Personal Growth

I snorted. "Too far, Cam." I reached up on tiptoes to get a mug, aware that he was looking at my abs as the shirt rose. "Besides, you're a guy. You don't bother."

"Don't I?"

I smirked as I poured my coffee. "It's a fucking bird's nest down there," I scoffed. "Should I get you some Cheerios? I was about to dish up a bowl." My appetite was taking its sweet time, but it was coming slowly back.

"I'm good, thanks." He capped the flask. "Rain check. You can make me some next time, when we discuss waxing our buttcracks."

I nodded. "You're the brother-in-law I deserve," I mused, rolling my eyes. "Whether that's a good thing? Not so sure."

"It's a good thing." He paused at the start of the hallway. "Make me lunch. Your folks are supposed to be out setting up their church or something."

"Okay." I let the coffee steam soothe me. "I'll start slaving at the stove after my shower. What do you like?"

"Something Christmas-y."

"Got it." I winked without a smile. "Cheesy eel fritters in yogurt sauce. With egg nog."

"Catch you."

* * *

"So. That's how we met."

I nodded thoughtfully. It was an atypical first-date story, but I'd have expected that from Denise. From Cam, too, now that I was getting to know him. "Huh."

"Yep." He shrugged and ate another forkful of salad. I'd done a nice frisee with vinaigrette and some pulled-pork sandwiches. Both courtesy of the prepared-foods counter at the Fritz Family Market. "She got the stitches out a few days later, they salvaged the yacht, the park rangers forgot all about it, and that's the story."

I shrugged. "And now you're marrying her."

"And now? I'm marrying her." He cocked his head. "Your turn."

I sighed, arching back in the chair, stretching my arms high. "Fuck. Do I have to?"

He looked at my chest and didn't hide it. "Spill. What happened at your work, Anna?"

I stayed where I was, my tits high beneath my shirt, tempting him for a few seconds before I settled back down. "So," I began heavily, "my firm. It's lined up a fucking monster client, some big multinational wire conglomerate."

"Wire?"

"Yeah. Copper, steel, all of it. Like they make it. Ship it. It's a firm that got started by a bunch of German expats in Argentina during the '30s, and now they're huge. Norbera. So I was second chair on the account, on the advertising side, and I had a big presentation in Bermuda."

"Sun, sand, and sex."

"Right? I had a guy working for me, a really good ad guy out of Wake Forest, and I'd been hitting on him at work for awhile. Kyle. I could tell he wanted me. So I brought him along, thinking we'd get it on, right?"

"Sounds very, very reasonable." He swept up the last of his pulled pork. "Does your company frown on that kind of thing?"

"Who the hell knows?" I gave a coarse laugh. "Everyone does it. Or if they don't, they should. So the meeting's going great, right? Only the vibe I get from the Norbera execs is that they don't like me."

"Because you're a cold bitch?

"Maybe. Who knows. But then I fuck up at lunch. I get a stain on my skirt before the big presentation. It looks like I peed myself. I'm freaking out, hyperventilating. The Norbera guys are just sitting there watching."

"Jesus."

"Right? So, long story short, Kyle takes over and saves the day, and now I'm... on a new account." I smirked bitterly. "A smaller one."

"Fuck."

"But that's not the worst of it." I pushed my plate away, my appetite gone, to find Cam nodding. "What?"

"Kyle." He raised his Sprite in an ironic toast. "You didn't get laid, did you?"

"I did not, indeed, get laid," I nodded glumly. "Worse. I tried to get laid. He decided not to lay me."

"Ouch." He was still nodding. "And he'd been into you at work?"

"Totally." I shrugged. "I'm not a blushing debutante. I know when a man wants me. He was sending all the right signals." I met his eyes, feeling the anger come slithering back. "I went to his room. We made out. Then as soon as I got my hand down his pants, it was like a faucet; he just turned off."

"No shit!"

"None at all. Totally humiliating. I had to do the walk of shame without even being sore." I shuddered. "I'm still pissy about it. His loss, but still."

"But still." He chewed contemplatively. "Too bad. Was he hard?"

"As a rock," I nodded. That's the part that had been bothering me. "Nice dick, too, but he said no. And no means no, right?" We both chuckled. "I almost hit him. I think he's got a girlfriend? Maybe he's in love." Another dual chuckle. "So, since then, I've been a nun," I claimed, choosing to ignore the two guys in the swanky apartment. "Dry as a bone," I added, sighing.

"Merry Christmas." I laughed, and Cam toyed with his glass. "Well. This Kyle is a fucking moron."

"He's going to be my boss someday," I shrugged. "That's the breaks."

Cam brightened. "Maybe then, you can fuck him to get ahead."

"Maybe."

"Because you're not a blushing debutante." He said it, and I'd known he would. As soon as I'd made the boast about knowing when guys want me, I'd known he'd zero right in on it. And I didn't mind that he had, which bothered me. I wasn't supposed to be letting my sister's man hit on me, dammit.

But, like a mastodon blundering into a tar pit, I didn't feel there was anything else I could do. So I nodded. "I can tell," I said slowly, "when a man is sending all the right signals."

He smiled, crossing his blue-jeaned legs. "Too bad your parents had to go."

"Yes, it is," I agreed dully, watching him. "I was so looking forward to awkwardly avoiding them some more."

"Funny. So was I." He shrugged elaborately. "Oh! I forgot to ask how it went this morning." I raised quizzical eyebrows, and he moved in slyly. "Grooming."

"Oh my god," I muttered, my face hot. My hand flew up to cover a smile. "I told you already. You guessed wrong."

"Yes, but that was before you actually took your shower. How do I know you didn't groom to order?"

I burst out laughing, the whole table shaking. "You're pretty full of yourself, Cam. I met you like five minutes ago. If you think my self-image sucks so bad that I need you to tell me how to shave my twat, you're in for a big surprise."

He spread his hands wide, protesting his innocence to the universe. "Did I hear wrong?" He rolled his eyes high. "You yourself said you were impressed. That I was almost exactly right."

"You're a very perceptive young man," I agreed.

"So spill. What was I wrong about?"

I permitted a slow, thin smile to spread across my face. "It's torturing you." He scoffed. "What? You don't have to admit it. I know it is. You've been thinking about it all day," I giggled. The recklessness had come out from around the corner and was jumping into my arms now.

"Naturally."

"Uh-huh," I beamed, but my enthusiasm faded when I got a look at Cam's face. He was not smiling. I'd seen many, many men look at me just like that before, and my pussy was already responding. Shit. A month ago, with another man, I'd already be throwing my thong at his face. "This is a problem." I swallowed, the curtain falling. "I meet guys all the time that I'm attracted to. They're not usually marrying my goddamn sister."

He nodded at me slowly. "I hear you. It's a problem."

"Plus," I went on, "there's enough fuckery in my life right now. I came here to try to relax. I'm not very relaxed at the moment." I waited until he met my gaze. "You're not what I need, Cam. At all."

"Which is too bad," he nodded, sighing. We stared at each other for a few seconds, then he sighed unhappily. "Good Lord, Anna. You and I? In bed?" He shook his head.

"We'd be on fire," I pointed out quietly.

"Molten." He glared at me. "You were lying earlier, when you used the phrase 'dry as a bone.'" It wasn't a question, and I crossed my arms under my boobs and sat back.

"I was exaggerating. For effect," I confessed.

"You didn't need to." He propped his elbows on the table. "I knew you were lying."

I nodded. I'd been stupid, Aaron certifiably insane. Growth? Not a chance. Not me. And this guy was up for it. He'd ravage me until I couldn't walk straight. And I'd let him, Denise or no Denise... but. This was family. I looked into the future and saw lots of bad and not much good. "We can't fuck, Cam," I told him flatly.

"Of course we can," he shrugged, the scar rippling. Again, I wanted to lick it. "We just shouldn't."

"We can't." I said it louder that time. "Coming back here is awkward enough. It's why I never do it. Can you imagine how much worse it would be if I hopped into bed with you?"

"No," he said emphatically.

I rolled my eyes. "You're not helping."

He threw up his hands. "I'm not trying to. You're a big girl; you don't need my help." He sat back, my dad's old dining room chair creaking. "Even though you want it."

"Of course I do." I arched back again, my neck sore; it always got that way here. My folks hadn't replaced the pillows since the 1990s. I blew out a long breath and scowled at him. "I knew, too. As soon as you offered me the cigar and rye."

"That soon?"

"I'm a decisive woman."

"Took me a little longer." He started stacking his plates. "It was when I told you I cheated on your sis, and you didn't immediately punch me. Or, hell, get up and walk out."

"I know Denise." I slid my dishes across the table; if he was going to clear, I was all about that. "I'd probably cheat on her, too." I watched him as he got to his feet, tugging unobtrusively at his cock; he didn't make a big deal of it, which was fair enough since I wasn't even trying to hide my nips, wide awake despite my bra. The dishes might be off the table now, but the cards were on it. I bit my lip. "Cam?" I called softly as he balanced the plates. He turned. "Thanks for doing the dishes."

He paused, looking back at me with unreadable eyes. "You want to know where I got my scar, Anna?"

"Yes," I said at once.

He smiled, the thing vining up his face. "If you want, I'll tell you. But only in a whisper. In your ear. On a pillow." Then he winked, the snide little fucker, and balanced the plates into the kitchen.

Dry-mouthed, I turned wide eyes on my mom's mantel clock. It wasn't even half past noon. Mom and Dad planned on coming back from church with take-out from Ming Liu's, and Denise? When she got together with her little bitch Abby, she entered a conversational timewarp where minutes became hours. The plates clattered quietly into the sink, the sound muffled from the next room, and I didn't really even make the decision. My soaked thong did.

I didn't need to wait terribly long. I heard the kitchen sink go off, then Cam's heavy steps puttering around: dining room, then a pause, a quick trip to the living room, and then I was calming the butterflies fluttering through my stomach as the steps grew closer.

The fuck was I doing? I stirred on Denise's narrow bed, glancing at myself in her old dresser mirror, and when I saw how wide my eyes were I knew I wasn't in control anymore. And that, whenever Aaron got around to asking me how my trip went, I'd have to clam up and try not to turn red. I sighed and settled back onto a pillow that smelled like my sister's hair; his feet were too loud now, my pussy too wet. No going back.

He leaned against the doorway, showing no surprise at finding me there. His hand stroked at his chin, staring at me in that hard-eyed way he had. "Huh. Guess you really are curious about my scar."

"So curious." I hoped I sounded suitably bored. I'd thought about dropping my pajama pants, but I was wearing a black lace thong. The stain would be painfully obvious. But at least I'd had the presence to squeeze my bra out through my shirt sleeves. I waited there, patient now, knowing I'd relax soon; I always did, just before a man came to me. "What can I say? I like to find things out; you know that."

"Fair enough." His eyes still gave away nothing at all, a salesman's poker face, until after a few seconds he nodded. "I mean, we're going to be family. Secrets are overrated." He stepped into the room, shut the door, and crossed to the bed, looking down at me with sparkling dark eyes. "In your ear? That was the deal?"

"Yes." I caught a lugubrious purring note in my voice. "On a pillow," I added, glancing at the empty one beside Denise's.

He licked his lips, his scar writhing. "I'm in a bind. These are premium jeans. I don't want to wrinkle them."

"I saw you in your boxers last night," I pointed out coolly, the calm finally starting to steal over me. I shrugged, my nipples sensitive against my shirt. "No biggie."

"Makes sense." His belt was already whipping apart, the jeans sliding down his hairy legs with no hesitation. The gap in his boxers yawned open, unbuttoned, showing me a spray of curly chestnut hair above a hardening bulge, extended pleasantly to his right. We weren't hiding anything anymore. He slipped onto the bed knee-first, and I rolled over to point my ass at him. "Just a sec," he rumbled, his voice husky now as I felt him settle behind me.

He chuckled in my ear when he heard my breath catch at the feel of his dick, thick and hard between the cheeks of my ass through the thin fabric of my bottoms. His breath smelled like the lunch I'd given him. "You still think we can't fuck, Anna?"

"I still think we shouldn't fuck, Cam," I whispered, but I only halfway meant it, and I didn't bother stopping my hips from twisting, my butt driving firmly against his body. I sighed, happy, relaxing at last as I melted against him. Goddamn, but I loved the feel of a good, solid man with his body against mine. "Remember, I'm just trying to find out about that scar." I gasped a bit, his lips finding my neck. His stubble tugged at my skin. "Getting to know you," I cooed.

I felt his chuckle pass through his whole body, my eyes drifting closed for a moment when he laid a confident hand high on my upper hip. His fingers rested along my waist, fanned toward my belly button as if they belonged there. "Thank you for lunch, Anna," he breathed. "I know how hard you worked on it."

"You're funny." I rolled my head sideways, Cam moving his face automatically to avoid my hair in his mouth. I was left half-twisted, looking sideways at his eye with his breath steady in my ear. My whole body shivered. I reached down, my fingers playful in his, and I steered his hand from my hip up along my ribs, up, resting it hot and eager on my tit. His fingers went right to work, rubbing soft circles around my nipple. "Now," I murmured, pressing even further back against him, "you were saying." I rolled my head back, facing away from him so that he couldn't see my flushing skin betray my need.

Not that my nips weren't already doing just fine at that. But still.

"I told Denise about my scar," he began, all husky, "but I didn't tell her the whole thing."

"Mmhmm." We were undulating, just slightly, gentle rippling movements of both our bodies. The rhythm was immediate. "But you'll give me the full story." It wasn't a request. And so I listened, our connection growing, the two of us warm and secure in a sort of raw animal comfort as, my mouth falling open, I heard the whole tale.

It took about ten minutes. Ten excruciating, grimacing, exhilarating minutes. Ten minutes of me catching my breath and him murmuring, always low and intense and always, always, with his dick moving slowly and hotly along the crack of my ass. Halfway through the story I reached up once more, his hand in mine, and pushed it matter-of-factly up inside my shirt, so that he could grope me like I needed to be groped. "Shit," I whispered, awed. "And you were fifteen miles from the nearest town?"

"I'm telling you," he nodded, his smell all around me, his fingertip exploring the corrugations around my areola, "if the temperature had been any higher, I'd have bled out. That's what the gendarmes told me, anyway."

The story went on, through highs and lows, through cringes and through gasps, through the insistent humidity between our bodies and the dust drifting among the old cheerleading medals and trophies twined around Denise's old room. When he told me how they sterilized the Leatherman tool by throwing it into a pot of boiling soup, I laughed. "It wasn't fucking funny," he grated, his fingers tightening on my nipple, and when the pain started to mount and my pussy started to flutter he released me and went on. I shut my mouth and listened.

"Jesus." He finished at last, and I twisted back around with sweat staining my shirt. "Quite a fucking story. Which part did you leave out when you told it to Denise?"

"Turn around and I might tell you," he challenged, his voice lazily controlled, and I chuckled low in my throat as I obeyed. His body was thick and heavy, a wall to lean against, and I was happy to feel his hand slip calmly inside my jammie bottoms. He squeezed my ass, naked but for the thong, but I declined to return the favor. I liked his butt just fine, but I sensed I had plenty of time with it. I lifted my leg high atop his hip, my foot on his thigh, his hard-on pressing insistently against my groin, my fingers slipping beneath his shirt to feel his hairy chest.

This felt so right.

"Well?" And, suddenly and swiftly daring, I craned my neck forward and darted my tongue between Cam's lips, tasting him, letting him taste me. We broke apart, slow and lazy like drifting swimmers. "What do I know that she doesn't?"

He smirked, another twist of lips now slick with my spit. "The part about going to the bank and exchanging the yen."

"Oh. Yeah." I chuckled. "For the hooker."

"It was a massage." His hand burrowed into my crack, one finger poking briefly into my shithole, and I squirmed in his arms with my mouth gasping against his. "Were you not listening?"

"I was listening," I breathed, my pussy on fire.

"Not very well."

"Jesus Christ." I closed my eyes, feeling him feel me, already imagining I was a part of him. We fit perfectly. I wanted to fit more. I pondered, the possibilities Rolodexing through my mind: cause and effect. Consequences. A secret future, hushed and guilty, with a snaggle-toothed marriage at the end of it. Thoughts reeled through my brain, chains of possibility and probability and certainty, some good but many bad, and the decision came to me on a silver platter.

Took about three seconds.

"Cam," I whispered, my mound an endless shimmying circle against his hard dick, "do you want to see where you fucked up?"

His hand, sampling my other buttcheek now, sending soft thrills all along my spine, never stopped. "I didn't fuck anything up." He said it flatly, confident, a man getting to the end of his ability to flirt anymore. This guy was good, but everyone gets sick of foreplay eventually.

"Yes, you did." I could barely get the words out through a husked throat, my own fingers trailing back along his hip over the boxers. "I told you. You guessed wrong." He said nothing, so I prompted. "About how I groom." I whispered it in a drawn-out breath, my hand punctuating as it dived into his waistband between our slithering bodies. I felt it all: sweat and skin and thick, springy pubic hair, and then the hot moist column of his erection between my searching fingers. He didn't gasp, nor sigh, nor thrust: he was a young man of experience. He'd known I'd grope his penis. It was no surprise to him.

"Oh," he nodded, frowning slightly, "that."

"That," I nodded, my breath coming faster all the time now. The room seemed endlessly stuffy; I've seldom felt more like getting naked. "I could tell you what you got wrong, or I can show you."

"You should show me," he said at once, his dark eyes boring into mine, I was already nodding as I pushed him onto his back on Denise's crowded bed, then with lust in my brain and fire between my legs I went up on my knees over his supine body and whisked my bottoms and thong straight down my thighs. I felt the crotch stick to my drenched slit. "Fuck," he said, once, low and biting as I loomed above him. In that moment there was nothing at all I wanted to do more than display myself for my sister's man.