Camden by Shey Stahl
I’m a professional freestyle rider. Are you surprised? Don’t be. I come from racing motocross. I started racing when I was seven, loved it, until I didn’t. I’m used to the exhilarating competition, the guts, the stamina and physical strength it takes to run full throttle and as fast as you can. I enjoyed banging bars with boys older than me and their faces when I’d take the helmet off and let loose of my brown curls.
In a world of soaring jumps and banging bars, I’m looked at as fragile. Motocross is aggressive and pretty fucking violent at times. They looked at me as if I couldn’t, shouldn’t be doing it. She can’t do that, she’s a girl. Well, I proved I could do it over and over again until one day, I blew up spectacularly over the tremendous pressure set on young female athletes. I basically quit in the middle of an event. Threw my helmet down, launched my bike off a cliff without me on it, and quit. I was struggling with my growing indifference to racing motocross. It was difficult. Impossible even. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and then I realized, I wasn’t. I loved riding; it was racing I couldn’t stand. So, I quit motocross. The longer you’ve been in the sport, the more you like to push the line. Faster, more aggressive, jump higher. That led me to the one sport my family dominated.
Freestyle.
I was, and still am, the only girl in the gnarliest of sports. There was one, once, but I don’t recall her name. She only competed for a season and backed out because of the pressure. Or maybe she bought into the bullshit lies that girls can’t do what boys do.
Nobody thought I could do it. I’m a girl, after all. I got the most pushback from my dad and uncles even, and when I asked to practice in the foam pit, you would have thought I asked to jump the Grand Fucking Canyon. I understand now the hesitation essentially lied with them fearing I would get hurt, not that I couldn’t do it. I got hurt so many times racing motocross, but freestyle, that’s a different beast. You don’t land a trick and there’s nothing between you and the dirt. Or pavement, in today’s case.
Want to see some vicious wrecks? Watch freestyle.
My uncle Shade broke his neck in Spain when he was twenty-one trying to land a triple.
My dad broke his pelvis, arm and back five years ago in Vegas with the same trick.
My uncle Roan, I swear he’s broken every single bone in his body at one time or another. Including his femur, twice. Do you know how hard it is to break your femur? Surprisingly difficult because it’s protected by so many muscles. Needless to say, Uncle Roan landed on a rock in Erzberg about five years ago and it snapped. He had to be airlifted out of there because his leg was hemorrhaging.
So, for my uncles, and dad, to be so concerned with me and freestyle did make sense to me. Problem is, I’m Tiller Sawyer’s daughter though and he’s the king of rebelling; I’m not content with boring. I pushed aside their fears. I live for soaring over jumps and propelling my five-foot-six-framed, one-hundred-fifteen-pound body through the air. And let me tell you, it was the most freeing, exhilarating feeling in the world. Up there, weightless, I’m no longer the girl that can’t make it in a sport filled with testosterone. I’m River fucking Sawyer, the badass spitfire chick carving her name in the record books. I won X Games last year for best overall trick, a lazy boy flip combo where I basically did a backflip, held it on the bike midair, then pulled the bike back to my body before landing with no hands. Don’t ask me how I did it because it wasn’t the plan. I meant to do a double backflip but hey, whatever, worked in my favor.
But you want to know what’s even more exhilarating than any adrenaline hit I get?
Camden Rivera.
Truthfully, he’s someone I didn’t see coming. That overwhelming control he has over me is a vice even racing doesn’t have. The power, the glitz and glamour of a professional lifestyle holds nothing on my ties to him.
From age eleven to now, he’s been the only one I’ve wanted. At first, all I saw was he was my best friend. And a damn good one at that. You would think our age difference would make a friendship unlikely but Camden never treated me like less because of my age. He always supported me and had my back. And now? Well fuck, now I can’t imagine my life without him in it. Lean, tall, messy hair, scruffy jaw and tormented eyes… he’s everything.
And, too loyal. I don’t understand, probably never will, but his loyalty to my dad is thicker than the bond I have with him. Maybe that’s why he’s so loyal to my dad. Because he represents something completely different from Jerad. A free pass to chase his passion. Maybe it’s because his dad treated him like shit and motocross set him free. On a bike, he’s carefree. Worriless.
But around the Sawyer brothers, Camden edits more than they realize. He rearranges and resurfaces carefree and unfazed. It’s almost like he’s playing a part he thinks is expected of him. Look at him now. The first round of Mayhem, hanging on Tiller’s every word. Reacting and laughing at all the right times. He hides it well but I see it. I’ve seen the occasional flicker of uncertainty that he wouldn’t dare let anyone with the last name Sawyer ever see.
Do you see him there in the pits next to the S3 trailers? The one with sweat soaked hair and a permanent scowl anytime someone else is next to me? Camden, he won’t look my way. Maybe it’s because I’m in the pits with my sports bra on, riding pants unbuttoned and signing autographs like that, but maybe not. Or maybe it’s because Jonah Riley showed up and I’m sitting on his lap in the process of all this.
Okay, it’s because of that.
I know what you’re thinking, I’m an attention whore. Nope. I’m only trying to draw the attention of one guy, and he’s fucking stubborn. I practically have to throw myself at him. Just so you know, I’m not talking about Jonah.
Jonah squeezes my thigh. “Are you seeing him?” he nods to Camden. Jonah Riley, he’s aggressive, rowdy, and nothing like Camden. Though they have the same traits of all competitive-natured guys looking for an adrenaline hit like no other, he’s rougher around the edges in a sense. But also, one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.
Camden, he’ll barely give you attention if he doesn’t know you. Which is why he’s keeping his distance now.
“Camden?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at Jonah. I shift on his lap and stand up.
“Yeah. You’re watching him closely.”
“I’m watching my dad,” I lie, but it’s not really a lie. They’re standing right next to one another.
When my dad’s out of sight, and Jonah’s distracted with his friends here, Camden’s two feet away, signing autographs next to me; his eyes linger in all the spots he wants to touch, but won’t allow. I’m forbidden. Worse than the fruit, I’m death to him. Untouchable. But in these stolen moments it doesn’t stop the look on his face. Sweeping his tongue across his bottom lip, he steps toward me.
“Stop,” he whispers, and I strain to hear him over the crowd and revving bikes in the distance. He closes his eyes, sighing, and I close mine too.
I keep my tone light. “What?”
His tone is anything but light. It’s… uneven and strained. “What you’re doing with that kid.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Camden’s met Jonah once. He doesn’t ever call him by his name though. Probably because he’s my friend, and any other guy I know, he refers to as kid.
His eyes pin me in place. “Yes, you do.”
Oh fuck, why is that look so goddamn sexy? “Enlighten me.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” he asks, his defenses up. I know he’s struggling. Always fighting his inner battle between what he wants, and what he’s willing to allow himself. Me. It’s always a battle for me.
“I didn’t think someone like you gets jealous.”
His shoulders tense, his breathing hitched. “I’m not.” There are voices fading around us but he’s the only one I see. He rakes his hand through his hair, diverts his eyes, tries to remain unfazed.
He takes a step back but reaches for a shirt pushed his way. He signs it, hands it back to the woman, and in the process, his chest brushes against mine. Electricity pulses between us. He drops his sunglasses over his eyes, shielding what he refuses to let me see. I ache for his words. His approval. His love. And then, without warning, he turns his head. His breath in my ear sends shivers and trembles through my fragile hold on him. His nose brushes my hair, his lips there too, delivering truths he doesn’t want to admit. “But it worked.”
I bite my lip to keep my smile a secret from the ones around me, like our love.
He smirks, a passing emotion only caught by me, and even though I can’t see his eyes, there’s something more burning in his expression. His proximity overwhelms. Do you notice my shiver? Does he? And just before he’s pulled away, I’m given more. “Meet me at my truck later.”
Excitement shoots through me at what this means. And then we’re pulled apart, our obligations deciding for us. We’re at a JUMP show in Santa Monica, the first of the Mayhem Tour, and though I love competing, I’m on edge having Camden here tonight along with Jonah. I didn’t even know Jonah was showing up but he did. And it certainly wasn’t my intention to make Camden jealous, but you know, I admit, it’s thrilling in a sense. I never thought I’d have that power over him.
“You’re up after Riggs,” Scarlet tells me, one hand holding onto Ariah, who has her cell phone in hand and is glaring at Tiller who’s pissing off everyone tonight by his general lack of fucks given. Scarlet sighs. “He’s impossible to underestimate.”
I laugh and reach for my helmet, pulling it on. “You shouldn’t be surprised by anything he does by now.”
In the process of getting on my bike, I notice Camden. How can I not? He’s a magnet for me, one I’m pulled to in more ways than I’ll ever understand. It’s different having him around. He’d been gone for a month, training in Erzberg with Roan, and now that’s he’s back, I’m obsessed with making him see I’m perfect for him.
Camden’s swarmed by women, reporters, his bike mechanic, and everyone wants a piece of him these days. Shade used to be the heartthrob of freestyle. I’m talking, superstar with rock-star status at these events. Camden is now the hotshot.
Me? I’m the princess, as they call me, but I’m never going to wear their glass slipper. I make my own way.
But Camden, he’s who everyone is talking about right now. He shocked the world of freestyle earlier in the week by signing with my dad and uncles. Nobody thought he’d leave Yamaha and go with S3, but I knew. He’s loyal to the Sawyer brothers, and desperately wants the approval of the one with a Mohawk. The one who will incinerate you for simply looking his way. He’s also standing beside me giving me the don’t-fuck-up face.
Have you met my dad yet? Take a look at him standing stoically in front of me. His bark is as bad as his bite.
“Take it easy,” Dad tells me, knocking his knuckles to my bright yellow-and-pink helmet. I might be their princess and decked out in obnoxious colors that make even me cringe, but I’m the one that shoves death-defying down their throats. Much like the crazy next to me, I’ll do anything once, and the really aggressive thrills I keep doing because that’s what feeds me.
Maybe that’s why I’ve wanted Camden for so long. He’s off-limits and my personality digs that shit.
My eyes drift and I look over my shoulder, back at the S3 Racing tent where I know Camden is seated on his bike, goggles hanging off his handlebars, and talking to Jonah.
Do you notice the way my heart beats louder? It’s not for the kick I get when my name is called. It’s because I don’t think Camden knows about Jonah. I mean, he knows I’m not a virgin, but I never told him who.
By the glare he levels Jonah with, I’m guessing he knows.
“You’re up,” Scarlet says, nudging me on the shoulder.
Dad’s there again. “No double,” he warns when he looks at the paper taped to my handlebars with my list of jumps.
Breathing heavy, my eyes slide to his but I don’t say anything. He knows I have only landed it once on dirt. Trust me, I know the consequences if I don’t land it. By the defiant stare I hold with his, he knows what I’m up to. His hand comes up and grabs the front of my helmet and yanks it. Not hard, but enough he’s gained my attention. “I fuckin’ mean it, Riv.” His sunglasses slip intimidatingly down the bridge of his nose, and he shoots me a cold nod. “You do it, I’ll suspend you.”
I’d love to say I don’t care if he suspends me, but me winning, that’s the only thing I care about at these events. I might lack the fucks given to race these days, but propelling my body through the air and giving them a show, yeah, I’m all about that.
And no girl has landed a double. We had only one other girl in the sport but she didn’t amount to much. Now there’s me. River “Savage” Sawyer, and I’ll do anything to impress. I know what I’m capable of. Problem is so does my dad.
I grip the throttle and ease out of the clutch without a second thought. The front tire of my bike hits my dad’s legs. He warns with a bunch of his dark eyebrows. Nobody crosses the Wild Cat. At least not without consequences. “Do I need to involve him?” he yells over the sound of my bike idling. He nods to Camden, because he’s knows I’m irrational enough to do it, like the blood pulsing in my veins, a product of the one standing in front of me. But he also knows—if anyone can get through to me—it’s Camden.
I don’t give him a chance to involve him and wheelie away from Tiller and onto the staging area for my run. I do sneak one last look at Camden before my run though. He’s not watching me. He’s staring at Jonah as if he wants to kill him.
So, let’s be honest. All you want to know is if I do the double, don’t you?
Believe it or not, I do think these things through. Or maybe it’s because they refused to move back the ramp on this one? Either way, I do what I do best. Savage. In the staging area, I make the decision to take my jersey off, pants, everything but my sports bra and a cheeky pair of panties. Oh, and my boots. I rode without boots once and never again. That shit will tear the skin off your body in a heartbeat, not to mention the burns on your calves from the exhaust.
The crowd roars to life in response and I can hear them over the sound of my bike. What I can’t hear, my breathing. It’s drowned out by the pulsing in my chest. I’m on the ramp, getting ready to do my run when they announce me. “Riding a Honda out of Pasadena California, River “Savage” Sawyer!” I start out with a switchblade, forty-five off the street below me. The switchblade is a trick where I rotate my legs backwards when doing a no-foot Can-Can position. In a regular Can-Can, you take one foot off the footpeg and bring a leg over the seat so both legs are on one side of the bike. I took both off to the side. Then midair, I kick my legs out like a pair of scissors. They call it that because it looks like a switchblade knife opening up.
After that I pull off a cordova flip, where my hands are on the grips and I bring my feet underneath the bars, press my knees up to my chest and then arch my back so I’m looking upside down out over the back fender and pull a backflip.
If that doesn’t give me a podium finish tonight, nothing will.
And because they want the savage side of me, aside from being half naked on a bike, I flip off the crowd, okay, my dad, off midair. I can see his smirk from thirty feet up.
Back in the pits, Camden’s gone, his run next. Dad doesn’t look pleased. “Cute,” he says, rolling his eyes that I’m still half naked.
Shade grins, patting my back. “Savage,” he rouses, winking at me. Shade’s the only one of the Sawyer brothers still competing in freestyle events. After dad broke his back, mom made him swear he wouldn’t pull tricks again, and Roan, he’s into the extreme enduros these days.
Scarlet, she laughs and hands me my jersey and pants. “I don’t suppose you want these back?”
“Nah,” I say, yanking off my helmet and letting my hair cascade down my back. I sign autographs for the next fifteen minutes, miss Camden’s run but hear the screams when he lands the triple backflip.
Anger jolts through me. They let him, but not me. They push ramps back, adjust spectators out of his way, all because he’s Camden Rivera. Their golden boy of the sport. He’s different than the Sawyer brothers. He’s got a sweet tongue, can talk his way into anything with a smirk and boyish arrogance you don’t see often. He knows he’s gifted on a bike and uses it to his advantage.
But I’m still the princess of the sport. Here to attract the men and give little girls looking to get dirty something to look up to.
I find Camden at the trailers after his win. Yep, the triple landed him the win. Shirtless, with his riding pants hanging low on his hips, he’s high on adrenaline, cheeks red, beer in hand, but it’s his stare that concerns me. Maybe it’s because I’m still running around the pits in my bra and panties, even though I’ve been asked to put clothes on by officials, my mom, and dad, but I refuse. I want to see Camden’s reaction.
“Nice run,” I tell him, sighing, hiding my own beer in a Rockstar Energy drink.
“You too.” His eyes betray him and he gives me a once-over. His gaze lingers on my legs. “Where’s your fuckin’ clothes, Riv?”
“Lost ‘em.” I wink at him. “Tortured?”
He doesn’t say anything. Not a damn word. His jaw flexes and his stare shifts to Jonah, who’s engulfed in a crowd of his own as he leaves the venue.
“What’d he say to you?” I ask, knowing him better than he thinks.
“That you fucked him,” he mumbles, eyes tight with apprehension that I might say I’d had.
I swallow, my heart thudding wildly, the bitterness in his tone gnawing at me. I can’t imagine Jonah saying that, but then again, guys say stupid shit when they’re jealous.
Camden flinches at my confirmation, his expression falling as he sets his beer down on a nearby folding table with a thud, his arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t want you hanging out with that kid.” His tone isn’t sharp, but it’s sure as shit no-nonsense. Too bad I’m horrible at listening. He doesn’t stop there either. He leans in and a trail of arm-tingles move across my bicep and up my neck where his breath hits. His eyes regard me once more before turning back to the trailer like he’s trying to burn a hole in it. After a moment, he meets my eyes again, the dark look fading. “You deserve better.”
His words force me to surrender, as if I ever had a chance. He sucks me dry and I wilt under the heat. His possessiveness, though arrogant and secretive, is purposeful. You don’t see it, you feel it. “I want you, not him.”
He tilts his head my direction, a whisper on his lips, “You already have me,” heard only by the wind and the fresh smells of racing fuel. He nods to the trailer when a crowd surfaces in the pits, probably because he doesn’t want anyone staring at me half-naked. He closes the door to the trailer, the sound of the lock following. A click that resonates deep within me at what this might mean. He won’t go back on his promise to me, but he also won’t be swayed easily.
I stare at the door, and then him. “I don’t though.”
His brow pinches together. “Don’t what?”
“Have you. Not in the way I want.” I step forward and stand in front of him. “Here’s your prize for winning. Me.” I twirl around like a ballerina, smiling and laughing, spilling my beer in the process.
A smirk presents, but fades. He swallows, his eyes downcast as he reaches for my hip and draws me closer into the shadow. “I wanted to kill every single fucker whose eyes lingered too long tonight,” he groans into the curve of my neck, teeth pinching the sensitive skin. “Including me.”
I back him up against the bench in the trailer, against a wall of shocks and tires. Sitting down, he stares up at me, hunger pulsating between us. Straddling him, my knees hit cool metal and I wrap my arms around his neck.
He lets me sink down on him; the only thing separating us is the thin cotton of my panties and the harshness of his riding pants. I look down at his stomach as he pulls in a quick breath and I grind into him, desperate for the sensations I know will follow.
Digging my fingers into his back, I cling to him because it’s the only way. He’s the only way.
He groans, openmouthed against my shoulder, his body trembling. “Slow down, baby,” he begs, but he’s just as caught up in our love. His grip tightens on my hips and though his words are a denial, his movements are anything but that.
“I’m not a virgin,” I tell him again.
Pause on his face. Do you notice the quick intake of breath? He’s just as bothered by that statement as he was the first time I said it. His eyes darken and narrow on me. “You said that already,” he spits. He blinks slowly. “Was it him?”
I nod; I can’t lie to him about it.
His jaw works back and forth.
So, I try hard, grind into him again. “Please?”
“No.” But do you notice the hesitation that comes with it? He’s fading.
“Why?” I pant, still working my hips into him. Slickness coats the inside of my panties and my clit throbs, aching for more. He’s hard, impossibly hard, straining against his pants, begging for more.
He holds my stare and it’s the first time he’s ever looked at me with anger. “Because you know I want to act on in it. God, River, why can’t you see I do want you.”
“But you won’t,” I mumble, my breath uneven and ragged. I’m so close and want it so bad. I just… I need him—in any way he’ll allow. This, we can have this, in secret, in the shadows we’re good at. I want some part of him, to know I’m his. “Just because we can’t have sex, doesn’t mean I can’t get you off.” I reach forward and unbutton his pants.
He grabs my wrists. “Riv… wait—no.”
I resist, shake free and smile. “It’s okay. I won’t do anything stupid.”
He breathes through his nose before his back hits the wall again. He lifts his hips, slouching a little more. I know this isn’t him giving in. It’s him wavering. He wants to. His elbows buckle and he lays back, giving in for now, but his grip on my hips tightens.
Groaning, his lashes flutter when I rock into him again. “I can’t take this shit. You’re all I think about,” he admits, leaning forward and securing my body to his. We rock together as one, abandoning any sense of control. And though his pants remain on, he lets me ride him to the point of flying. “I wanna fuck you so bad.”
“I want that too.” A thrill shoots through me that I made him react. His aggressive side thrills me. Provokes my reactions. I weld our mouths together, moaning into his lips as I crash in his arms. “Every time I touch myself, I think of you,” I admit in a breathless pant, sucking in a breath.
His eyes drift closed, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips. No matter how off-limits I am, he wants me. Always. He groans and pulls me closer, unable to deny himself. I know this isn’t a surrender, this isn’t him giving in, but at least I have this. A closeness. A connection. I can see the sea in his eyes, taste the ocean, feel the waves, because that’s what this is like, going under, resurfacing, and then drowning in his intensity.
I’m still coming down from the high when Camden’s grip tightens on my hip. Groaning, he pushes back, reaches inside his unbuttoned pants and takes a firm hold on his cock. It’s the first time I’ve seen him, there, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I watch, fascinated at what I’m witnessing. Camden, bringing himself to orgasm in front of me. It takes four quick strokes and he’s coming, warm liquid spilling onto his stomach, his face contorted in the most beautiful pout I’ve ever seen. He’s so vulnerable,
As his body shakes, his lips search for more, up my throat, my chin, my cheek, and finally my mouth. “Now do you see I want you?” he asks, his voice unstable.
Holy. Fuck.
