I spaz out, but that doesn’t erase the horror of what I went through.
My boyfriend is a few strides ahead of me on the Copland Track, a rocky trail that weaves around crystal-clear creeks and riverbeds, the steady incline leading us up to our destination. It’s our first overnight hike since the trek over Mount Tongariro. Tomorrow, we’ll be hiking out the way we came, but not before we spend one night. In a tent. As boyfriend and girlfriend. I’ve stumbled over my feet four times the past hour, once landing sideways in a puddle. My mind keeps spinning back to the feel of his girth in my mouth, the roll of his hips as I took him deeper.
When my toe smacks a branch and I lurch forward, Sam spins in time to save me from sprawl five. The first thing I see when I right myself is the hefty bulge in his hiking shorts. He lifts my chin with two long fingers. “You’re doing it again, Canada.”
I look left and right, then at his honeyed eyes. “Doing what?”
He pushes the curls from his forehead and touches his scar, flexing every muscle along his arm, probably just to drive me crazy. Frickin’ Hot Guy. “You know what. If you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask.” He snakes his hand around my waist, stopping me from toppling backward. “I’m all yours tonight,” he says. “And you haven’t gotten away with not divulging those naughty daydreams of yours. I’ll fork it out of you, if need be.”
Oh, God.
This past morning, the period myth met its demise. I had no choice. Sam was bound to check me into a hospital for a blood transfusion. So tonight there’s nothing stopping all that raw male power from pushing into me.
Nothing but the appearance of Pininfarina Gabri.
He lets go, adjusts himself, and gives me a kiss that fuels me for the next few hours.
After dumping our packs by the hut and setting up our tent, he takes my hand and leads me through the bush. “You’re gonna love this,” he says as he drags me farther from the few people we just met. A devilish grin sharpens his jaw, and I wiggle my hand away.
That’s the look he wore before he none too discreetly decided to cure me of my hippopotamonstrosesquipedaliophobia. My fear of long words. (Although I like using them in my head, in public—not so much.) Sam’s proposed cure: Distract a cashier at the grocery checkout so I can scream his handwritten list into the microphone. “Is this a phobia thing? Because I think I’ve conquered most of them. And I’m excited to cook dinner tonight. Don’t go ruining the moment by scarring me with your phobia-slaying skills. You’ve done some permanent damage.”
“You’ll thank me later. And yes, this is a phobia thing, but it’s also something I’d like to do. So you know—two birds, one stone.”
He grins like Lucifer himself.
There’s a break in the bush ahead and we enter a clearing with a few shallow-looking ponds, lush green mountains rising behind them. Every new landscape in New Zealand tops the last. More dramatic, more breathtaking. It’s no wonder Lord of the Rings was filmed here. Where else could you find this otherworldly imagery?
He leads us to a rocky outcrop, turns, and pins me with his warm gaze. “Keep your eyes on me, Canada.” He points two fingers at my eyes, then at his. “Your focus right here. Got it?”
I tense my elbows to my sides, my knee bouncing restlessly. Nothing looks odd about this place. There aren’t any people here, no audience to witness whatever phobia he has it in his head I should eradicate. “This isn’t cool. I need some warning. Some kind of a hint.”
He bends down to kiss me, slow and sweet and perfect. With our lips still touching he says, “Trust me.” I will until the end of days. “Eyes on mine,” he says again.
I gulp.
Next thing I know, he’s removing his top and tossing it on the ground next to his small pack. When his fingers reach for the fly of his hiking shorts, I whip my head around, sure thousands of people will appear.
“Hey. Nina. Eyes here.” He cups my chin until we’re face-to-face. “These are hot springs, okay? We’re going into them. You and me. Together.”
“Bathing suit?” I manage.
He shakes his head, that darn smile curving his kissable lips. “Gymnophobia—your fear of being naked in public. With your track record,