, maybe with the rush of not being alone with me—what do I know? But when his hands glide up my ribcage, unsnap my bra and free my boobs, it’s hard to worry about his roommate.

  Cameron groans and sinks to his knees in front of me. Laces his arms around my torso and bends me down so he can latch on to my nipple. Fuck, this is…

  Ah, different.

  He’s groaning. He’s loud. Loving this.

  Oh my God—it’s like I’m with someone I don’t know at all. This is crazy.

  “What… are you doing?” I pant out. Clearly, he’s feasting on my breasts. They’re almost nonexistent, I think—he still likes them that much?

  “You’re… fucking awesome. If you even knew how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispers. Strong hands hook over my hips and pull me down.

  Cameron is on his knees, and I’m suddenly straddling his lap on the floor of his dorm room in jeans only. He pushes me up and down on him, rubbing us together. He’s got my butt gripped tight, a few of his fingers sliding in through the holes beneath the pockets.

  “Tip with me,” he commands, and I follow when he rolls back on the linoleum, pulling me in over him.

  “What if he wakes up?” I ask, even though at this point, it’s just the motion of inquiring. I concoct a loose plan of making sure never to set eyes on Dan again if he catches us.

  “Shhh, he won’t. Come here.” Cameron sucks me into a kiss that’s all slippery-moist lips, tongue that explores and demands. My chest starts heaving, every fiber in me reacting. He is alive beneath me, hips moving into me, letting me feel his length, the promise of rock-hard delight through the fabric.

  “I’ll never get enough of these,” he hisses, squeezing my boobs, pulling on nipples that are erect with need. My body’s doing its own thing, undulating into all of him, trying to press closer, yearning to share its depths.

  Cam flips us on the floor, and without
a word, I pull his T-shirt over his head. Skin stretches across taut flesh. Ridges of ribs in the semidark of the early morning. He is muscles flexing, responding to my touch. God, I get my hands on all of him. Today, this is mine to enjoy, savor—

  I lean up to lick him. He lets out a low grunt at my mouth caressing him. He’s warm, salty skin alive against my lips, and I graze him with my teeth, hard enough to make him shiver. “Shit, Inga. Get your pants off. I want you so bad.”

  “You have a bed?” I ask. Cameron hesitates for an instant like he just realizes. “Such a gentleman offering me your cold floor,” I taunt.

  “Chicks.” His smirk gleams above me. “You’re demanding as hell.” Then, he heaves me off the floor and dumps me on the bed by the window. “Now, stop interrupting me.”

  It’s hard to remain playful with the man Cameron is right now, so the chortle I let out is on the breathy side. How we play these games of pleasure is not up to me. No, he’s all bossy, sure in the ways he wants me.

  Oh God, it’s happening.

  And he’s not looking at me.

  My buddy’s fully focused on the task of wiggling my tight jeans down my legs, revealing my little sports thong. When I left my apartment, I hadn’t planned on the workday to end with a sleepover date, so there’s no lingerie in store for the boy.

  “Tennis,” he reads out loud. “Do you even play tennis?”

  “No… Ah.”

  Cameron tilts my knees up high and dives in against my underwear, surprising me. Both of his hands slide in under my butt, angling me up. Before I know what’s happening, he’s inhaling my scent through my panties, and it’s weird and hot as hell. I’m dying to have him inside of me.

  “Fuck. You smell amazing.”

  I’m not getting enough oxygen. “Stop talking like that,” I wheeze at him. My heart’s racing, and I had no idea I’d feel this way with him. “Damn you.”

  “I want to taste you. I bet you taste crazy good too,” he whispers, ignoring my comments. “Let me check.”

  My panties are off. He’s got me high on his arms and his entire face is in between my legs. Cameron is… enjoying the hell out of me, and I can’t—

  Hold back.

  “Geez.” I’m shaking in his hands.

  “Really? That turned on, huh?” He laughs low, a smidgen of old Cameron in his voice.

  “I don’t know… Shut up—” I’m hitting the world record in repeatedly telling someone to shut up. He really does need to close that damn yapper, though.

  I just had an orgasm against his mouth. I’m gulping for air, my entire lower region begging for more. I’m so mad. Coming before we even started wasn’t in my plans. And I’m also pissed that I’m still dying to feel him inside of me.

  “I turn you on so hard, baby,” he smarms out in my ear.

  “Bah, pure luck,” I manage.

  “That so?” He’s not whispering anymore. Instead his pitch reaches low, plucking at some nerve at the bottom of my womb. Of my uterus. Crap, or—of my freaking vagina.

  “Uh-huh, you’re full of yourself, asshole.”

  Cameron’s chuckle is a waft of air against my temple. “You’re a kitty in heat.”

  “Am not! Jerk.”

  He’s getting rid of his pants and his boxers. “Oh yeah, you are. And you’re desperate to get laid.”

  Now, he’s completely naked, and even in the dim light, it’s damn obvious he’s God’s gift to womanhood.

  “Ready for this?” he asks, and the idiot actually turns sideways so I get a full view of his enormous penis. It bends upward, so erect it almost touches his navel, and behind it, a beautiful happy trail forms a golden shadow.

  “Wow,” I sort of mutter.

  He’s fast when he rips open a condom and wraps himself. Then, he slinks in over me, and my body flushes with adrenaline. The fear it induces dissipates quickly, though, because I know this won’t be like with Bo; this is easy, a one-timer, and I won’t be sad once Cam is gone.

  “Ready, kitty cat?” Cam prowls in over me, causing me to giggle. With one hand, he reaches between us, skims a hip and down the inside of my thigh. Two fingers spread my secretions over my clit a few times before they dip in to feel me. The smallest sound of moisture fills the air when he withdraws them, and he stills for a second. I hold my breath, stupidly embarrassed.

  “Ah, man,” is all he says, voice thick.

  Then, he’s on me. His weight is heavy as he presses against my opening. The head goes in first, and I instinctively clamp around him, welcoming him. Apart from our shaky breaths, there’s only silence around us now. It seems my body is shutting him up.

  A snore from Dan’s bed breaks the quiet. I tense, but Cameron’s flow doesn’t change. He slides in farther, giving me more of his length, and I’m so full—the moment is so full, I can’t remember Bo’s face at all.

  “Shit, you’re tight, Inga. Is this okay?”

  My head arches back. I’m pure sensation. A cocktail of pleasure strumming nipples into even stiffer buds. “Yeah. More—all…” I’m having a hard time forming words, but he gets what I beg of him. Cameron eases himself inside of me as I spread my legs farther. I want to feel every inch of him as deep as I can.

  “You love me deep, huh,” he puffs as if reading my thoughts. “Damn, kitty, you feel good.”

  My breath is doing its own thing. I sound like I’m sobbing. I’m loving, loving the sensation of him.

  He starts moving slowly. Barely inching out before he nudges back in. My arms go around his waist and trail down to his ass. I revel in him against me, balls hitting my butt as he speeds up.

  My moans escape on their own. I try to subdue them, but it’s difficult when I’d rather cry out with pleasure. His rhythm is intense, sure, building me up. He’s hitting that spot inside of me. “You enjoying my peanut?” he asks, thrusting deep. I moan again.

  “Hmm?” he insists, rocking into me, causing the bed to squeak.

  “So…” I begin, but I can hardly finish a coherent thought, much less be a smart aleck right now, “Full…”

  “Full, huh?”

  I squeal, pitch too high when he gives me another hard thrust.

  “…of himself,” I manage the second before I lose control over my body and shake around him.

  Damn, that was epic. Ingela’s hot, but—fuck me. At the moment, the girl’s buried deep under my covers, mumbling something incoherent. I duck under, brushing disheveled hair from eyes I barely distinguish in the dark. “What’re you talking about?”

  “It’s your fault—you made me cry out.”

  “Hell yeah, I did.” It’s way too warm under here.

  “You’re such a dick. Why did we go to your place when I have my own room in my apartment?”

  Ingela’s never mad, so I’m not worried. She’s simply a believer in strong words and speaking one’s mind. “Dan would have woken up eventually anyway,” I explain. “Wouldn’t you, Dan?” I dip out to stare at my buddy. “You’d have woken up at some point, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Still, though, dude. Whoever you’ve got under there’s a loud one.” He decides to be polite and adds, “Hi, girl.”

  Her response is three fingertips appearing from beneath my blankets in a wiggle-wave.

  “Shy one? From the sound of things, I’d have never guessed.” Dan isn’t making it any easier on her, which cracks me up.

  “Naw, she’s not the timid type. And you’ve met her plenty of times. It’s—” Before I can say her name, she sits up, abominable-snowman style, blankets draped over her head and arms as she draws me down in what I suspect is an attempt at suffocating me.

  Ingela is growling. “Don’t. Tell. Him.” Really? She hooks my leg in a scissor lock with both of hers, and I let her tumble me on top of her. Hey, I have no complaints. I was born to be in this position.

  “Make. Him. Leave,” she whispers through the fabric. Nice. Inga wants to be anonymous—this is so funny.

  “What’s she saying?” Dan scratches his b
eard and his ass simultaneously. He’s up and about to dive into the shower. Those old-man underwear with the striped pajamas button-up is his favorite combo. Inga’d have some choice words describing exactly the look. Dude’s so much better off not “meeting” her in this state.

  “Don’t tell him,” she hisses, being all girl-bossy. I love sleeping with her, love snuggling with her in my bed, and I love teasing the hell out of her. The Swede’s damn near perfect. We should have done this a long time ago, and oh, there will be repeats.

  I whisper in against her ear. “Guess what, anonymous girl?”

  She puffs out a “wha?” There’s no way she’s got enough oxygen in there to be comfortable.

  “She’s mortified that she fell for my charms,” I say loudly to Dan so she can hear me too. “She’s getting ready for the walk of shame and wants you out of her way.”

  Ingela’s roaring beneath the covers—I suspect it means she’s finally angry—and Dan swings around to look at me. He rocks his melon in slow denial. “Dude. You’re incredible. Did you seriously just say that? I’ll let you two hash things out.”

  Dan’s about four years older than me. Skipped out on school during a couple of semesters of great snowboarding seasons and is behind on whatever his math thingy is here. Mathematician. Can’t picture him doing that. He’s better with the girls than I am, but in the years I’ve known him, he’s never been in a relationship. It’s an extreme-sport thing, though, even for my mate-inclined buds. It’d be pretty mean to have a girlfriend when you can die at any moment.

  As he slams the door shut to the bathroom—a sign to Ingela that she can come out—my prize pops out from underneath the covers and slugs me so hard in the back I lose my breath.

  “What in the world was that, you freaking dick-shit.”

  I can’t speak yet, but I manage to mouth the real expression. She’s got both Arriane and me trained to help her out with the English language. “Dipshit.”

  I squint in the full-length mirror on the wall. Yep, I’ve got an Ingela-shaped hand-slug in a pinkish-red color on my back.

  “Ever considered underground fighting for money? Pretty sure you could quit Smother and get rich,” I say while I rub the sore spot on my back. I grab a pair of briefs from the fresh laundry heap I haven’t folded and put them on. Reindeer. She’ll be impressed.