by L. B. Dunbar
I return to Letty’s side and tug another stump up behind her, seating myself on it. My thighs straddle beside hers, and I’m careful not to touch her with my legs although I want nothing more than to pull her back to my chest. Instead, I place the comb in her hair and gently stroke downward, righting the tangles as I go.
“My God, you’re hired. Come to Chicago and you can do my hair before the wedding.”
I chuckle. “Right, the wedding. Where’s it at?” I don’t mean to bring up a sore subject, and I’m not good at small talk, but I am curious. I’ll do anything to start her chattering at me again.
“The Drake, of course. Overlooking Lake Michigan.” I flip open a mental notepad and pencil down the information.
“Sounds fancy.”
“Only the best for my sister,” she mocks.
“You’ll be the most beautiful woman there, I’m sure.”
She turns to glance at me over her shoulder. “See, charming.” Then her brows pinch, and she looks toward the dying embers in the fire pit. “I don’t want to be more beautiful than Dayna, though. I want to go unnoticed on that day and forget the reminders it could have been me. I want it over. Time to move on.”
Time to move on. The words ring through my head like a gong. For years, I’ve pondered what moving on means. I restored my home. I dived into work. I supported my brother with his pub. But none of it has been enough.
I finish combing through her hair and scoot closer to her, finally giving in to the tremor in my thighs that want to rest against hers. I risk an arm around her middle and press my forehead to the damp nape of her neck.
“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding about last night.”
Her breath hitches.
“If I was too rough. If I said something or didn’t say something I should have. I apologize.” I’m not good at this, I want to tell her. I don’t know what I’m doing, feeling, wanting, I want to say.
“You weren’t rough,” she replies, her voice dropping. “I liked it.”
She’s quiet again, and I lift my face to press a kiss to her wet hair, lingering there as I speak. “I don’t know how to be with…people.” With you. How do I be with you?
“With women?” she suggests, curiosity lacing her question.
“With anyone, I guess.”
“Tell me,” she whispers, and my one-arm hold on her tightens, leaning my chest against her back.
“I was in the military forever. When I came home on a medical discharge, I didn’t know where I belonged. Clara had a routine, and I didn’t know where I fit. My dad offered me the brewery, but I didn’t know anything about running a business. It was like a crash course in economics and marketing. It’s my family. It’s my name. But it hasn’t been enough.” I’m lonely, I want to tell her. I’ve been lonely for a long, long time, I think, but I don’t admit this to her. I just hold her tighter, allowing my face to rest in her wet locks. With a whisper, I say, “My life is so quiet.”
“And I talk too much.” She chuckles.
“I don’t think anything you do would be too much,” I mutter. You’re perfect. When she doesn’t respond, I joke, “Your chirping is growing on me.” And so is your hum. Then she chuckles. Your laughter, too, I add to my growing list of noises. Her body, her nearness, her scent. All of her. I don’t want to let her go.
12
Night sounds
[Letty]
We spend the afternoon on a short hike, and thankfully, Giant goes at my pace because my blisters have blisters. He surprises me by sharing more details about himself and his family.
His brother Charlie is the mayor brother.
Billy is the pub-owning brother.
James is the motorcycle brother.
“He’s the black sheep of the family. He used to be in search and rescue. He claims he has reasons for staying away from us, and I know those reasons, but they aren’t good enough to me.” Giant scoffs. “Now he’s mixed up in all kinds of things, and I don’t like knowing he’s up here.”
Giant reaches for my hand and draws it to his lips to place a brief kiss on my knuckles. To my surprise, he doesn’t release my hand, but holds my fingers as we continue to climb through the labyrinth of trees.
“Mati is my sister. Her husband died a year ago August, and she’s recently reunited with her best guy friend from high school. It’s about time he professes his love for her.” Giant chuckles. “Our mother was obsessed with Roald Dahl, and we are each named after a character from one of his books. I come from the BFG. Big Friendly Giant.”
I chuckle. It suits him. “That’s sweet.”
“It’s embarrassing,” he admits, and I’m about to disagree when he stops us on a large boulder, like a natural ridge. My breath hitches at the view. The valley is breathtaking as the greenery shifts to reds, golds, and oranges. Fall is in full bloom. It almost doesn’t look real, it’s so picture-perfect.
“Wow,” I mumble, scanning the sponge brush-painted landscape. My phone camera would not do justice to this natural image.
“Yeah, wow,” Giant says, and I turn to find him observing me. A grin grows on my face. Just his eyes on me have me giddy and all seems to be forgiven from this morning.
His brow pinches. “I haven’t kissed you.”
I lick my lips and bite the corner. “I’ve noticed.” I pause a second, reaching up for his jaw. “I’ve never been kissed by a bearded man,” I add, scraping my fingertips against the thickly covered edge of his face.
“Think I should fix that?” he teases.
“I think you should.” Giant lowers for me, cupping my cheeks in his large hands before taking my lips with a tender kiss. Even though it starts too slow and sweet, like all things between us, it heats within seconds, and our tongues collide. Giant draws me to him, and I melt against his large body, feeling the evidence that his desire matches mine. I want this man again, but I’m content to have him kiss me like he is, like I’m the air he needs to breathe and the color in his wind.
That night, Giant asks if I mind connecting the sleeping bags to make a double one. He slips in next to me in only his boxer briefs and a T-shirt. I start with my pajama pants and a sweatshirt, but he runs hot, so within minutes, I’m overheating, and I sit up to remove my pants. Giant tucks me into him when I’m only half-dressed.
“I’m not good at this stuff,” he tells me, and I turn my head to look up at him. My hand rests on his chest while my ear listens to the beat of his strong heart.
“What stuff?” I question. When we returned to camp, he made dinner, stopping to occasionally kiss me before returning to the task at hand. He’s pretty good at a few things.
“Holding someone.”
My brows pinch. What about his wife? He spoke of her with such adoration and sorrow earlier, my heart broke for him. I turn to kiss his covered pec.
“You’re doing just fine,” I tell him, wondering how many women he’s been with since her. Has he treated them all with the same distance as he’s treated me? Did he eventually pull them close with unending kisses? I snuggle into him with the thought.
Clara was a lucky woman.
The idea of her doesn’t make me jealous, but the devotion of Giant’s love does. I’ve never felt such dedication, such passion. If love exists, and I believe it does, it must be for other people, not me. However, my sister’s wedding comes to mind, and I reconsider when I think of the farce it’s going to be.
“Where are your thoughts?” Giant asks, and I shift to glance back at him.
“All over, I guess.”
“When you’re quiet, I get nervous.”
“I thought you didn’t like my chirping.”
“As I said earlier, it’s growing on me.” He chuckles, and the rumble against my ear warms my insides. He’s on his back, and I’m pressed into his side, so I slip a leg over his. I’m not expecting any more sexual encounters with him. Thinking of his wife makes me raw and sad, despite all our kisses through the remainder of the day. I don’t want to c
ompare myself to her, and I don’t want to feel like I’m filling a hole for him, but I do want to be close to him. It’s nice to be held. Hug therapy—it’s a real thing where a person holds someone for an hour. I might enjoy the experience. Then I chuckle. I couldn’t hug a stranger, yet that’s exactly what I’m doing. However, Giant Harrington feels anything but a stranger to me. Something about him sings to my soul. Maybe it’s the intensity of the sex last night. Maybe it’s the loneliness I heard in his voice when he spoke of his wife.
He strokes up my spine and brushes back my hair from my shoulder. My leg hitches higher on his thigh.
“Dammit, woman,” he hisses, and I pull back my head.
“What? What did I do?”
“Just being you. I’m rock solid again.” He scrubs a hand down his face and lifts to kiss my forehead. My knee inches upward, nudging the sac contained in his boxer briefs. The firm length of him can’t be mistaken. He’s huge, hard, and straining.
“Should we do something about this?” I gently nudge upward again with my knee, and he groans.
“I promised myself I’d be good tonight. No more taking advantage of you.”
I perch up on my elbow and peer down at him. Cupping his bearded jaw, I turn his face so he looks at me. “Is that what you think? You think you took advantage of me?”
“I didn’t exactly ask permission the other night, and then last night…” His voice drifts.
“You did ask, with your hesitation, and then your consideration of me last night. I already told you I enjoyed being with you like that.” My voice lowers as I speak the next words. “Please, don’t take this experience away from me, okay?”
“What experience?” he questions, his voice rough.
“All of it. The camping, hiking, ax throwing, and the sex.”
“Dammit,” he grumbles, clamping his hand under my thigh, and then flipping me onto my back. One of his broad legs slips between mine as he holds himself up on an elbow. His thickness digs into my pelvic bone, and then he shifts his body, slipping the other leg between my thighs and positioning himself at my core. He brushes my hair back, peering down at me.
“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice deepens as it lowers, and my face heats like a schoolgirl. I can’t remember the last time someone called me pretty. His mouth meets mine. Hesitant. Sweet. Prickly from his beard. Then his tongue comes forward, and I open. The fire ignites as the kiss flames. The pressure down below builds as his heavy shaft rests against my achy center. His tongue swirls with mine, and my hips shift, finding friction against him, but it’s not enough. He kisses and kisses, and my leg hitches over his hip, opening myself to him. He curls a hand under my thigh and lifts it higher, pressing harder at my covered core.
“Never been kissed by a bearded man,” he reminds me, groaning against my mouth as he rubs his firm length over my damp thong. “Can this bearded man give you a few other new experiences?” He rubs his hairy chin over my cheek and down my neck, then sucks at my skin to soothe the bristle brush sting. He lowers into the sleeping bag, skimming both my breasts over my sweatshirt until his face is level with my midsection. Then he presses the soft material upward.
“Take this off,” he commands. “And open this bag a bit.” I lift to remove my sweatshirt and then unzip halfway down each side of the heavy bag. He flips the thick material backward and scrapes his scratchy face up my stomach before rubbing over one breast with his chin. It tickles and teases and then his mouth opens for a swollen globe. His large mouth covers an equally large breast, and I’ve never felt so consumed. His tongue twirls over the nipple before he pulls back to suck the tip, already peaked and tight. His tongue traces around the stiff nub, flicking over the firm swell before returning to suck the fullness. He releases my breast with a pop before moving to the other one, dragging the prickly hair of his chin over my skin to mark me once again.
Releasing me, he moves down my body. His scruffy jaw scribbles on my skin, writing words I’ll want to remember. He wants me. He’s going to devour me. He’s going to ruin me. My sex clenches with anticipation, and my knees open wider, allowing his broad shoulders to slip between my thighs. The stubbled jaw tickles as he rubs his chin over my sensitive skin before his tongue follows. Hesitant like his first kiss, he takes his time, torturing me with a lazy lick and a teasing twirl. Then his tongue flattens, and he laps up my seam. My hips buck, and my head lifts.
“Giant,” I hum, slipping my fingers into his hair. He continues to flirt with me until finally his tongue settles in and splits me open. His enthusiasm begins—licking, lapping, lusting. My eyes roll back as I tug at his short locks, singing praises to a higher being until I can’t take it any longer. My orgasm rushes me like the thunderstorm from last evening, rolling out of nowhere to roar between my thighs. I cry out as my head lifts again, and I hear him eagerly savoring me. I’m so turned on another ripple immediately follows the first.
“Giant. Oh God, Giant, another one is coming.” I exhale. This never happens. “I’m coming again.” Shocked and overwhelmed at the sensation, I lose control of my body as a second quake strikes as intensely as the first. Stars dance before my eyes in the dimly lit tent, and I fall back to the pillow. My legs shake, and my center drips. I’m spent, and eventually, Giant releases me to suck at my inner thigh. His scruffy beard will leave more marks, and I want them all over me.
Returning north, he presses kisses into my flushed skin as he moves up my body. When he reaches my mouth, he asks, “May I kiss you?” My brows pinch at the question.
“Please,” I beg, willing to taste myself on his lips. With equal excitement, his mouth captures mine, and we kiss for several minutes before I pull away.
“My turn,” I say, pressing at his shoulders to encourage him to roll to his back.
“Cricket,” he warns. “You don’t need to do this.” Again, I’m uncertain of his cautious tone, but I reassure him.
“I want this.” I tug his T-shirt, and he sits up to remove it. Working my way down his broad middle with kisses of my own, I want to do this. I twirl my fingers through the hair on his chest and stroke over his deep treasure trail. This is one of the sexiest parts of a man, and on Giant, it’s a trove of lush dark hair leading to gold. I curl my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pull them down his hips. He lifts, and once I have them to his knees, he wiggles his legs to kick them off.
He’s big. Huge. Ginormous. It’s ridiculous to think he won’t fit as he’s already been in me, but my mouth is different. Still, I want to taste him. I want to please him. I want to give to him what he’s given me.
“If it’s too much—”
I cut him off with a lick of the smooth head, wiping the worried tone from him. Circling round the mushroom edge with my tongue, I hum before I draw him in. Knowing I can’t possibly take him all in, I cup his balls and gently squeeze while I suck most of him. His hands cover my hair, stroking back the falling tresses. He bucks once and then apologizes, but I don’t want him to be reserved.
I suck harder, pulling him back as far as I can.
“That feels so fucking incredible,” he groans as his hips set a slow rhythm, tapping his tip at the back of my throat. My cheeks hollow and increase their suction. Within seconds, he sits up and yanks me off him.
I’m on my back before I can shriek, “I wasn’t finished.” My mouth drips with the flavor of him. He should bottle this blend at his brewery. I’d drink a full keg.
“This is how I want to finish.” He holds himself at my entrance, the wet tip easily slipping through my eager folds. “I’m sorry about no condoms. I had a vasectomy, though, and I haven’t been with anyone in so long.”
I press up to kiss him, hating this awkward conversation.
“I haven’t been with anyone in over a year. And before that, it was with the same man for too long.”
Giant groans as he enters me with more care than last night. He’s slow and deliberate, and I hum as he fills me. He reaches somewher
e I’ve never been touched before, way down deep inside, and I’m fuller than I’ve ever felt. The sense of oneness makes me shaky and unnerves me a bit. But when he pulls back, my body chases his, and he chuckles over me.
“I like how you follow me as if you don’t want me to leave your body.”
“I don’t.” I exhale, and he rushes forward, forcing me to catch my breath. My eyes roll back as the oneness sensation ripples through my body again.
“You seem greedy,” he teases while his tone makes it sound dirty. Toes in the dirt, he mentioned, and I want to be all kinds of dirty with this man.
“So greedy.” My voice hitches as I clutch at his tight backside, squeezing each firm globe to keep him inside me.
“Jesus, Cricket.” He rocks back and then thrusts forward. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Chirp, chirp, chirp is the friction song our bodies sing as we rub against each other. His large hand grips the back of my thigh while the other covers one backside cheek. He tugs me upward, lifting me a little to shift the angle of his thrusts. I can’t describe what’s happening to my body. The rhythm. The connection. The emotion.
“Giant,” I warn. “It’s happening…”
“Another one?” He sounds surprised himself. “Fuck yeah, Letty. Finish.”
He rests on one elbow with his hand under my backside. The hand on my thigh lowers between us, and his thumb flicks the swollen, sensitive hood, triggering me to tip over once again. I come alive around him, humming his name, adding it to the night sounds around us.
“Cricket,” he groans. “God, you’re squeezing me so hard. I can’t last.” He pulls out, and we both watch as he pulses streams of pleasure on my lower belly. Once finished, he collapses over me too briefly before shifting to pull away, but I wrap my legs around his hips and reach for his biceps, unwilling to release him so soon.