by L. B. Dunbar
“Not yet,” I beg, not wanting the sensation to end. He’s larger than me, and heavy, but I want his weight to blanket me. Fearing he’ll shut me out again, I won’t let him escape. Not yet.
13
Twinkle toes and gun-shy
[Giant]
I’ve been more turned on in the last seventy-two hours than I’ve been in years, and the morning is no different. I wake with a solid wood, and when Letty nudges her backside against me, I can’t resist her.
“Can we do it like this?” I question. The angle will be different once again. Our position last night, the way we moved, the deepness of my thrusts, we were anything but regimented in our rhythm. Letty and I sync. Deep down, I don’t want the missionary position, but I want her any way she’ll let me.
Letty wiggles her ass against me, and I slip my hand up her hip. She didn’t return to her skimpy undies last night, and the discovery makes my dick twitch. I quickly remove my boxer briefs and press my length against her backside.
“You’re warm,” she teases, rubbing against the length. I’m going to be a whole lot hotter once I enter her. I’m a big man, but she took me deep last night, and I felt something I’d never felt before. Greedy, I called her, but it’s total lust on my end. I want her like I’ve never wanted anyone, and that includes Clara.
I position myself between her thighs as we lie on our sides. “Hitch your leg over my hip.” Letty spreads, doing as I ask, and I like how responsive she is to me. She hasn’t stopped anything I’ve asked of her yet.
Don’t take this experience from me. My heart leaped when she said this.
My finger dips into her, discovering she’s already wet, so I prep her with a few gentle pumps and then I brace myself at her entrance. I’m out of control with this woman, and I slip inside with one long thrust. She yelps a little and jackknifes forward, bending at the waist and drawing me deep from this angle.
“Okay, Cricket?” I worry I’ve hurt her. Clara was sensitive.
“So full,” she murmurs and slips her leg off my hip. The collapse of her thighs tightens her hold on me, and I slip in and out, pistoning like a revved-up engine. I wrap her hair around my fist and tug. Her back arches, and she hums that sound I’m coming to love. My pace increases. The tension builds. I’m not going to last.
“Letty, sweetheart. Get there. It’s too much.” She slips her hand between her thighs, and her fingers brush my dick slipping in and out of her. My eyes roll back, and I release her hair, gripping her hip instead. My God, she’s glorious. I want to hold out for her, but I don’t know if I can.
When she hisses my name, I know she’s close. I’m sweating, straining to keep the orgasm back. When she growls and arches her back again, the tension releases. A shower of my seed pumps into her, coating her insides while she clenches around me. I should have pulled out like I did last night, but I couldn’t help myself this morning. I want to fill her. I want to howl at the moon even though it’s daylight. My fingers curl over her hip as I still, allowing the release a final spill. When I settle, I tug her back to my chest and press my lips to her shoulder.
“Good morning,” I mutter. When she chuckles, the movement of her body jiggles me inside her.
“It is a good morning.” She rubs her hand up and down my forearm over her stomach. I want to hold her like this for the rest of my life. Feel her warmth around me and her chuckle vibrating up my spine. I like this woman. But too soon, I’ll have to take her back.
Not yet, she said, but soon enough.
My thoughts drift to Clara. I don’t want to compare the women, but Clara hated giving head, and truth be told, she struggled at it. When Letty took me deep last night, I thought I’d blow right then. Not to mention, after I licked Letty, she let me kiss her. Clara would refuse, not wishing to taste herself on my lips. Don’t take this experience from me, she said, and I agree with the sentiment. I don’t want to forget one minute. Everything we’ve done is nothing I’ve ever done before even though I was a married man.
We rest for a few minutes before I slip out of her. I need to clean up and get her something as well. Camping hasn’t been the most convenient time for my newfound sexual adventure, but then again, I didn’t plan to sleep with the enemy. For a moment, I remember the land and then dismiss the thought. I want to enjoy Letty as much as I can before we talk business again.
“Let me get you something.” I slip from the sleeping bag and rummage for a spent tee. She takes it from me and wipes herself. “Hey, I noticed your feet yesterday.”
She twists to look at me over her shoulder and then looks down at her covered toes.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the blisters?” I ask.
Her head falls back, and she stares off to the side of the tent. “Because I didn’t want you to say I told you so.” She huffs. She’s tough, and I like that about her. I like her. Too much.
“Let me bandage them.”
She shifts to her back and chuckles. “You do not want to touch my feet.”
To prove her wrong, I slip my hands inside the sleeping bag, reaching for her toes. She kicks out at me, but I catch her ankle. Her other foot attempts an attack, but I clutch it as well.
“This could be a very compromising position.” I could spread her again and mount her like last night, which reminds me I haven’t left the tent to clean myself from round one. She giggles and throws her head back, attempting to wiggle her ankles free.
“Oh my gosh. Do not look at my feet.”
I look. She has perfectly painted toenails and nasty looking blisters. “You anti-feet or something?”
“Yes,” she huffs, settling her squirming legs.
I chuckle. “So if I were to lift these to my mouth, and say, suck your toes, that would gross you out?”
Her eyes close, and her legs wiggle against my hold. “Yes. Yuck.”
“What if I licked the underside?” I laugh a little more, lifting her foot and pointing my tongue at the intended spot.
She makes a puking noise.
“But I want to taste every part of you.” She stops squirming and gagging, and her lids pop open. She stares up at me. The petulant child act appears to settle her.
“I’d like that.” Her sultry tone makes something rush up my chest. I want her again, but I’m almost fifty and can’t quite get there that quick. My thumbs rub at her ankles.
“Maybe once these are healed.” The implication is there. Healing takes time, and this hints at seeing her in the future. Her legs relax. “I’ll get the bandages but let me clean up first.”
I step outside, naked as a jaybird, and use the water in the bucket near the smothered campfire to rinse myself off. The cold shock douses thoughts of seeing her again. Taking a deep breath, I suppress the scream rising in my chest. It isn’t fair. She wants my land. That’s why she’s here.
I turn back for the tent and find her sitting up. She wears one of my T-shirts and she’s holding the collar up to her nose.
“I’m sorry. I just…” Her voice drifts, and I hold up a hand.
“It’s okay. I like seeing you in it.” When I shouldn’t. When I shouldn’t think of her wearing my clothes, or coming to my home, or fucking her again. Seeing her in my shirt settles my restless thoughts a bit, and I kneel for my briefs. After tugging them on, I work on bandaging her toes and heels.
“I was hoping to go canoeing with you, but it’s a hike. I don’t know if those can handle it.” I’m referencing her blisters.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay. I made it through yesterday, and I’d love to go canoeing.” My eyes drift up to hers to find her watching me. “I can’t remember the last time I went.”
“It’s a three-mile hike up to the drop.”
She sits up straighter. “I can do it.” Her determination shouldn’t startle me, but her tone does. She sounds very business-like, and I decide she must use that enthusiasm in her job. The one where she steals land from people. Does she volunteer to tear people from their homes? Does she suggest she g
o in for the kill to take property out from under people? I curse myself for the sudden shift in thoughts. I just had sex with her. I like her, but what does she think of me? Am I only a business venture? A prospect? Does she do this often?
It’s been a year since I’ve been with anyone. She sounded sincere, and I hate my doubts. I should ask her what we’re doing here—what’s between us—but I don’t because it isn’t my style. Confrontation. Communication. Discussion. Not my thing.
You didn’t do half the things you’ve done with Letty with your own wife, my head hammers. Try it. Try talking to her, whispers through my thick skull, but the problem with a thick skull is, it’s too thick sometimes.
“How about a protein bar breakfast with coffee so we can hit the trail?” I offer instead, ignoring all my doubts, questions, and fears in need of a distraction for the day. It’s exactly what the land is worth to me. Distraction from reality, and the reality is, Letty’s made it to her three-night minimum, but I wonder if she’ll reconsider. I wonder if I can convince her to go home empty-handed but still holding me.
+ + +
We trek the miles upstream to where I keep my canoe. I explain how I come up here often and return the canoe to this launching area in order to ride it back to camp. I vary my destinations, but it worked out to have the canoe in place this weekend.
“When I was a kid, my granddad brought us up here. I told you about his brewing days, but after things were legalized and we established a brewery near town, he kept the land.” My chest pinches at the memory of Pap bringing me up the mountain and us traveling back down by the stream. “He built the cabin at the base, but I restored it after he died.”
To everyone’s surprise, I inherited the land. It should have naturally passed to my dad, but Pap left it directly to me. The will stated he knew I loved the property as much as he did, and one day, I’d need it to remind me who I was and where I belonged. I’d gone off to fight for my country just as he had. And I’d returned a little lost, like him as well. He told me the mountain and the woods would ground me, and it has. I never want to see brown desert sand again.
“Were you close?” Letty asks me as we flip the canoe and push it into the water.
“Very.” It’s all I can say as my throat clogs. I miss the old man every day. He died while I was still overseas, and I couldn’t get home for his funeral.
“He sounds special. I’ve never been close to someone like that, except maybe my younger brother.” It’s all she offers, not expanding on him or their relationship.
I help her into the bow and then push off the stern, jumping in at the last minute. Letty squeaks when the canoe jostles.
“I won’t tip us. I promise. This water is freezing.”
We travel in silence for a bit. The only sound is the lapping of water as I paddle from one side to the other of the vessel. Letty offers to help, but she hinders us at first even though I’m in no rush.
“It’s so peaceful,” she says, stealing my thoughts with her hushed voice as if she’ll disturb the silence. Nature whispers around us with the rustle of trees and the low ripple of the river. We quietly continue until she says, “Tell me a story about your granddad.”
I’m surprised by the request but immediately know what story to tell her. I begin with the first time he took me fishing. A river runs behind the properties on the Lane. Technically, the dock was on our neighbor’s land—the Chances. I chuckle with the memories of my first catch, which seemed huge but wasn’t. Then I tell her about coming up here and learning to hunt.
“I’m not a fan of guns,” she reminds me.
“Right. The freezer fairy.”
She chuckles. “Tell me more.”
I’m surprised at myself as I chatter on the remainder of our trip. I haven’t spoken of these memories in a long time, and it feels good to tell someone about Pap, even if a part of me is sad at his passing.
“Those are great stories.” She pauses. “I always wanted to be a writer. Tell stories.”
I stare at her. She shifted to her side as she listened to me, but she angles her face forward, reminding me of a sea nymph on the front of a boat.
“Why didn’t you become a writer?”
She shrugs, looking off at the distance before us.
“I guess I changed my mind,” she says, but her tone tells me that isn’t the truth.
“You can always change it again.” I nudge the issue because I don’t believe her, and for the first time, I wonder if real estate possession is really her passion. Could she change her mind about wanting my land?
“Maybe one day,” she states, dismissing the suggestion. We near the curve for our camp, and Letty leans backward to glide her hand in the cool water.
“Careful,” I warn, but her body tips precariously, and her arm flaps to balance her equilibrium. “Letty,” I snap again in warning. Her toe hooks into the edge of the canoe, but it isn’t enough. When I reach for her, I rock the vessel, and she dips farther, arching her back. Not even a second passes before her toe slips from the small lip, and Letty’s awkward position pulls her backward. I stand, which one should never do in a canoe, and Letty falls overboard.
The water is shallow here, but I worry she hit her head on the bottom. She pops up rather quickly, though, swiping at her face before she lets out a scream.
“It’s fucking freezing.”
A deep, uncontrolled belly laugh bursts from me. She’s a wet T-shirt dream with her soaked hair plastered over her cheeks and her drenched flannel hugging her body. Her already-hip-hugging jeans are saturated as she stands in the water and grips the side of the canoe, trying to wobble it and force me to join her. For a big man, I have the balance of a cat, so I move with her efforts. Her irritation grows, and that only adds to her fierceness. She’s adorable.
I use the paddle pitched to the bottom of the stream to hold the vessel in place. “It’d be faster for you to walk to shore.” I nod to the land only a few feet away, struggling to suppress my chuckles as she turns to note the proximity. Letty pushes off the canoe and struggles in her sodden clothing to close the distance to the soft dirt of the shoreline. She stomps up the embankment as I steer the craft and eventually beach it. I tiptoe up the cavernous metal and jump out just as we hear rapid fire.
Three sharp shots.
And Letty’s on the ground.
“Cricket!” I cross the dirt in two long strides and dive for her. She lies on her belly with her hands over the back of her head. I gently roll her to her side, quickly skimming her body with my hands and eyes. Her chest rises and falls, and she’s gone pure white. “Are you hurt?”
“Did you hear that?” Her voice is a whisper, her lips blue and trembling.
“I did,” I say, looking up and off toward the trees. Those weren’t hunting shots. That was gunfire but not a rifle. Dammit, James. I glance back down at her. “Are you okay?”
I’m still not convinced she wasn’t shot with the way she dropped. Her front is caked in mud, the dirt sticking from the wetness of her clothing. She slowly sits up with my help, and I brush back her hair, finding grit and fine pebbles mixed with it.
“What happened?” I stare at her. The noise. It triggered something.
Her lips tremble as ghosted eyes stare up at me. “My brother. He was shot in the streets. A drive-by shooting. I saw it happen.” There are no tears or sadness, only hardness and fear. “He was only twelve.” I pull her to me and hold her listless body against my chest. My hand covers the back of her head. I know all about her pain. The loss. I’d seen too many, too young lose their lives in battle.
“We’re getting out of here,” I tell her, pressing her back by her shoulders. “It isn’t safe.” Then I tug her back to me once again, cradling her against my chest. Briskly, I lift her like a bride and stalk to our site.
What are you up to, James?
14
Shot through the heart
[Letty]
Owen.
All I can see in my mind’s eye
is my brother. His smiling face with a bounce in his step and his hair flopping over his forehead. Him walking toward me. The call of his name and the twist of his head. He went down with three shots, right on the sidewalk before the middle school. At first, it didn’t make sense. Not my brother. Not on my watch. But he’d been mixed up with the wrong kids for far too long, longer than we knew. My brother. Dead at twelve.
Should I sell drugs? Would it help us with money? He was so innocent, hopeful and earnest, when he asked. A middle school student with his whole life before him and he was worried about our family finances.
Giant carries me up the slope and the few yards to our campsite. Once there, I demand he set me down. We quickly gather our things. I’m shaking, but my body works without thought.
“I’ll come back for all this,” Giant says, but I turn on him.
“No. No, we’ll get it all now and go together.” I’m determined he won’t leave me, and I don’t want to let him out of my sight. We collapse the tent, and Giant lowers the coolers. I don’t know how he got all the equipment here on his own, but we pile and fasten items to the larger cooler, building a makeshift cart. Giant carries the smaller one along with both our packs. It seems counterproductive to me to move toward the ranger station.
Until Giant admits he has a truck parked there.
I’m too out of sorts from all that’s happening to register I didn’t see a truck the night of the storm nor the morning after. It all becomes clear when we break through the trees near the back of the station. Giant signals for me to remain quiet as if we’re on a mission of espionage. He sets all the stuff in the bed of the truck and then helps me into the driver’s side of the cab, forcing me to scoot over as he enters. Once he starts the engine, he peels around the old station, the tires throwing up gravel and dirt as he circles to the front of the small structure.