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“You’ve got this,” I say. I’m merely reminding her. This is a new Brooklyn, one who believes she can.
“Will you hold my foot until I say?” Her voice wavers, but I still sense her determination.
“Of course.”
I wrap one hand around her right ankle and wait until she decides it’s time to move. I can tell by the way she’s slowly sliding the toe of her shoe along the surface that she hasn’t found a spot yet, and as much as I want her to see it on her own, I also want her to have this success. I nudge her, ever so slightly, hoping she doesn’t realize, and when the hard rubber bottom of her shoe rubs against a sharp ridge, she nestles her foot in close.
“Now what?” She’s panting hard. This is when the climbing makes or breaks you. It’s about decisions and committing. And to an extent, you have to be all right with failure.
“Lean into it. To your right. Your leg is going to work hard, and if you feel uncomfortable, all you have to do is saydoneand I will leap down and catch you. But I don’t think you’re going to need me to, Brooky. You’ve got this.”
She grunts as her body angles to the right, her left hand letting go of the comfortable ledge it had been gripping to join her right hand in the wide crack in front of her face. I remain right behind her, only touching her for support, letting her do this last step on her own. She lifts with her right leg, growling as she moves up the wall, now a good ten to twelve feet from the ground.
“Don’t . . . call me . . . Brooky!” she shouts. Stretching her body into a stand, her back muscles waver with her lungs, her pulse beating so hard I feel it in her veins.
“Yeahhhhh!” I shout. I slap the wall next to her waist and a second later she slaps the wall by her face, her left hand clinging to the crevice to hold her against the surface.
“Oh, my God, Cameron! I can’t believe I did this!”
I step up on the ridge just below her and rest my forehead on her shoulder blade, my mouth wanting so badly to kiss her. A small peck, a token of my praise, my friendship and affection. Instead, I breathe with her, chasing her rhythm.
“I’m so proud of you, Brooky,” I say, causing a raspy laugh to break through her chest.
“Asshole,” she teases.
I smile against her shoulder blade and inhale the lavender scent on her shirt. The tips of her hair tickle my nose as her ponytail hangs down the center of her back, and I jokingly blow it. She swivels her head to whip me with it a few times, and for a beat, I imagine wrapping it around my hand and holding her still so I can study her face and tease her mouth. That inconvenient thought hits my dick before I have a chance to tame it, so I step lower before Brooklyn’s thigh becomes aware.
“I’ll guide you down,” I say.
“Can’t I just fall like last time?” she laughs out.
“I mean, I don’t recommend it.”
I brace myself in case she isn’t kidding.
Her hands retrace their paths, followed by each foot, and she grows more comfortable moving down the cliff face with each new grip. My feet hit the ground seconds before hers, and I’m not fully prepared when she spins and leaps at me, wrapping me up in a bundle of mildly-freaked-out-but-proud-yet-exhausted limbs.
“I did it,” she says into the nook of my neck.
My palms flatten on her back, my mouth open in disbelief. I could carry her around for days like this.
“You did it,” I say, mouth right at her ear. My lips buzz with temptation that I lick away as I slide my hands along her back, nearly doubling her up in my arms.
I walk her around in a slow circle, soaking up every last drop of her elation, her gratitude to me, however unearned and deserved I think it is. The metal clips from our harnesses clank against one another, and eventually she loosens her hold around my neck. I’m tempted to cling to her a little longer, but there’s no way it wouldn’t lead to trouble. I’m already praying my erection doesn’t make contact as she slides down my body.
Our eyes lock for a breath, and her gaze moves to my lips next. Her tongue peeks out, tasting her lips before she sucks them in. My fingers curl in response, practically clawing against the fabric of her leggings and shirt as she cascades from my hold. When her feet hit the ground, she instantly turns away.
“Do you need me to help with the harness, or—”
“I got it,” she says back fast.
I watch her fumble with the straps for a few seconds, but eventually she gets them to loosen and slips the gear down her legs. I take mine off and pile both sets together in my bag, pausing with my hands on the spare clothes I brought. I’m no longer sure this next part is such a good idea.
“What’s up?” she questions after I’ve been kneeling with my hand in my gym bag for several awkward seconds.
“I wanted to have you try something else. But . . . I don’t want to push you.”I don’t want to get into trouble and cross a line you might regret, and I think talking you into putting on a pair of my shorts, which means you stripping in my presence, will literally catapult me over that boundary.
“Maybe you could tell me what it is and let me decide?” Her head falls to the side as her eyes blink wide once and she makes a popping sound with her tongue against the top of her mouth.
