Catching Fire

Author's Foreword: This series has themes of romance, sex, friendship, humor, safe and consensual BDSM, and above all, intimacy and the concept of memory. Any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental. I want you, reader, to come away with more empathy, appreciation, and joy for yourself and others than you began. As I did when writing this.

Note: People are complicated. Thank goodness. Whether the next installment continues from where this one leaves off or doesn't (you may have noticed I like to play with linear chronology), I'm sure we'll see more from this particular extended scene.

As always, your helpful feedback, follows, comments, favorites, and ratings are greatly appreciated. Also, I've been amazed at the positive reception and ratings for this rather long story so far! Thank you, readers!

***

***Mid-Summer***

Pages flipped quickly under Erin's small, dextrous hands as she turned sheet after sheet, eyes skimming quickly over words, leaping from corner to corner, mouth twitching and eyes widening now and then as her expressions changed with each paragraph and page. Here and there, she burst into laughter without noticing or breaking concentration.

Strange, I thought, getting turned on by how quickly and intently she reads.

A creaking fan droned back and forth in the corner. Hardly anyone had air conditioning, either back home or at that time in the '00s. By Mid-Summer, it was a heat wave in many respects.

She was sitting on a loveseat, head against one corner of the chair, bare legs and feet propped on the opposite arm. She had her curly blonde hair - frizzy thanks to the weather that day - held back with a pale blue handkerchief to match her short skirt. Her shirt clung sweatily to her small, pert breasts, and I could see hints of her neatly shaved self when she occasionally shifted one leg over the other. She owned fantastic underwear that normally I'd love to admire and take off with my teeth, but she wasn't wearing any. By that point in the summer we'd taken to giving each other little assignments, little conditions, little demands each day. It excited both of us, and made the bigger demands feel more natural and less jarring or out of place. It made us want them more, and made our engines thrum with anticipation and in time with each other between one day and the next. That afternoon, when she had showed up at my house unannounced, I made her take her bra and panties off in the entryway and put them in my hand. If she was good, she'd get them back before going home. If not, she'd have to earn them.

She'd brought a large, black, three-ring binder with her; the kind that got used for a school project or an official report. I resolved to get her something nicer. It was full of punched paper, neatly organized (of course) by yellow divider pages with labeled tabs. At one point she paused to proudly show me the poem I'd signed, preserved in a clear plastic sheet divider. Like she was showing off a hunting trophy. Then, she stopped and went backwards through the pages, reading slower, a grin creeping across her face.

"That's the one," she said triumphantly, "Found it. I keep changing how I organize these, so it takes forever sometimes." She got up, came over to where I was leaning in the doorway watching her, and turned it around for me to see. It was a struggle to focus on anything but her - she was nothing short of magnetic to my attention right then. The skirt, the legs, the face, the hair, the eyes, the colors and smells and textures; the fact that she seemed to feel the same way about me; the powerful and unspoken words from our young bodies and minds: this one.

"Remember it?" she asked. I read the title and lifted the binder from her hands.

"I'm not sure..."

"Oh bullshit, Luke," she said, using the distraction of the binder to reach forward and grope me through my shorts, "Yeah you do."

"Okay, maybe I - Jesus!" I admitted with a sudden squawk, "Warn a guy."

"Request denied. Remember the story yet?"

"I recognize it and I know the main parts, but I forget some of the details. It's been a while since I wrote it. Woah, hey! Easy, lady. You like those, remember?"

"Love 'em, actually. Storytime!" Erin exclaimed. She steered me into the loveseat by means unbecoming of a lady before letting go of my nuts and settling herself in my lap. As we flipped through the story together, she occasionally petted me and gave the faintest murmurs of approval when I stroked her soft skin beneath the light clothes she wore. She ground into my lap and nipped at my ear as she felt me get hard against her, swore wonderfully when she dragged one of my hands to herself.

Her various scents - lilac perfume, sun-soaked skin, the verdancy of tomato plants in her mother's garden, clean sweat, eager sex, gentle soap and moisturizer, and the lilting, unique, pheromonal melody that her body played for me from between her legs - all grabbed me by my most human instincts and made me want to do nothing but breathe her in as deeply as I could.

When I tried to do just that, her hair momentarily tangled in my new short beard, and she laughed at me as I tossed my head to get free. I had grown my facial hair out thanks to her request some weeks before. While she'd reassured me that my face was handsome and my occasional scruff was sexy, she was also of the opinion that I would look even better with a short, neatly trimmed beard. I was surprised when it came in as quickly and fully as it did, and it was especially strange to look in the mirror and see a bit more of my father looking back than before.

After I grew it out, Erin would stroke my face as we lay in each other's arms, laugh when it tickled her, and smile when she could smell herself on it afterwards. Pleased, she'd bought me a special oil to make it less coarse.

Across years and lovers, I've worn essentially the same beard since then. Thanks entirely to Erin. A thing I hadn't realized until I wrote this.

"What do you think?" Erin asked when we'd finished reading the story together, "Could we do all that?"

"Some of it," I said, feeling my stomach roil nervously, "Realistically, we'll have to pick and choose. But why this one in particular? It's kind of heavy compared to the other ones, you know? Definitely a lot rougher on you. I wasn't... really... *sure* about it when I wrote it." She set the binder aside and turned deftly around to straddle me, running her hands along my arms, shoulders, and chest.

"It grabbed me when I read it," she said, eyes flicking to mine and away again, "I want to know what it actually feels like, but only from you. I want to be able to imagine myself in it that much better. And I want *you* to think it's *me* in your stories. All of them."

"I... uh... wow," I said, forgetting what I'd planned on saying.

"Damn right," she said, leaning in to me, "And I want you to surprise me with that big, throbbing, rock-hard, swollen... nerd-ass brain of yours."

She tried not to, but once she snorted at her own joke it was all over for her. She dissolved completely into endless giggles while trying to kiss me.

"Ah yes," I sighed, rolling my eyes and fending off her advances, "Every writer's fantasy. A swollen brain. Get off me, wench."

"Sorry, sorry," she said, trying not to laugh, "Come on, I'm sorry. And I actually was serious about the stories. And this one particularly."

"Sure you were."

"Oh, don't be like that, you grump. I want us to be able to imagine each other in these stories of yours! Summer's not getting longer. Come on, you know you wanna."

"Well... okay, but like you saw, it's a bit rougher. I'm not sure how I'd feel about that, either. Like, in the real world. With you. It would definitely be an experiment for us both. Is that really okay with you? I mean, yeah, I've way more experienced now than when I wrote that, but..." I trailed off as I looked at her. She smoothed my hair back along my head and stroked my beard, searching my eyes.

"Luke," she said sincerely, "I can't imagine anyone else I'd trust as much to do anything even remotely like this with. To make it fun. To make it incredible. To keep me safe." I had no words for that, so I kissed her instead. Long and steadily. Then warmly. Then urgently. We fell back as best we could on the loveseat, me beneath her.

"Hey," she murmured, "Don't change the subject, Mister. So what do you say, hm? Please? It would mean a lot to me. Really..."

I felt one of her hands slide behind the waistband of my shorts as she lifted her skirt with the other. I helped and tossed my clothes away, but urged her to keep the skirt on. She leaned close and traced an artery in my neck briefly with her tongue.

"Come on, Luke," she whispered in my ear as she began to lower her hips and ass, "I can be good, or I can be bad. Your choice. But I *know* you love both."

"Are you being good now," I asked as I began to slide past her eager, moist lips and into her purest heat, "Or are you being... fuck, Kitten.. nngh... bad?"

Exuberantly, she pushed down with a slow groan until she gave a delicate cry, then a little further. Her compact, taut body seemed made for my hands as I pulled her to me, thrust the rest of the way up to her, dragging out a high-pitched acquiescence before she began to ride me easily.

What a difference a few weeks could make; from failed attempts and endearing workarounds to a glove-like fit every time. She panted hard for a few moments and reached up to roughly grope her breasts and pebble-hard nipples through her shirt before yanking it over her head and flinging it away.

"Yes," she gasped, teeth seeming sharper as she grinned around her words, "I am."

***

About a week later, I followed the printed map directions up the gravel road, trying my best to go slowly and avoid the impressive potholes, large boulders, and washouts without taking too long. The spot was well outside of town and far from neighboring properties, up in the mountains, and as I came around the last bend in the road I felt my breath catch at the majesty of the view. Whoever had built the cabin at this spot certainly knew what they were doing. The old codger who rented it out in the summer off-season was way ahead of his time with personal vacation reservations, with the caveats that you could only pay him in cash, had to call him on the phone to reserve it, and had to yell pretty damn loud to be heard over whatever he had on his TV in the background.

Of course, calling it a 'cabin' was a bit of a misnomer. It was a ski chalet, and a well-appointed one at that - more slope bunny than powder dirtbag, as my friends would put it. It had a sharply pitched roof for snow, a wide deck that wrapped around most of the house, and a living room view that looked out over the dropping-away valley through gigantic windows. A hot tub on the deck completed the opulent scene. That high up, it was much cooler than in town, and sundown wasn't far off. I wished Erin could see it.

I parked the car in the driveway and brought the overnight bags and paper sacks of groceries out from the back seat and into the house, quickly putting away the refrigerated stuff before it could spoil and leaving the rest on the counter for later. I briefly familiarized myself with the layout (and the bathrooms). It was a fairly open floor plan that focused on the view, with lots of large, floor-to-ceiling windows that took up one entire two-story wall. No other cabins or much of anything could be seen, instead showing a long expanse of trees and rugged topography with a road far below. A small telescope on a tripod stood in one corner, as well as simple couches and the like.

I ran back and opened the car's trunk, which was nearly empty except for my large duffel bag. With a deep breath to brace myself, I heaved it out and onto one shoulder before locking up and going inside. While the place had a few bedrooms that I could pick from, I opted to rest on a living room couch for the moment, setting the duffel gently down on the floor at my feet. I took in the view as my breathing settled. I was giddy and excited, but also keenly aware of a sense of responsibility. And trepidation.

I unzipped the duffel. Erin lay inside, struggling ineffectually. Her wrists were behind her back in handcuffs, another pair connecting her ankles together. A handkerchief in her mouth was held in place by another strip of cloth. Sweat dripped from her contorted body. She frantically shook her head, making muffled sounds of fear around the gag, shrinking away from me. Trying to get away, or to plead.

Perfect little actress. Only her flickering smile and her flushed chest and neck gave her away. That, and the dark patch across her old running shorts, the restricted flexing of her hips, the frustration in her eyes.

Pleasure over her prey-state and deep revulsion at myself for my immediate, predatory desire fought tooth and nail as I became instantly hard. I asked myself again why I was like this. Why was this part of me a braided rope of thorned and soft feelings? How could the man that got butterflies when she smiled at him a certain way, that wanted to be the shoulder she leaned on, be the same person that wanted to...

Focus, I reminded myself. We'd both worked hard to make the fantasy come to life. I reached in and pulled her out by her arms, trying to seem callous while being careful.

"Doing okay?" I whispered, worried about the ride in the trunk, the potential shock of inhabiting my old story and her own dream, not to mention the heat. She nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," I said in open relief, "Pause. I've got something to show you." Untying her gag took a moment before I turned her around, smiling when I heard her gasp at the view. Since she couldn't walk, I picked her up and took her next to the windows so she could see it all stretch away.

"There's a telescope," I said excitedly, "Planets and stars later, for sure."

"I knew I liked you," she said, twisting awkwardly around to briefly kiss me, "This place is perfect! Makes up for the joy ride earlier. Not that it was bad. I got pretty excited, actually. A lonely jogger on an abandoned road with a rolled ankle, just so happy to see someone stop to help her? Hmmm? Yeah, that was fun. Plus we were only a few miles from this place. My only complaint is that you didn't cuff my hands in front of me, so I couldn't pass the time how I wanted."

"Yeah, that's not sweat on your shorts, is it?" I teased. As we talked, I adjusted her handcuffs to be in front again - behind was hard on her shoulders after too long.

"And?" she loudly challenged, some fire in her eyes - not anger, but simple heat. I wanted to see that fire more than anything.

"Oh, that's riiiight," I said, pretending to remember, "You haven't cum since we read together, have you?"

"Fuck. You. Your. Fault," she growled, "I couldn't even ride a bike the last few days or I would've made a scene."

"Oh, I know," I said, stepping close and running my hands over her freckled shoulders, "I absolutely know. And I am *so* proud of you for listening so well to such a hard demand. Very, very proud. You know exactly how to please me."

I changed where I was stroking her. She glared up at me as her body responded to me of its own volition, blood rushing blotchily up her chest to her neck, mouth parting slightly, eyes changing, chin tilting back.

"Horrible man," she spat.

"Mmmhm," I agreed, pulling away from her whimpering need, "With a lovely Pet. Ready to get back on script?"

"Quiet on the set. Action," she chuckled. There was a loud clap as I pulled her closer to me and grabbed her ass appreciatively. She grunted and smiled, her hands trapped between our bodies.

"Hey," she said suddenly, "one little request?" My own words used against me. She was horribly good at that sometimes.

"Of course."

"Kiss me?"

"God, yes."

After we parted, which took a few tries, I raised the gag in my hand to her mouth and gently tied it around her again, then kissed her once more on the forehead. Expression unchanged, I looked into her eyes so I could watch the sharp gasp and shudder that went through her as I firmly massaged her pussy again for a brief moment before pulling back sharply. Erin's eyes burned at me, like she wanted to bite me. Hard. Or get bitten.

Perfect.

"Silence in three... two... one..." I said, walking slowly behind her.

"My lucky day," I growled, placing one hand firmly and suddenly on the back of her neck, the other along her jaw to turn her head left and right, letting her gaze take in the whole valley.

"Look at that. Nobody to hear you scream. You really shouldn't have said you were house-sitting for your friends by yourself. And what were you thinking, getting in a stranger's car? Keep all that in mind when you start asking yourself 'why me?' later, little bitch. You brought this on yourself." I spun her around to grip her wrists tightly, getting her to squirm, probably giving her a bruise.

Ease up, I admonished myself, feeling alarmed. But I wasn't sure if I was listening or not. I felt like a passenger trying to grab the wheel. And the tires had started to skid.

"Here's the deal, Sweetie," I explained with a racing heart, "As long as you do exactly what I want, you get to leave after I have one perfect little weekend with you, my little fuck-toy. Well, maybe more than one weekend." When she tried to pull away, I yanked her back to me and growled without planning to. Her breath caught in her chest.

"No you fucking don't," I snapped... but my heart hadn't stopped racing. In fact, it was getting worse.

"Or else I..." I tried to say the line, but it stuck in my throat. Things were going gray. This didn't feel right. I looked Erin in the face.

Those bright, piercing, intelligent, laughing, engulfing, incredible hazel eyes... were horribly, truly afraid of me.

Oh God. *No.*

"Smoke," I said faintly. She blinked in surprise, seeming to come around to where we were. Who I was.

"No, not Smoke," I said with a growing, sickening realization, "Fire. Fire!"

***

I quickly undid her gag and both sets of cuffs, then stumbled to a couch and sat down weakly, shaking like a leaf.

"Luke!" Erin said, alarmed, coming over to me, "What's wrong? You're so pale!"

"I'm sorry," I gasped, "I can't. I can't." I also couldn't look at her. My body shivered. Why wouldn't my hands stop?

"Can't what? Are you hurt? You need to tell me!"

"I can't *be* that way," I exclaimed, "I knew, but I didn't *know*! Now I do. I can't even pretend it. Not to anyone. Especially not you. I can't!" Erin said nothing, instead slowly lowering herself beside me as I tried to catch my breath.

"Sorry," I whispered, wiping my streaked face as I turned away, "Sorry I totally ruined it all. Goddammit. I'm sorry."

"No, you didn't," she said quietly, her fingers threading into mine, tugging me to her, "You didn't." Her hands were so small. I managed to only sob a few more times as she petted my shoulder and neck.

"How do you figure?" I eventually asked bleakly.

"Because... maybe I was getting pretty scared, too?"

"I know. That's why this happened. I *saw* it. The way you were looking at me. It was so... wrong. You've never looked at me like that. I never want to see that again."

"It's one thing knowing that you're stronger than me," she continued, "It's another to be reminded of how *much* stronger. And what that could mean. Thing is... I like you, Luke, the person I've gotten to know. You're so much more than the guy who I thought was in my three-ring binder. You're gentle and sweet and sincere. And that wasn't really you for a moment, there. I wasn't sure either of us were there, for a minute. So it's maybe good that this happened before anything... happened."

"I guess you're right. But now I'm scared of me, too. I'm not sure how to square myself with the story I wrote," I said, staring into the middle distance, "And that you liked so much."