Camden by Shey Stahl

 

 

 

I hate the smell of pine trees and fresh air.

Fuck it. I want clouds and rain because that’s what I feel.

Gloomy.

Depressed.

Rejected.

While we’re at it, I hate the sun in my eyes and the stupid fucking snow on the trails. Why is there snow in July? Oh. Right. It’s Mount Rainier.

Want to know what I hate most of all? Camden. For ignoring me. I don’t even want to talk to him. Fuck him. Son of a bitch. How dare he miss my birthday, and then fucking ignore me.

Asshole.

Jerk.

I could go on for days here, and I have. I intend to keep doing it, but lucky me, I’m on a trail ride with him and my family.

Good times.

Not!

Do you see me there at the top of a mountain, shaking out my arms and glaring at the trail ahead of me? I hate trail riding. I hate my fucking bike for being too heavy and my family for making me do this. Look in front of me at the guy on the bike. Dressed in colorful Fox Racing gear, mirrored goggles and that signature custom-painted helmet with the skeleton on the back. Stupid sexy asshole won’t even acknowledge me today. I want to ram my front tire right up his ass.

You’re probably wondering what the hell we’re doing here, am I right?

Every year, a month after my birthday, my family takes a camping trip up to Washington State where Roan loves riding. He digs riding bar to bar with trees and weaving in and out of them. It’s challenging, I’ll say that much. I’ve never actually enjoyed riding up there in Mount Rainier National Forest. There’s cliffs and you find yourself balancing on the edge of them hoping you don’t lose your balance.

Nope. Not for me. I’m terrified of heights.

I can propel myself through the air without a care in the world because I know eventually I’ll land. In Naches, that’s not always the case. You could be falling a few hundred feet before you smash yourself into a bed of rocks.

But Roan, he’s all for the extreme, so he drags us up there and calls it Dirt Camp. A yearly tradition.

Shade goes because he enjoys a challenge.

Tiller goes because, well, none of us really know. Maybe because he hopes he can witness Roan’s death some year? I’m kidding, but am I? You never know with them.

What I do know is my arm pump is so extreme I can barely keep my hands on the bars let alone grip the throttle. You’re probably wondering what the fuck arm pump is. When you’re gripping the handlebars for so long, constantly using the muscles, the blood flow in your arms increases and the muscles swell. The fascia in your arm isn’t elastic, so it gets tight inside the arm and constricts the blood flow. Instant pain.

My uncle Roan—who’s into the extreme enduros that have him on a bike for twenty-four hours at a time—had the surgery about four years ago, the one where they make a slit in the fascia membrane to relieve the pressure. It leaves a six-inch-long scar on the inside of your forearm but helps tremendously.

And you know, right about now, I’m wishing I had that surgery too because I feel like my arms are going to explode.

Also, I think my heart might too because I can’t possibly take another minute of riding these trails behind Camden who hasn’t said anything to me since he showed up in the middle of the night and parked his moto van in the corner of the campground.

Why’s he not talking to me? Maybe because we haven’t been left alone for me to completely go off on him. Or I was mean enough to him the other night he’s had enough.

Around an hour of my arms aching, I throw my bike down and stop on the trail. “I’m going back,” I yell at my dad and Shade, who are up ahead of me, and Roan who’s behind me.

Roan touches my helmet with his, yelling over the sound of the bikes. “Shake out your arms.”

“I did that!” I yell back. “I want to go back.”

He nods. “Take the roads.”

Camden turns around on the seat of his bike, lifts his goggles and regards me for a moment, a glance over his shoulder, eyes sweeping down my body. His gaze burns into me, my body welting under his scrutiny. “I’ll ride back with her.”

“Fuck you,” I yell, twisting the throttle. He doesn’t get to be the nice guy now. No way.

Tears burn my throat but I fight them back. Usually, I can control myself and not let my emotions control me. But now, it’s too much. I can’t look at him and not be reminded that he let me down. I might be Savage, but I’m still a girl from time to time. One who had her feelings hurt.

I rip off the trail and onto the roads surrounding the campgrounds without a care in the world. The problem is I’m not watching where I’m going. My back tire hits loose gravel and catches a pothole. Within a blink of an eye, I end up sailing into the woods by the side of the road. My body is hurled forward and right into a large pine tree.

I’m fine, by the way, but pissed off. I hate crashing. Standing up, I pick my bike up and hold it steady. That’s when I hear the roar of a 2-stroke behind me and Camden’s voice. “Riv! You okay?”

I turn in time to see him lay his bike down and rush toward me. I hate him in that moment. God, do I fucking hate him because he looks so goddamn sexy wearing his gear, helmet, goggles…. Like this I can pretend he’s someone else. Someone who hasn’t hurt me.

But he has.

He reaches for my shoulders, his hands around me for the first time in weeks. “Are you all right?”

I try to move past him but he doesn’t allow it, his hand on my stomach as he stops me. I stare at him, tears rolling down my cheeks, and finally, I lose my temper. “Take off your goggles so I can see your face!”

He does and then removes his helmet, setting it down.

I draw in a shaky breath. “How could you not be there? Do I mean so little to you that you couldn’t show? Forget about the damn promise you made me at sixteen. What about our friendship?”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t.” He’s breathing heavy, lets go of my shoulders and his posture stiffens. His expression that was once blank, fills with sadness. More than I’ve ever seen before. More than the time his dad hit him when he was fourteen and I was a scared kid who didn’t know how to comfort him when he lied to me about it. My stomach drops to the ground. Despite the anger pulsing through my veins, I don’t want to hurt him.

I want to slap the expression off his face but then he grabs my hands and holds me still against the tree. “Listen to me.”

“Why?” I hiss. “So you can make me another promise and break it?” My question lacks heat and anger, just the heavy weight of disappointment crushing me.

His hands hold tighter, all gentleness gone. “Don’t you see?” he begs, so much agony behind his words. “If I did go, you only wanted one thing from me.”

I suck in a breath, unprepared, a wave of humiliation washing through me. “That’s what you thought? That I’d only want to fuck you?” I’m bawling by this point, my tears mixing with dirt and sweat.

His pause is longer than I would expect, but he inhales, his brow bunching together. And if I look closer, he’s shaken by my question. He’s unprepared for it, but he restricts his facial expressions because he’s good at it. He knows how to be indifferent. “I know you want me, Riv, but how much of what you want is physical?”

I gasp, a cry caught in my throat and slam my hands into his chest. “I want your friendship more, asshole,” I snap and he lets go of me, steps back and stares.

He swallows, his words shake but he gathers them quicker than I can mine. “It doesn’t seem that way to me.” His voice is clipped and irritated as he glances at me before turning toward the bike and away from me.

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know me that well.”

There’s a sharp breath that leaves his lips. “Yeah, right.”

I throw a leg over my bike and attempt to kick-start it. “Don’t follow me.”

“Can you make it back okay?” His tone loses a fraction of the edge it once had.

“I’m fine,” I snap, reaching for my goggles and cranking the throttle. The sound of my bike echoes through the trees but still, I can hear him through it.

He straddles the front tire of the bike and refuses to move. Reaching forward, he hits the kill switch. I glare. “Move.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on mine, and regardless of how angry I am with him, heat gathers between my legs. My heart bursts in my chest when I hear him mumble, “I love you.”

Goddamn him!

“You have a shitty way of showing it.” I push him back away from me, needing to separate myself from him and take off on the road back to the campsite.

 

I shower after the ride and change back into the tank top and shorts. And then I pace the motorhome trying to decide what I want to say to him, and obsess over the things I can’t say to him.

Do you know that feeling? It’s hard to talk to him because like it or not, I fear his rejection.

I know one thing, I need to talk to him and make him see that it’s not just physical, if I can. Outside my parents’ motor home, I notice Camden’s van in the corner of the campground tucked in the shade between pine trees. I have to talk to him. I can’t leave the conversation like this.

My palms are sweating, knees weak. Might as well place me in an Eminem song because if I had my mom’s spaghetti, I’d puke right now.

I know, my jokes are lame. But my heart hammers as I stare at the dusty ground walking to his van. His words echo in my head. I love you.

The campground is quiet. The Wives took the younger kids into town for the day and I know the guys will be out longer. I have time. Not much, but I need to have this conversation.

I walk around the back of the van; the doors are open, his bike near it, helmet and goggles tossed aside.

I see him then, laying on the floor of the van, his legs pulled up and his hands resting on his stomach. He’s removed his helmet, neck brace and jersey, but his pants and boots remain. I watch his stomach moving with every breath and the way his hands are in his hair, as if he’s struggling with something.

“Hey,” I say, testing the waters, curious what his reaction will be. He didn’t have to follow me back to the campground, but he did and maybe that meant something, maybe it didn’t.

He moves his hands at the sound of my voice enough that I can see his eyes, but they don’t leave his head. That look, those blazing green eyes, it’s like they see right through any of my bullshit and pierce my soul. “Hey,” he finally says, swallowing after the words release from his lips. “How’s your arms?”

I shake them out, the feeling starting to return to them. “Fine.”

He’s staring at the ceiling. I wish he didn’t see me this way. So weak, so one-track. So focused on the image of me being, what, a slut? That I only want to fuck him and nothing else? How can he think that?

“Did you mean it?” I ask, my words small and timid, so unlike myself, but I crawl on top of him. I feel needy and clingy and I hate it. I hate him in some ways for turning me into this. It makes me sick, but I have to be near him.

He watches me carefully but doesn’t tell me to move.

I settle my weight on him, molding to every hard, defined line of his sculpted body. “Mean what?”

“That you love me.”

Breathing heavy, he sits up, his hands on my ass, his eyes intent but editing his expression along the way. His lips make a path up my shoulder slower than I care for. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” He wants to remain indifferent but it’s his breathing that gives away the intentions. My knees part and I give him all my weight. “What are you doing?” Cupping my chin with his hand, he angles my face to meet his eyes.

“Do you want me to leave?” I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

I shudder in a breath when he leans in like he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He holds himself steady there, waiting, lagging back on the start like he’s so good at. His thumb sweeps along my bottom lip and it’s everything I can do not to sigh and melt into him. His gaze burns into me, challenging me to say otherwise. “You know I don’t want that.” He softly kisses my neck, my breathing shaky like my hold on reality. “I missed you.”

I smile. “Then why are you questioning me?”

He searches my eyes. “Because I’m not so sure you understand what this means.”

“What’s this?” Does he remember? Me sixteen. Him twenty-two. Marshmallow lips and sunsets.

His lips quirk at the corners. “You and me.”

He remembered.

“Do I still make your dick hard?”

He lets out the cutest snorted laugh. “You tell me.” He raises his hips and I’m met with the product of our flirting.

“I’m eighteen.” My heart beats wildly, fluttering, and so, so nervous. Because it’s him. Always. Promised.

He chuckles, not fighting me any longer. His face hovers in front of mine. “You’re eighteen,” he repeats and the look that follows, fuck. It sends chills down my spine. He’s never looked at me like this. So raw. So… in need. Placing my palm flat against his chest, I can feel the steady beat of his heart. I want to remain here, forever in the shade of our fragile existence.

“I don’t just want you physically,” I whisper in his ear, wanting to reassure him.

“That might be true,” he counters. “But I have a promise to hold up.”

Holy shit! Is he really going to do it? Crap. Did I shave?

Yes, yes I did.

I gasp, inhaling sharply, my nails digging into the tops of his shoulders. Do you see me there? Do you notice the way we’re both waiting for the other to make the first move? Usually it’s me but there’s a pause on my part. I think maybe, even I’m hesitating because this changes everything. From the moment I realized that kid who hung out at my dad’s house was more, to all the in-between laps, it’s led us here. Together. Our destiny.

I’m not sure what to say, so I smile. “Are you going to go back on your promise?”

He pulls back for a moment. I’m not given a response. At least not verbally.

Reaching between us he regards me warily, seeming to hesitate for a half a second, but it doesn’t stop him. His fingers slide along the waistband of my shorts and his eyes meet mine. They’re the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re so fucking beautiful that if I wasn’t sitting here right now staring into them, I’d think they’re photoshopped. Camden swallows and his other hand slips higher on my thigh and to the swell of my ass. Gliding his hand up the backside of my shorts, he grips my ass cheek needily. My shorts are quickly unbuttoned and my eyes widen. Is he going to actually give in, or will he stop soon? It doesn’t seem that way.

This feels like it’s happening, doesn’t it?

If you’re having any doubts so far, keep them to yourself, damn it. I want to remain in this bubble of perfection a little longer.

His forehead rests against mine as he slips two fingers inside of me. I gasp but then cry out softly. Still, no words are said between us. I don’t think they’re needed. We know what this is. We know where this is going.

His heavy breathing mixed with mine fills the van as he pushes his fingers in deeper; his thumb presses against my clit and begins to move. His head hits my shoulder as his fingers work. Back and forth, faster, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves in the most perfect way. He adds a third finger and my thighs tremble. “Can’t you see what you do to me?”

I nod, gripping his forearms.

My nails dig into his arms as I throw my head back as heat spreads through the arches of my feet to the backs of my thighs. I ride his hand, panting through my orgasm. The heat rushes from my thighs around the inside of my legs to my center, tingling and throbbing at the same time. Somehow, someway, in the process of this Camden lifts my shirt and bra to latch his mouth onto my nipples.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, grabbing a handful of his hair and forcing him to look at me.

Our eyes are on each other’s as he slows his movements. There’s that vibrant green again. “Fuck,” he pants. “You’re so goddamn sexy.” And then without warning, he yanks his fingers out and wipes a line of my arousal on the top of my breasts. To my surprise, his mouth welds to the spot and he licks if off.

Why is that so hot? Probably because I’ve never been regarded in this light with him. I hold onto the back of his head, staring up at the bare metal ceiling in the van, my breathing so erratic I fear it’s never going to be normal again.

“I really hate to do this, but we have to be quick.” His eyes burn into mine, full of intensity and desire. “They might come back.”

“I know.” I close my eyes and imagine this is more, not just him holding up his end of the deal. Anxiety creeps in. I’ve seen this look before. A boyish smirk turned reverence. I don’t recall when it happened but his love went from I’m here for you to I can’t live without you. And there’s no going back. I see that now.

Yanking my shirt off, he makes quick work of his riding pants and unzips them; lifting me up about six inches, he yanks the pants down off his hips—but not off completely. “Do you have any condoms in here?”

He nods, almost frantically and leans to the side. He fumbles around with a bag to his left and rips one out of a zipped compartment. His hands shake, but he manages to get it open with his teeth and he’s slipping the condom on without a second thought.

Yes, yes, yes!

Excitement shoots through me. He’s giving in. He’s fucking giving in, people! Do you understand the significance of this moment? He’s allowing this. Do you understand my level of excitement here? What about my nerves? Because I legit want to puke. I’ve never been this nervous in my entire life.

Standing up, I don’t look down at him even though I realize he’s naked from the knees up and I can look at him for the first time completely. I resist. Wait. I do look at his face though and the second he sees me unbuttoning my shorts, his eyes dip to my vajajay. Thank God I shaved because there’s not much left to the imagination anymore.

I draw in a quick breath and slide my eyes south. I’m not disappointed.

Are you looking?

Uh, don’t stare. He’s taken as far as I’m concerned.

“Come here,” he rasps, his voice rougher, thick with need.

I sink down on him again, straddling him for a second time.

His lips sweep along my collarbone and shoulder, tasting and nibbling every inch of exposed skin with his hot mouth. I shiver at his touch as he grasps my hips, one hand between my legs guiding himself to my entrance. My heart races faster. I can feel the head of his cock there. I moan, sinking into him, but he holds me still, won’t let me go down completely. He’s stalling, holding out, his erection pressing hot, hard and ready between my legs. The head of his cock pushes against my folds, swollen and greedy for more.

“Please,” I beg, my legs trembling as I squeeze his hips tighter.

“Give me a minute.” He groans, his half-lidded lashes fluttering, his breaths at my ear and his nearness consuming. I don’t know what he’s waiting for, but I give him this second. He kisses under my chin, my jaw, my ear. Softly, slowly, as if he’s trying to draw it out.

Threading my hands in his hair, Camden’s head falls back a smidge, his entire body trembling. I see it then, the realization, the struggle. He’s… nervous. His hands grab my face as his lips softly brush against mine, tasting and teasing me. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and I moan, granting him full access as his tongue sweeps inside.

With a deep growl from deep within, his tongue glides against mine as he bites and licks at my lips. Jesus Christ, he’s never kissed me like this. It’s as if his breathing is dependent on mine and he has to have it. My hands thread in his hair, holding his face to mine as my body gives in to his touch with moans and whimpers. There’s no controlling myself here. Not when I’ve waited this long for it.

My eyes flutter shut but I force them open. I want to see his eyes the first time our bodies finally come together. I need them. Breathing heavy, I pull on his hair and make him look at me. I can’t describe the way he regards me. I kiss his mouth, his jaw, his scruffy chin, my lips all over his face reassuring him this is what I want.

But still, I don’t get any words out of him. His doors are locked and I’m begging to get in. I can feel his pulse, his strong heartbeat, but that’s all. There’s a gamut of emotions inside of him, but he’s holding them hostage. I desperately want to know what he’s thinking. His hands curl around the tops of my shoulders and release their hold on my hips, his entire frame shaking as he slides inside me for the first time. “Riv,” he whispers, his entire body jerking.

He lets me ride him, my movements the only ones until he leans back on his hands and thrusts his hips up to meet mine. I rock forward, the angle allowing the base of his cock to hit my clit in the perfect rhythm as my orgasm builds again. Oh, sweet Jesus, that’s good. It’s needy, and rushed, finally fulfilling but still, everything I’d hoped it’d be. His heart thumps wild against mine. They know this place, together. They’re one. Surrendering.

He groans and it sounds like torture as a bead of sweat drips from his hairline down to his jaw. Gathering me in his arms, he shifts our position until he has me on the floor. I smile and he gives me his weight, filling me slowly. My legs shake as he rocks into me, my victory overwhelming. We feel inseparable like this and that’s all I ever wanted from him. Our hearts pulsing the same. I think I’ve never felt this. Loved, adored, consumed, a place only he can fill.

He fucks me hard, fiercely, because that’s what I asked for. That’s what we need after all this time.

His jaw goes slack, his brow pinches together and his arms shake. He holds me close, securing himself to me as his grip tightens and uneven breaths fill the van. With one more push inside me, his breathing turns into the sexiest pattern of gasps and groans as he comes and it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. He swells inside me, pulsing, his body crashing against mine.

Holy shit. Camden just fucked me and came inside. Okay, in a condom, but still, podium finish for sure.

He starts to say something, but I can’t hear him over broken breaths.

Satisfaction swirls in my veins. I enticed this reaction.

He stills inside me and pulls my face toward him, bringing our lips together. And even though those kisses are soft and sweet, I’m not sure what they mean. “Riv,” he breathes, light and easy, his pulse still erratic. I love the way he says my name. It’s as if the taste of it makes him smile.

“What?”

His eyes open slowly, but he doesn’t move. He stares at me so intently it’s as if he’s trying to tell me with a stare what he feels because his body, his words, they’re failing him. He swallows, clears his throat and smiles. “You make me crazy.”

“I love you.”

This time I get a reaction from him. A strain of his brow, as if he’s fighting through something more than he’s going to let me see. Sweeping my hair to the side, he kisses my neck. It’s gentle. Reassuring, but something about it sparks nerves. This isn’t something he’s going to continue. It’s a follow- through. Him not breaking his promise to me.

“What does this mean?” I ask, fearing the unknown. I’m… afraid to let go, fearing what comes next. And he doesn’t let go. He holds tighter, a confirmation I didn’t know I needed. His lips part on my shoulder, his breathing a panting gasp. Tremors of uncertainty work through me.

I’m not given an answer. At least not verbally.

His lips meet mine once again and his weight returns. With closed eyes and measured breathing, I savor it.

We have this, and whatever happens next is out of control.