FLAME (Spark Series) Read online

  Alright, so clearly I haven’t gotten better with age. If anything, I’ve gotten worse. The addiction to sex, or perhaps it’s the addiction to feel—is in full force. My body is always desiring and itching to get my next lay. The sex is amazing, no doubt there, but it’s the feeling that overcomes me as I’m…in action.

  The feeling of feeling—desire, heat, electricity, lust. The only feelings I was capable of having while growing up were—hate, anger, rage. Those feelings ate me up inside. I felt dead. Cold. I wanted to feel something else. I needed to feel something else.

  And that was when I discovered my first orgasm.

  I was 18 when I first had sex. I was in my last quarter of high school, graduation was just weeks away. I could practically taste the freedom, it was so close.

  I had plans with Velaney to leave as soon as possible. Pack our bags and get the fuck away. I would follow her to college and get a job. Whatever it took to get out of my parents’ house.

  I had a crush on my teacher—my history teacher to be exact. He was 28 years old with a baby face, baby blue eyes, and a toned figure. He was the first guy I was ever really attracted to—the first guy I ever felt something for. It was an odd feeling to have. Most of the guys I made out with in class were hot, but I never felt anything. Even Damon, my first boyfriend back in freshman year didn’t give me the same feelings. We never had sex. He wanted to show me off instead as if I was some sort of prize—some trophy he had won. He wanted to control every aspect of our relationship and, because I was young and naïve, I let him. Until one day he dumped me in front of the whole school—humiliated and hurt. It had been a couple years since then, but it didn’t hurt any less.

  I had failed a history test one day, and Mr. Brox asked me to stay after class. Although I was a confident person at school, never showing my heart on my sleeve, he seemed to see right through me.

  “Carissa? I need to see you after class, please. We need to discuss your test.” He bent over from behind me and whispered in my ear. I felt his breath over my face, making my body instantly respond by shivering.

  I simply nodded, not looking back at him. He stood and continued walking to the front of the classroom. I couldn’t think clearly the rest of the day. Velaney had asked me over and over if I was alright. I just told her I was PMSing and she dropped it.

  As soon as the last bell rang, I ran to my locker to shove everything away.

  Thinking about being in Mr. Brox’s classroom all alone made me nervous—an intense, all-over body penetrating nervous sensation.

  “Mr. Brox?” I knocked on his door, slowly opening it as I peeked in. “Hello?”

  “Come in, Carissa.” His voice was deep, demanding. It wasn’t the easygoing voice that lectured in class.

  I swallowed and inhaled as I opened the door the rest of the way, allowing myself in. The room was eerily quiet. Usually, it was loud, filled with students gossiping, but now, the silence was much wanted and desired.

  “Shut the door behind you,” he commanded before I even took a step. I obliged and shut it. I slowly walked to his desk where he was sitting. His face was down, looking at some papers as I approached him.

  I swallowed again, hard this time, hoping to get my body in check. It was flushed with desire and nerves.

  “Carissa,” his tongue rolled my name so seductively. “We need to talk about this test.” He raised it up in his hands like an infected bat. “You can do better than this. What’s going on?” he asked, looking at me intently. “Is something wrong at home?”

  It was as if he could read my mind. Or perhaps I was just more transparent than I thought. I shook my head relentlessly. I didn’t want him to know my home life situation. No one but Velaney knew, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Then what is it? I know you know this material. Your assignment grades are exceptional.”

  The truth was my parents fought all fucking week. Their screams echoed throughout the entire house, making it impossible to study or concentrate. It was so bad that my head began to hurt, so I plugged my headphones in and drowned them out until I fell asleep. And by then, I hadn’t studied at all.

  But I wasn’t going to confess that to him.

  “I don’t know. Test anxiety, I guess.” I shrugged nonchalantly. I tried to contain my composure so he wouldn’t see right through my lie.

  He stood up and got out of his chair. He rounded his desk and stepped in front of me. I inhaled his scent—a mixture of cinnamon and spice. Old Spice.

  He rubbed a hand up my arm, leaving goose bumps in his absence. My eyes reluctantly closed as I welcomed his touch. It felt incredible to be touched by him. To be touched by someone like him.

  “Carissa,” he half-whispered. My eyes slowly opened to his face in sync with mine. “I’m going to kiss you now.” His eyes were tense, serious.

  I nodded, locking my eyes with his as he leaned in and brushed his lips with mine. It was as if a fire ignited inside me. Suddenly, my body heated, eager for more, demanding him. The feelings—the electricity between us—fed the energy of what we did next.

  He scooped me up and placed me on top of his desk. His kiss deepened, becoming more and more eager. His hands roamed up and down my body, cupping my breast and neck. My legs wrapped around his waist and I pulled him closer into me. I felt the bulge in his pants and was immediately receptive to it. I wrapped a hand around him from the outside of his jeans, feeling it get harder as I stroked him.

  “Carissa,” he breathed out, leaning his forehead against mine. I paused, begging him with my eyes not to stop. He walked to the door and locked it before coming back to stand between my legs. “You are gorgeous,” he muttered. He wrapped a loose hair around my ear, which drove me to wanting him more.

  “Please have me,” I begged. I didn’t care about the small talk or being romantic, I just wanted him inside me. It was a need I couldn’t explain at the time, but it changed me. Knowing what it gave me, how I felt each time—was what changed me from a scared little girl to a dominating, needy little sex addict.

  Mr. Brox and I fucked on his desk that day. It was the most mind-blowing, earth shattering experience of my life. Well, technically, the only experience of my life. But luckily, I got to have him for the rest of the semester—only a few weeks, but it was enough to feed what I desired.

  Sex.

  Since then, it’s all I want. The adrenaline rush, the desperation, the feeling of someone inside me/wanting me—is what feeds my lifestyle. But don’t get me wrong—I don’t make any excuses for my choices.

  Losing my virginity to my teacher changed me. I grew confidence and an I don’t give a shit attitude.

  And ever since then, I’ve had my way with men—anything to have that feeling. In the three years since I lost my virginity, countless men have kept me company, giving me exactly what I need and leaving on cue.

  * * *

  I roll to my side, avoiding the bright sun that is glaring through my window. I don’t even remember coming home last night. Velaney and I worked at the bar, but my shift was over by nine. She had to stay until closing, so I remember staying and drinking while she finished out her shift.

  But what the hell happened after that?

  My body rolls into something hard. I flutter my eyes open, and I realize there’s a guy lying next to me. Great.

  I swing my legs off the side of the bed and rub my eyes open. The bed dips behind me as two large arms grab me from the back.

  “Lay with me,” he whispers. My eyes shoot open in surprise.

  “I think we did enough laying,” I mutter back, pushing against his grasp. I push off the bed without even a glance behind me. I need out of here now.

  I grab a t-shirt and panties on my way out and meet Laney in the kitchen. She’s sitting at the breakfast bar with a bowl of cereal and a full pot of coffee.

  “You look like shit.”

  I swallow before responding. “Thanks.” I reach for a mug and pour coffee into it. I taste it without even cooling
it down.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, noticing my odd demeanor. This is the first morning I’ve ever woken up to someone in my bed who I don’t remember getting into bed with.

  “Um, someone’s in my bed,” I mutter. I sit down next to her as I try to remember last night’s events.

  “And?” she asks, chuckling.

  “And I don’t know how he got there,” I fire back.

  “You don’t know?” she turns and asks me.

  “No. I’m drawing a blank. Who is he?”

  She smiles as she rolls her eyes at me. “I believe his name is Shane. Or Sean, maybe. Something with an S.”

  “Okay, well that helps,” I snort. “Did I meet him at the bar last night?”

  “Yeah, you two were taking back shots all night. You don’t remember anything?”

  “Not after my shift ended. I remember punching out, I think.” I stare at the wall across from us, trying to get any image of last night’s festivities.

  “Yikes. I hope he didn’t drug you.”

  “I think I had way too many shots.” I slam my head against the counter, dreading what’s to come.

  “Here,” Laney says as she hands me a cup of orange juice and a pill. “For the hangover.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll go take care of mystery man. Go use my shower,” she orders.

  “You’re the best.” I grin. Velaney’s had to shoo out some of my conquests in the past, but this time it’s going to be much more awkward.

  I feel much better after my shower. I scrub the smell of liquor and sex off myself. Apparently, chugging back shots was a bad idea.

  I tiptoe back into the kitchen, peeking around to make sure he’s gone. I hear Velaney making noise in the kitchen, so I make my way toward her.

  “Coast is clear,” she announces before she even sees me.

  “Oh, thank god.”

  “His name is Sam, by the way.”

  “Good to know.”

  “He told me to relay a message to you—call him,” she muses. “I told him don’t count on it. I think he cried.” She laughs.

  “What is it with guys and wanting to make sex emotional?”

  “Gee, tin man, some guys like relationships,” she fires back. “Well, at least I’ve heard. None that I’ve met, apparently,” she snorts again. I can tell her mind is going back to Jake. Even after a year, she hasn’t been with anyone else or even attempted to date. She has guarded herself from feeling that kind of pain again, which is exactly why I don’t get attached.

  “Who needs men when I have you?” I smirk. “Plus, I’m too young to settle down. I’m in my prime years, ya know?”

  “Sure.” She chuckles.

  I watch as Laney cleans up the kitchen. I’d offer to help, but my head is still spinning. This is me vowing to never drink that much again.

  It’s Sunday, so per our usual Sunday night routine, we cuddle up and watch movies. I let her pick out the movie, which she then of course picks a chick flick, Dear John.

  We get half way through before Velaney begins crying. Movies always make her emotional, whereas me, I’m practically dead inside—Velaney’s words, not mine.

  I eye her suspiciously as I try to connect the dots as to why she’s in tears.

  “Why are you crying already?”

  “How are you not crying? They’re in love…like heart-breaking, soul-mate finding, hardcore love!” she gushes, all seriousness in her face.

  I make a disgusted face. “Ew.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being in love, Riss,” she scowls at me.

  “You know me better than anyone, Lane. You really believe I want to be in love? Like…ever?” I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “Well…maybe some day, Riss.” She smirks. “You deserve to feel loved.” She smiles sincerely.

  “I told you. I have you.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but no matter how drunk I am, I will never be loving on you.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “What? No girl on girl?”

  “Not even in your dreams.” She wrinkles her nose.

  Velaney is a prude. She doesn’t look like it, but the poor girl hasn’t even gotten to second base. She has walls up even I can’t tear down. She grew up in a very religious household with very awful parents and one older brother. They are the reason why Velaney doesn’t want to get close to anyone, and even if she wanted to, she can’t emotionally. The poor girl has been put through the ringer more times than I can count. We’re perfect as best friends, though. That’s something I’ll never take for granted.

  5

  -22 years old-

  One year earlier

  It’s one thing to watch your life pass you by, but it’s another to not care that it is. I’m living a carefree life. I do what I want, who I want, and when I want. I don’t have mommy and daddy yelling and shouting over me anymore, and best of all, I don’t care about them anymore. Even after all the times I watched them practically kill themselves, or drink themselves into a drunken coma, I still cared for them. They’re my parents, and they were supposed to love me and show me how to love. Too bad the only thing they taught me was hate.

  Velaney and I have a few days off from the bar. It’s a hot, sunny day, and we’re headed to the beach. Carson Beach in Boston is our favorite, so we make it a weekend trip to drive up there and get some sun.

  With her hair up and sunglasses on, Velaney looks fearless. She’s petite with a runner’s body and perfect clear skin. Like I said, flawless.

  “I despise you right now,” I say as I watch her drive.

  She wrinkles her nose and asks, “What did I do?”

  I laugh, as she looks sincerely worried. “You look so pretty. The wind in your hair, your sun-kissed skin, that cute little body of yours…”

  She whips her sunglasses off. “Are you drunk?”

  “No, I’m not drunk! I’m being honest.” I laugh.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Well, then stop hitting on me,” she quips.

  “Can’t a girl tell another girl how pretty they look without being called a lesbian? I mean, if I went that route, you’d be my top pick.” I wink at her just to mess with her.

  She swallows as she keeps her eyes on the road. “Um…good to know, I guess.”

  I laugh as I see her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Stop it. You know I’m kidding.”

  “Well, guys don’t even notice me when you’re around, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop being all hot and stuff,” she spits out with amusement.

  Velaney and I give each other shit as much as we can. It’s our way of letting each other in without really letting our guards down. We are infamous for joking around and not taking things too seriously—it’s just easier this way.

  We chat and sing to the radio until we finally reach the beach. It’s a perfect sunny day with just enough breeze. We both grab our stuff out of the trunk and head down the stairs that leads to the sand. It’s packed, so we walk around a while looking for a spot.

  “There’s room over here.”

  I turn and see a blonde-haired beach hottie laying casually on a towel. He’s leaning back on his elbows, giving me a perfect view of his body. He has vintage sunglasses on his face, so I can’t see his eyes, but as soon as I lower my eyes to his torso and spot his V indented muscles, I forget about ever wondering about his eyes.

  “Hmm…” I cock my head, forming a smile. “I guess there is.”

  Velaney reluctantly follows behind me, laying out her towel and beach bag on the farthest side of beach hottie. I lay in between, sprawling out my towel. I step out of my sandals and stand on the towel as I slowly undo my shorts and let them gracefully fall to my ankles. I step out and toss them behind me. I do the same with my shirt—seductively and as slowly as I can, I pull my shirt over my head, so all I’m left with is my barely-there bikini.

  I turn and see beach hottie staring up at me. I’m aroused just by seeing his shocked, deer in the headlights expression. I
’m used to guys giving me that look. It feeds me. And for some reason, I need that.

  Some may say it’s because I have a low self-esteem or that I’m just a show off, but it isn’t either of those reasons. Being the center of attention means I’m no longer an object to be abused. Not physically, but verbally. It means that I’m special to someone, and that I’m in control. And if I don’t have control, I’ll crumble to the ground like my six-year-old self. And men need to be aware of that right away—I am in control.

  The only way to survive and be in control is to make sure everything happens on my terms—emotionless, unattached and guarded.

  “So, what’s your name?” I ask casually as I watch his eyes roam up my legs.

  “Tanner,” he stammers. He pushes his sunglasses on top of his head. “What’s yours?”

  His eyes finally meet mine as I answer, “I’m Carissa and this is Velaney. It’s nice to meet you.” I reach my hand out with confidence, amused with our formal greeting.

  “Velaney? Wow. Unique name.” He smiles. I look over at Laney and see she’s incredibly uncomfortable.

  She doesn’t respond so I interject, “Don’t mind her. She’s shy.”

  “Hmm…” He grins. “I can work with shy.”

  I almost want to bust out in a laugh as Velaney’s face heats up again. “Oh, and a lesbian,” I interrupt his eye fucking.

  “You’re welcome.” I lean over and whisper in her ear.

  She raises her lip, confused. “For what?”

  “For saving you. Now he won’t grope you.” I wink as I lean back on my elbows.

  “Lesbians?” His eyes widen.

  I grab my shades and place them over my eyes. “Down boy.”

  We lay out for a half hour in silence. Beach hottie and friends go out in the water, tossing around a football. The view here is spectacular—and not just the water—but the actual view of men in low-cut shorts. I cross my legs in anticipation just thinking how many of those guys are wearing swim shorts and only swim shorts.

  “Ready to go out?” I ask Velaney.

  She tosses me a look and shrugs. “Sure. Can you spray me first?” She leans over and hands me a bottle of sunscreen.