Page 67 of Until Next Summer

It’s more electrifying than anything I’ve ever felt, but it’s still not enough.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask. I have a few of the latex-free ones up in my room, but that feels miles away. Plus, I’m pretty sure my legs have turned to jelly.

He stands, his hair wild and his expression dazed. “A condom? Here in the boat shack?”

“You didn’t stash them everywhere around camp in case we might need one?”

“I should have, obviously,” he says, adjusting himself. “I’ve got plenty up in my room—wait here, and I’ll—”

“No!” I shout, startling him. “I’m not staying in here alone. It’s creepy.”

“Then come with me,” he says. “We’ll be fast.”

I hop off the bench and quickly get dressed, stuffing my underwear in the pocket of my shorts. It’ll just slow us down later.

I take Cooper’s hand and we stumble out into the darkness, both of us breathless and rushing, desperate to finish what we’ve started.

When we reach the Lodge, I wait outside while Cooper runs in to get what we need—I told him to grab the ones in the top drawer of my dresser. I bounce anxiously on my toes until he returns, the pockets of his shorts bulging. We duck into the trees a few yards away, and he pulls me into his arms and kisses me. I’m clawing at his shirt, lifting it over his head while he pushes my back against a tree and runs his hand up my shirt, unclasping my bra for the second time tonight.

I’m reaching down to undo his shorts when a sound stops me—a group of campers tromping through the woods toward us, singing “Linger” in a three-part harmony I’d admire under any other circumstance.

Alarmed, I look at Cooper.

“Kitchen,” he says, grabbing my hand.

And we’re off, running down the dark path toward the dining hall, his shorts undone, my bra unclasped inside my tie-dyed Camp Chickawah T-shirt. We burst through the doors—the kitchen is empty and dark, the only light the glowing numbers on the twin industrial ovens. I’m not surewhere we’re going to do this, but Cooper leads me to the large, movable island with the stainless-steel top and locks the wheels.

“Condom,” I exhale.

He pulls half a dozen packages out of his pockets and tosses them on the surface. “I’ve got one of every kind we bought,” he says, looking proud of himself.

“Latex-free?” I say, hopeful.

He flips through the foil packets. “Bingo.”

“Hurry,” I beg, slipping my shirt over my head. I let my bra fall to the floor as I slip out of my shorts.

“Hop up here,” he says, patting the counter, then tugging off his shirt. The stainless steel cools my burning skin, and I watch hungrily as Cooper (finally!) takes off his shorts, removes his boxers, and slides the condom on. He’s not as buff as in the photo spread, but I like this even better, broad shoulders and solid chest but soft in all the right places. And hard in the right ones, too. He steps between my open legs and kisses me like we’ve got all the time in the world.

And maybe we do, but I want him now. I slide forward, desperate to feel his length inside me. The counter is the perfect height, and it feels like it was made for this, made for us. I rest my hand on Cooper’s shoulder for balance and wrap one leg around his waist, then the other.

He reaches a hand down, guiding his shaft to where I’m wet and ready. He teases me with the tip, slipping it in and out, going a little deeper each time. I rock my hips toward him, making a noise that’s somewhere between a growl and a moan. Cooper laughs, but I don’t care. I’m more comfortable in this moment than I’ve ever been the first time with someone new. Because it’s him. It’s…

“Wait!”

Cooper startles, pulling back. The movement is so quick, I lose my balance and slip off the counter, thankfully landing on my feet.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

“No,” I say, embarrassed by my outburst. “It’s just…I don’t know your first name.”

“Oh. Well, it’s Ben.”

“Ben,” I say, testing out the feel of his name. “Or Benjamin?”

“Cooper,” he says, stepping back toward me. “Now, you good?”

I nod, and he presses me against the counter, lifting my leg and hooking it around his waist. The time for teasing is over, and he pushes inside, stretching and filling me in the best possible way. He rolls his hips, slowly at first, groaning about how good I feel. I arch toward him, urging him on, matching him thrust for thrust.

---