“Kwe?”
The pain she experienced almost four years ago drifted away on the breeze. Her hands needed to explore his taut muscles again. Her lips yearned to kiss his sleek skin again. Her pussy ached to feel him deep inside her again. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
When Adam’s tongue encircled hers, steam scorched Bridget’s flesh. His grunts and groans danced along her ears. His mighty arms wrapped her waist. She was hauled against his massive chest.
His tongue kept bathing hers with deep licks. He stood. Bridget squealed and latched her legs around Adam’s waist. Grass rustled under his shoes. A twig here and a branch there skimmed Bridget’s arms. They were on the trail, safe from prying eyes if anyone happened to be fishing in the bay.
Mom and Dad would wonder of Bridget’s whereabouts. She’d deal with them later. The constant pulsations creating thick tension about her clit never ceased. Only Adam could relieve the unbearable anticipation.
He maneuvered them to the trail of grass, Adam on the bottom and Bridget on top. A gentleman as always. Her insides melted at his gallantry so she wouldn’t endure the discomfort of foliage, sticks, or rocks.
“Adam...” she whispered.
He ran his hand along her ponytail. “I wish it was a bed, kwe, but neither of us have a place here.”
“No, we don’t.” Bridget wormed her hand to his jeans where his erection nestled between her legs.
“I got it. Lemme take care of this.” Passion made his low rumble a crackling whisper, a tone she’d delighted hearing in the past.
Bridget shifted from his crotch and sat on Adam’s thighs. When he jerked down his zipper to reveal his hard excitement, the breath racing up Bridget’s windpipe juddered.
His thick cock was an invitation to kiss and caress. She ran her nail along the length. He shuddered, gasping.
Adam loosened Bridget’s pants. She kicked off her sandals. While wiggling from her crops and underwear, she groaned at his wide-eyed stare taking in her bare skin. She began to sink to her haunches, but he shook his head.
“Lemme look at you.” He licked his lips, hot elation burning behind his eyes.
He might as well have slid his finger between Bridget’s pussy lips and rubbed her clit.
“I’m taking you for a ride, kwe.” Grit sanded his husky whisper.
She’d be on the ground? Bridget’s confusion must have shown because a big grin spread across Adam’s powerful features. He melted their bodies together and stood.
Oh God, they’d done this before. He’d remember how much she’d loved giving him full control.
“Next time, we’re getting a room at the hotel,” Adam murmured. His tongue invaded her mouth.
The tip of his cock brushed Bridget’s hole. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Although the slick head feathered her opening, she couldn’t slide on Adam’s cock. He gripped her ass, each cheek blanketed by his warm palms.
The anticipation surging through Bridget’s veins was enough to lighten her head. She secured her arms around Adam’s shoulders as he eased himself inside her.
“Oh, kwe.” Adam gasped. For a moment he held her to the cacophony of robins chirping and lapping waves.
He was in her. They were one. His massive length stretched her flesh, commanding her insides to open to his cock.
“Cripe, you got a nice pussy.” He groaned.
All Bridget could do was lay her head on Adam’s big shoulder and enjoy the teasing sensations that his erection produced. His palms clasped her ass, his fingers massaging her skin. His tongue bathed her neck with hot saliva. His masculine essence saturated her skin, the scent as ripe as his hard length.
He glided, smooth and easy.
“Oh, Adam.” She sighed. He was a supple dream, swathing her in the finest silk. Each pump was ripples of pleasure. The sweat from his chest showered her breasts with his potent aroma. What she wouldn’t give to remove her bra and feel his macho dampness on her skin. Adam was right. They must rent a hotel room.
His suckles on Bridget’s neck slithered to the lobe of her ear. She wiggled to rock in rhythm with Adam’s languid pumps but couldn’t fuck his cock. Helpless. He always drew her into a spell with his magical touch and thick length.
His groans became grunts. He slammed his erection into her pussy. The head of his cock, pure velvet, coated Bridget’s flesh with its rich, satin-like strength.
He worked her buttocks up and down, forcing her to succumb to his invasion.
“That’s it, kwe.” He panted. “Your cunt’s all mine. It’s always been mine.”
Her clit throbbed from his brash, dirty declaration.
“Oh man, I wanna lick your pussy so bad.” He groaned again, his moan steamy enough to heat Bridget’s hair.
The bubbling hotness climbed to an unbearable temperature. Bridget was close to shattering. The exhilaration from his quick ruts sent spasms along her spine. She tried to slam down on his erection and steal everything he had, but under Adam’s fierce grip, she could only pant and moan.
When he stiffened, so did Bridget. She arched her back as the heady fervor throbbed deep inside her. The explosion of delight came fast.
She couldn’t cry out, so she buried her face in his shoulder, biting down. The brilliant vibrations rolled along her thighs and shimmied through her blood.
His cries of pleasure were buried in her hair.
Chapter Twenty-two: Back on the Chain
Adam’s heart thumped beneath Bridget’s ear, the side of her face nestled against his strong chest. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. He was as content as she, his hand resting on the small of her back and his lips brushing the top of her head.
The trampling of grass, of twigs snapping, of brush fluttering froze Bridget’s blood. She scrambled off Adam, who swiveled around and shifted to a standing position to hide her naked lower body.
Bandit appeared, wagging her tail. She barked.
“You gave me a scare,” Bridget hissed under her breath.
Bandit barked again.
Car tires and engines rumbling carried down the path, sounds Bridget hadn’t heard earlier because she’d been too intent on Adam.
“Everyone must be leaving. Emery and Darryl are probably looking for us.” Bridget’s words hiccupped. Goodness, where had she put her brain? She’d had sex on a trail while everyone was at the church, setting up for Healing the Spirit.
“I think they sent in the dog for a reason.” Adam held out his shorts. “Here. Use this.”
Heat crawled on Bridget’s cheeks. “Thank you.” She gingerly took the boxer-briefs.
“No prob. Won’t be the first time I went commando.” Adam snickered.
Bridget’s skin prickled at the memory. They’d ignored their underwear when going for a picnic that evening. Of all the risqué activities she’d engaged in while under his thumb. But she’d wanted to participate in something racy with Adam. He’d always had a way of making her forget about the rules that she religiously followed because of her upbringing.
She wiped herself down. Maybe this was why Randy Mandamin, a local boy from the rez she’d dated, had been so appealing during her teen years. He’d coaxed Bridget to fly free, which of course had gotten her into trouble, and even grounded a few times, although she’d been on the verge of graduating high school.
Adam returned, having fetched his hat while Bridget had dressed.
“Here...” Face still hot, she held out the underwear.
Adam’s gaze slithered up and down. He grabbed the shorts. “We gotta talk, kwe...”
She edged backward. “It’s going to be a busy week...”
“Not at night.” Adam tilted his head, peering. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
He stalked down the path. Bridget followed. Bandit trailed behind.
They emerged from the trail to an empty parking lot, except for Darryl’s truck. Emery must have persuaded Mom and Dad to go home.
“Hey,” Darryl called out. “Everyone left. We told them you went over to the
rectory.” He flashed a big, crooked grin.
“The rectory?” Bridget sputtered.
“Yeah. We told them you went to introduce Adam to Father Bennie. We said you were probably visiting so we’d give you a ride home.” Darryl kept grinning.
Emery didn’t face them. He stared at the truck. “The church is still open.” His soft voice was barely a whisper. He got into the vehicle.
Shit, Emery had figured out the score. Mortified, Bridget scurried inside the basement, Adam on her trail. They both needed to wash away the scent of sex, which was why Emery hadn’t locked the back door. How embarrassing. Once finished in the women’s washroom, Bridget darted back outside, ensuring to lock the door behind her.
Adam was already outside, waiting by the truck. Darryl chattered to Emery, who kept his head down. Bandit bounded into the back of the vehicle. Bridget slunk in and sat in the middle. When Adam took his place behind Emery’s seat, the truck heaved.
The engine roared to life.
Bridget’s thigh brushed Adam’s. She squirmed at his underwear peeking out from his jeans pocket. Emery and Darryl had probably engaged in the unmentionable at the same spot, and that was why Darryl kept grinning while Emery remained silent.
Just as Bridget opened the door to the house, Mom poked her head out from the kitchen.
“I was readying the coffee for the morning. Your dad’s... tired. He went to bed to finish his Hours.” Mom inched down the hall. “I made tea. Do you want to talk?”
Double great. Mom and Dad knew Bridget had been with Adam. There was no other reason why Dad would turn in at nine o’clock. He’d probably told Mom to speak to Bridget like a bad little girl for daring to disappear.
“Sure. Tea’s fine.” Bridget took the shortcut to the dining room through the living room. She plopped in a chair.
Mom had already returned to the kitchen, readying a tray. “Your father and I appreciate you spending the week here to help out at the workshop.” She set the tray on the dining room table covered with a white, lace cloth.
Bridget fingered the matching lace napkin.
“Emery and Darryl mentioned you brought Adam over to the rectory.” Mom’s lips, painted a soft shade of pink, formed into a straight line.
“I thought it’d be nice for Adam to meet the priest in case he has questions.” Bridget took the dainty china cup Mom offered.
“Your dad went to the rectory to retrieve you so we could go home. You weren’t there.” Mom sat. The worry lines around her green eyes briefly showed her age.
Triple great. Emery hadn’t told Bridget that Dad had sent out a war party. Her brother should have given some kind of advance warning. “We went for a walk after we visited.”
“Men like your dad have a lot of scars.” Mom added honey to the dainty cup. “They need a lot of understanding and patience.”
This was strange. Mom hadn’t complained about Dad before. What was going on?
“Your dad suffered, truly suffered because of the Indian Residential school. Scars may heal over, but they remain.”
“Is Dad okay?” How selfish of Bridget to have assumed the conversation was about Adam. Maybe Healing the Spirit was bringing forth horrible memories for Dad.
“He’s fine. I’m simply saying at times he’s not easy to live with.” Mom raised the cup to her lips, hand trembling.
“Are you okay?” Bridget clutched Mom’s free hand.
Mom fixed her worried gaze on Bridget. “Adam has a lot of scars because of the Indian Residential schools. Didn’t his grandparents and parents attend them?”
Bridget nodded.
“Some manage to move past the trauma. Others... can’t.”
“What’re you saying?” Suspicion inched up Bridget’s spine.
“Adam tried to unsuccessfully overcome the obstacles placed in his path. Now, he’s again trying. He may take many tries before he reaches his goal. Nobody attains peace on the first try. Your father struggles to this day with what happened to him.”
Oh my God, Dad still suffered? “What happened?”
“He reverts back to his old behavior. Becomes angry. Becomes too reflective. Becomes... resentful. Don’t think your dad’s magically cured. God saved him, but if your father doesn’t stay focused on the Lord’s will, and strays, he regresses to his former conduct.”
“Adam’s attending twelve-step meetings. He’s here, isn’t he?”
“I realize this, but it’s not easy.” Mom’s eyes were as reflective as glass. “Are you prepared to accommodate Adam’s moods for the rest of your life?”
Bridget snatched away her hand. “What’re you talking about?”
“I understand his appeal.” Mom wet her lips. “In some ways, he’s like your father. He’s bold. He’s determined. He’s... well, we called them the wrong kind of boys back in my day.”
“Adam’s not a boy.”
“No, he’s not, but I recall how you were drawn to Randy Mandamin when you’d visit. There are bad boys, and then there are dangerous men.”
“You think Adam’s dangerous?”
“Honey, he was in prison. And not once, either. He was also in jail, youth detention centers. Don’t you think that’s dangerous enough?”
The Adam of the past was dangerous, but not the Adam that Bridget had met at the career fair. “He’s not dangerous to me.”
“He’s dangerous to society. It’s why the judge sent him to prison.” Mom sat back in the chair. “I don’t like doing this to you. You’re thirty-six. I trust your judgement. I do. You’ve done well for yourself. Extremely well.”
“It’s Dad, isn’t it? He asked you to talk to me.” Bridget should have known Dad was behind this lecture.
“Maybe your father asked me to speak to you because he knows Adam better than all of us. Your father understands Adam’s roots and why he is the way he is. Your father may not have gone to prison—he only served time overnight in jail on public intoxication—but he’s had experience with many Adams, because your dad was also much like Adam.”
“Dad changed,” Bridget quickly said.
“He changed to a point. Don’t think he did a one-eighty. He still carries a lot of pain from his past. I told you—when your dad starts thinking of himself, instead of God’s will for him, he becomes quite unbearable.”
Bridget gasped.
“Maybe I shielded you kids too much from your dad’s shortcomings.” Mom shook her head, fingertips grazing her temples and gaze on the teacup.
“Emery got more than his share of it in July, and he survived. Darryl may not have gone to prison, but he suffers intergenerational trauma from the residential schools.”
“Yes, he does. It’s why he’s attending the workshop.”
“And that’s the same reason Adam is.” Bridget palmed the teacup. “Maybe this is part of God’s plan? Adam’s staying at Darryl’s. Maybe sharing with Darryl will help Adam?”
“I believe it’s a good thing. Don’t think I’m against Adam as a person. I’m not.” Mom reached for her own teacup. “I’m simply telling you if Adam returned to his old ways before, he might do so again. Any kind of trauma could set him off. He may have been sober for almost four years, but he was behind bars. He couldn’t waltz down to the liquor store when he was inside a cell. For the other half a year, he was on day parole and returned to the local jail every night.”
“Mom, if Adam really wanted to drink, he could’ve bought booze in prison. Those places are full of drugs and alcohol. More so in there than on the outside.”
“Oh, Bridget...” Mom rubbed her brow.
She was probably thinking what she’d said to Bridget while growing up—I might as well speak to the garbage can, because you always have to stick your fingers into the flame even though you know the fire’s hot and you’ll burn yourself.
“I’m not Emery who obeys everything you two ask of him. I’m not Jude, living the perfect Catholic life. But I can accept responsibility for my actions. I always have, haven’t I?”
> “Yes.” Mom’s reply was as weak as her limp wrist. “I just wish... I wish you’d understand your decisions don’t only impact you. They impact the people who love you.”
A niggle of guilt appeared at the base of Bridget’s neck. “I know what I’m doing. I haven’t agreed to reconcile, so don’t assume I have.”
“Then where did you really go this evening?”
Mom would never believe Bridget had sex on the trail. Oh, her mother probably assumed she’d let Adam sneak a kiss, or even a smidgen more than kissing.
“We went down the trail and sat at the lake. Adam’s already tried to reconcile, but I told him no. Okay?”
“Did you?” A hint of delight warmed Mom’s eyes.
“Yes. Then Stephen and I went on a date.” Bridget gazed out the sliding doors, beyond the screened-in deck and out to the bay where she enjoyed swimming.
“Please remember, as much as we respect what Adam’s doing, we’re aware it could take him many tries before he remains sober for good.” Mom’s voice rose an octave higher from her pleading.
Bridget slumped in the chair. Wasn’t this what she’d told herself countless times, and why she’d refuted Adam’s declaration of love? She had the same big fear—he’d hurt her again. As for giving in... she couldn’t keep lying. A part of her heart held hope. Hope that he could change—that he would change and succeed this time.
* * * *
Adam sat out on the deck. One thing about Indian Reserves, there was lots of nature and plenty of room to stretch out. Not like in the city where a guy had to walk a get-out-of-my-way gait, or in prison where he’d never turned his back and watched everyone from behind his head.
The waves lapping against the rocks produced a great outdoor soundtrack. Certain bugs sang a song. What kind of bugs they were, he wasn’t sure. Maybe crickets? He’d expected a shitload of mosquitoes to attack him, being this deep in the forest, but maybe they were only bad during July and August.
The door opened. Darryl meandered outside, carrying two cans of colas. “Thought you might be thirsty.”
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