Page 1 of Wild Life (STEAM-y #2)

Breaking Up and Breaking Habits

Maris

“You’re so fucking big. I’m gonna come.”

False. And, false. Eli was on the smaller side of average, and although size didn’t really matter, according to that old adage, he didn’t know what to do with it. It’s not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean…

Orgasm was yet another distant dream, like dark-chocolate-chip ice cream on a waffle cone in the dead of night, or getting a seventh season of that show based on the British monarchy. And why exactly couldn’t they continue the show? There were a hell of a lot of royals still alive and causing enough drama to fill at least another twelve episodes.

With lids squeezed shut, Eli rolled his neck from side to side as if he were in some deep trance. “God, Maris. It’s like my fat cock was made for your pussy. I could do this all night.”

Oh God. Please, no. My labia could only tolerate about three more minutes of his drilling before I’d need some ointment from all the chaffing. His scratchy pubes were abrasive as a steel-wool sponge.

Think about bats. It might seem a little weird—okay, very weird —to distract oneself from intercourse by thinking about bats, but that was the level of obscurity a scientist’s brain achieved when searching for their next hit of dopamine. Besides, bats were never too far from my mind anyway. In a few hours, I’d get to hightail it off the boat and begin my research on my favorite species of bat, the Pacific sheath-tailed bat. Once rampant in the islands of the South Pacific, the tiny creatures now faced extinction throughout the region, with less than an estimated one hundred individuals left in the world.

I had the privilege of studying a known colony based in a cave in Fiji. My project was part of a larger one with a team consisting of myself, not-so-fat-cock Eli, and two other members who were to evaluate the effects of agriculture on the natural wildlife in the region. We’d paid multiple visits to nearby islands to investigate in the same manner, yet never before had I had the opportunity to study the largest known colony of Pacific sheath-tailed bats in the world.

But first, I needed to put an end to the jackhammering between my legs.

I arched my back, jutting my B-sized tits out, and unleashed my most seductive moan—the kind that only a woman could fake. A porn moan. “Babe, fuck me harder! You give me the best dick of my life!” I grabbed his ass, urging him on. It was safe to say that I would not be on Santa’s nice list this year with the number of lies that had easily rolled off my tongue. Good. Maybe Krampus would come get me for being naughty and finally give me the orgasm I had yet again been robbed of. I’d heard he had a huge monster cock…or at least, that was what my romance novels said.

My praise worked because Eli’s hips moved faster, his shaft daggered into me at lightning speed. Since there wasn’t enough suction between us, I could feel his length dragging against my lower wall with each stroke. I mean, he had to be fully erect if he was able to move without it slipping completely out, right? I assumed I wasn’t particularly stretched down there. My gynecologist had even noted in my charts that my vagina was unremarkable , as mundane as that sounded, during my last checkup when she’d inserted an IUD. So, then, why didn’t we fit together properly?

A cramp seized my shoulder from playing dodge the bullet as I tried to avoid the sweat that dripped from Eli’s bushy brow. The temperature on the boat was certainly warm, but the South Pacific air was too much for his sweat glands to handle.

The coils in the mattress creaked under the repetitive motion, which—coupled with the rocking of the cabin on the water—was beginning to churn my belly. Thank Jesus for the scopolamine patch behind my ear, or else I’d have been puking my guts out from the commotion. Then again, maybe a little vomit would have stopped the hammering.

I studied my colleague hovering over me as he pressed on. Eli Ross, B.S., M.S., Ph.D. Associate Professor of Entomological Conservation. Expert in the proliferation of the Fijian Megachilid bee. He was brilliant on paper. And while his thick black hair contrasted with his pale skin, making him almost ghostly under the shine of the night-light, he wasn’t terrible looking either. If I saw past the Victorian-apparition exterior, I could see the faint outline of abs and vivid green eyes, the color of a Rustic Sphinx caterpillar. He would be a catch for any woman…with an extra-petite vagina.

My attention wandered from Eli to the fire-detection sensor on the ceiling, then to the blaring white display of my phone. 3 a.m. I had to be up in four hours to prepare for landfall. It was time to employ my trusted technique, guaranteed to wrap this little tryst up. I swirled my tongue around the tip of my index finger, then guided my palm around his ass cheek creating some space to work.

Eli groaned out his appreciation. “Christ, this is like heaven.”

“Mmm,” I coaxed, slyly inching my finger upward. His breathing picked up, and I knew it was time to act. I quickly slid my wet finger into his asshole, eliciting a sharp grunt from him.

“Fuck!” His thrusts turned erratic, and he wheezed as the orgasm overtook his body. I squeezed my thighs around his hips and shouted out my fake release without regard for our teammates, Fran and Malcom, asleep next door. The men who had blessed my bed…or cursed it…always fell for over-the-top theatrics during sex. It boggled my mind that society deemed them more apt to rule countries when some of them were so fucking gullible.

Eli collapsed onto my chest, his weight crushing me. His warm breath blowing on my neck was as enjoyable as a turtleneck in the dead of summer. I shoved him off so that he was on his back next to me.

He hummed out a heavy sigh. “That was amazing.”

I turned to him. “Mmm,” was all I could manage again, proving that I was capable of…not exactly honesty, but not lying, for a change.

The last bits of his lust-filled haze cleared, and he eyed me eagerly. “Was it good for you, too? You sounded like you were really enjoying it.”

I brushed my slick hair out of my face. “ Enjoy doesn’t quite sum it up.” I offered a gentle smile.

His smooth fingers caressed my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. This was what I craved—my reason for enduring lackluster coitus. Fucking was the gateway to cuddling, and if I closed my eyes, I could bask in the ephemeral sense of being cherished for precious seconds in the afterglow of orgasm.

Don’t get me wrong, sex could be enjoyable—when performed correctly—but it was the closeness I desired. I longed to belong.

Freud would say that my need for intimacy was derived from losing my parents at the age of eight in a car accident and spending my formative years being raised by my mother’s sister, who had the emotional range of drywall. The only time I could remember being hugged by Aunt Sherri was the day of my parents’ funeral, when I was forced to see their stone-cold corpses lying in polished wooden boxes. For the briefest moment, Aunt Sherri had let down her stern exterior to mourn her sister, and I had been the beneficiary of those rare emotions, the likes of which I knew I would never witness again.

However, it wasn’t my aunt’s fault. My grandparents had raised their daughters to fulfill predetermined roles. Mom had been the youngest and more outgoing of the two, so they had expected her to marry someone well-off like my father, the doctor, and give them grandchildren. Aunt Sherri had been more reserved—a thinker—so her paved route had led to a career.

Science ran in my blood, not only from my cardiologist father, but from Aunt Sherri, too. She had worked her way through college to become a biochemist. Having earned her Ph.D. at the age of twenty-five, the woman was a force to be reckoned with.

If Freud were still in the chat, he would also say that my desire to become a scientist, and to have a Ph.D. of my own at age thirty-two, was more than the critical-thinking genes and problem-solving skills I had inherited from both sides of my family. Maybe a part of me had always hoped if I became a scientist, too, then Aunt Sherri would finally wrap an arm around me and tell me how proud she was of me. That day had yet to come, so it was lucky for me that I at least enjoyed being a wildlife biologist.

“You’re wearing me out, Maris.” Eli stretched his arms over his head. “We’ve fucked every night since we left port.”

I burrowed into his side, absorbing his warmth like it was a drug. “And that’s a bad thing?” I replied lazily, my words already sluggish and slurring from sleepiness.

He pulled on a tendril of my chestnut-colored hair. “What kind of man would I be to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

I drew back. “Did you just call me a horse?”

“Well, I did ride you to exhaustion, didn’t I?” His smile was too proud to match the tacky words that exited through it.

I grimaced—not at his poor humor, but at my desperation for intimacy from a chauvinist. In my search for affection, I had lowered my standards for men so much that I didn’t know what I deserved anymore.

I rolled away from his touch, suddenly repulsed by cuddling, and myself. “We should get some sleep. We need to be up soon.”

His hand remained on my hip oblivious to my self-loathing. “I’m so damn thankful for our relationship.”

My spine stiffened and I shot up in the bed like he had dumped ice water on me. Relationship?

“Eli.” I strained to keep my voice steady, though I was shaking inside. “We’ve been over this. We aren’t in a relationship. ”

He sat up next to me and reached out for me, but I shrank away. “Maris, relax. It’s not a bad thing. Give us a chance.”

Us? “We’re not dating. We agreed that this was only sex.” The calmness I had been grasping so tightly began to slip as he twisted his mouth to bite his inner cheek. “Eli,” I warned.

“Maris, we’ve been hooking up on these work trips for nearly two years now. We always share the same room and sleep in the same bunk every night. Don’t you think we’re past the friends-with-benefits stage? We don’t sleep with other people, for Christ’s sake.”

I clutched the sheets to my chest. “You can fuck other people. I’ve already told you that. I’m fine with it.” Really, I was. This was in no way intended to be a monogamous arrangement, and I had been very clear about that from the beginning with Eli—and every other man I had been with. Nothing about us was exclusive.

Apparently, Eli wanted what I was terrified to give—a commitment.

The corners of his eyes fell with disappointment. “I just want to be with you.”

His words were clear, but all I could register was the pounding in my chest. “Please. Stop. We’ve talked about this. I don’t want to be in a relationship.”

“With me?”

“With anyone.” My skin tingled as imaginary ants marched up the back of my neck. No amount of itching or slapping would stop the familiar sensation. They would only spread, suffocating me until everything went black. Until my brain shut off to escape the panic.

Eli let out a sigh. “What are you so afraid of?”

Everything.

How could I put into words that I was afraid of rejection? If we continued screwing around like we had been doing all this time, I could still retain the upper hand and wouldn’t risk being turned away when I was in too deep and at my most vulnerable. The minute I sealed us with commitment, it would all turn to hell, ending in a messy breakup that would leave me alone, yet again. Like when Mom and Dad died.

Either way, I was destined to be by myself because it was clear to me that Eli and I couldn’t continue this way. It would at least be on my terms if I ended everything immediately.

Forehead creased, Eli seemed to read my thoughts loud and clear. I gritted my teeth to keep anxious tears from flowing. “I’m going to sleep.”

Without a word, Eli slid out from my bunk. His mattress overhead bowed with his weight He tossed and turned before finally going still. The rhythmic sawing of his snores soon followed.

My bunk was empty and cooler than with a man in it, yet the weight of the thin flat sheet strangled me. I kicked it off and planted my feet on the vinyl floor. I threw on my overworn Smokey the Bear forest-fire T-shirt and shorts and left the cabin.

As expected for nighttime, the deck was empty, with only one crew member on watch in the wheelhouse, no doubt.

My body swayed with the gentle waves that rocked the boat. The sea was far too calm. A storm was coming. I sensed it, although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

I wrapped my arms over my chest, staring at the bright full moon above. Its light skittered across the surface of the water like crushed diamonds.

We were still hours away from docking, but I desperately needed to get back to work—to distract myself from the bullshit I had left behind in the cabin.

My fists clenched as I replayed our fight .

Fighting wasn’t supposed to happen in this arrangement, for the mere fact that this was not a relationship. A relationship I hadn’t wanted in the first place to avoid the rush of labels coursing through my veins. Inadequate. Broken. Fucked up.

Relationships terrified me because one day, they would end. It was inevitable. Death was the result of life. Everything died eventually. Even relationships.

Losing my parents had taught me that at an early age. Their accident, coupled with Aunt Sherri’s cold reception of her new ward, had really messed me up. I was still that eight-year-old girl searching for a hug. Only now, I searched for it in the form of dick with the promise of being held afterward.

I was responsible for the havoc in this arrangement with Eli. I supposed I couldn’t blame him for wanting to escalate our status. As a species, humans always strove for more—to achieve something better and more whole for our lives. Eli was only fulfilling his primal instinct.

I was the one who was fucked up. Would there ever be a day when I would feel like I was enough? Like I was worth it?

The wind blew in my face. Change was coming.