by Lexi Whitlow
As we glide further into the meandering stream, I see her come around, descending slowly, returning to where she came from.
The further we go, the more wildlife we see. There are birds, walking on stilt-like legs in the shallows, using their long bills to dip in the water, pulling up fish and crustaceans, tilting their heads to swallow them whole. Smaller birds flit in the tall grass. The water is so clear, I can see fish below us, scattering as we slowly move above them in the shallow water.
Jeb kills the engine, letting us drift before he drops a small anchor, pulling the rope taught to hold us in position.
“What is this place?” I ask, watching the water, the grass, and him.
“Just a spot,” he says. “A nice spot.”
He comes and settles across from me, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the thermos.
“Look around. Tell me what you see.”
I see him, shirtless and distracting. I see green eyes peering at me, and a tousle of wavy, bleached blond hair I’d like to run my fingers through.
Jeb waits patiently. I know he means ‘beyond the confines of this boat.’
To either side of us, I see water, hemmed in by knee high, green grass. Beyond the grass, to the left, there’s land with a stand of tall pine trees. To our right, perhaps a half mile away, is more land bearing what appears to be oaks, their branches hung heavy with foliage and moss. Ahead of us, the water disappears around a turn, ending with a mud bank, grass, and another stand of pines perhaps a quarter mile away.
I see a wild place. Unfamiliar, but dense with the sound of wildlife. A few yards away, just behind me, something large slips into the water with a gurgling splash.
“Was that an alligator?” I ask.
“Maybe,” Jeb says. “Tell me what you see.”
I see birds. Massive, pale gray birds feeding in the shallows, stepping carefully, leading adolescent versions of themselves along the mud-line.
“Those are blue herons,” Jeb says.
There are ducks too, a variety of colors and body types displayed. To the left of us a large fish jumps straight up out of the water, flexing its muscular body in the air, then dropping with a splash into the crystal-clear basin.
Jeb peers over the edge, looking down on the sandy bottom of the stream.
“Look over here,” he says.
I follow, peering over the side, looking down.
The white stream bed is strewn with black shellfish; individuals and clumps of them. There are hundreds within our purview. Without doubt there are thousands more scattered in the acres of water around us. Before I look up, I watch a large, blue crab crawl sideways under our boat.
Fish abound, swimming beneath us, darting around. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a large bird dives from the sky like a torpedo, disappearing under the surface with the seamless, splashless precision of an Olympic diver. It emerges a moment later with a big silver fish in its bill. A moment after that, the fish is consumed, slipping into the long, crooked neck of the graceful predator.
This place is magical, wild, ethereal. Insects I have no name for screech, their hideouts unseen.
“I see an Eden,” I say. “A place untouched.”
Jeb shakes his head. “It is magical, and ethereal. But it’s not untouched. It’s recovering, but it’s got a way to go yet. Ten years ago, there was nothing here but mud.” He points across the boat to the grove of pines beyond. “There’s a farm over there. The run-off choked this creek with nitrogen and phosphates, killing everything. I started seeding this creek with spat seven years ago. The oysters filtered the water, and in a year, other shellfish appeared, then the crabs, then the grass came back. After that, the birds came in. The birds have attracted turtles, snakes, and ‘gators.”
Jeb looks around, taking in the result of his work. “One day I want to see otters here. There used to be otters here.”
Something tells me he’ll get his wish one day, somehow or another.
“Do you lease this?” I ask. “Do you have oysters here?”
Jeb shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I seeded it, cleaning it up. This creek feeds the river above where I do have leases. I wanted clean water running out of here before it gets to my farm stock. This is just good stewardship, making sure my oysters are healthy and sweet.”
A few moments later Jeb turns us around, returning the way we came. We cross the open water at a somewhat slower pace, headed east into the sun. We’re not on the water long before Jeb dials the engines down, turning a bend around a densely wooded island to the south.
That’s when I see it; a structure rising like gleaming gem from the edge of a jungle landscape. It’s built squat and sturdy, commanding the landscape, the most prominent vision on the point of the island; impossible to miss and impossible not to be impressed by.
Blanc-Bleu, facing the water, is imposing and stunning. I understand now what Jeb meant when he said “…the way it’s supposed to be seen.” I’m accustomed to the road approach from the rear of the house, which is impressive, but it’s nothing like this. The two, symmetrical groves of oaks on either flank spread out like wings, framing landscaping of perfectly organized palmettos and magnolias. The house itself rises above them all, her yellow and white painted wood, and her shining red brick, gleaming in the morning light.
“Two hundred years ago, when Blanc-Bleu was built, there were no roads to speak of out here,” Jeb says. “The rivers were the roads. That’s how everyone traveled. The house faces the river, and it was built to command this entire stretch of the Coosaw for miles in every direction.”
If that was the builder’s aim, he succeeded in spades. It’s a breathtaking image.
Jeb draws the boat forward slowly, approaching a dock that isn’t visible from the grounds in front of the house due to low seagrass and tangled bushes on the land’s edge. The pier fingering across stretches hundreds of feet above a tidal mud and grass flat teeming with feeding birds and insects.
“You can lose the life jacket,” Jeb says, reaching forward, unstrapping it from me. He pulls on a t-shirt, covering his lovely, tanned torso, much to my chagrin. “Let’s go poke around the old shack up there and see what we can discover.”
In the full light of day Blanc-Bleu is even more stunning than she appears under spotlights. Crossing the wide lawn, approaching the main entrance, my attention is called to not just the wide flight of stairs heading up to the main floor, but also to two flanking stairwells heading down, below ground level, under the house.
Last night I peered into ground level windows, but I had no idea the first level extended below ground. I want to go and see what’s down there!
“We’ll go downstairs,” Jeb says. “It’s cool. But first, let’s see the main part of the house.”
He takes my hand in his, leading me up a wide, external staircase to a wrap-around gallery of covered porches. The front door is at least ten feet tall, and heavily ornamented with fine woodwork and glass. The windows to our left and right stretch from a few inches above the floor to the porch-top above. Each one is at least three feet wide. The scale of this place defies any modern context.
Jeb slips a key into the front door, turns the massive, brass handle, swinging it wide open on silent hinges. An instant later an electronic beeping noise sounds. He steps inside, sliding a framed picture aside to reveal an alarm console. He rapidly punches buttons on a digital keypad; a thing completely out of place in this ancient house. The warning tones quiet, leaving us and the house in eerie silence.
Jeb turns back, offering his hand. “Come on in,” he says.
I take it, stepping into a space the likes of which I’ve never seen. This first room is wide open, boasting gleaming, intricate woodwork and a central stairwell leading to mysteries above. The ceiling is carved, painted, sculpted. To either side open passageways lead to rooms glowing with even more elaborate ornamentation.
I’m overwhelmed, distracted, and then surprised when Jeb pushes me backward against a paneled wall.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you get out of Manuel’s truck this morning,” he half-growls, slipping his hand around the small of my back, pressing my shoulders to the paneling.
His kiss is intense, heated, impatient, and I can’t help but melt into it. My brain slips into early morning dreams, recalling images of us tangled together, exchanging heat, sweat, sucking kisses, ecstatic pleasures. That familiar ache returns to my sex, begging for reality – not just dreams.
Jeb’s body shoved against mine, his hands lifting me to meet him, is better in real life than it is in my dreams. I haul his salty, sexy scent into my lungs, probing his depths for that intoxicating taste that makes my head swim.
I want him. I want all of him. I want him inside, on me, over me, consuming me. His kisses, slightly brutal and unexpected, are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.
Chapter 12
Jeb
I gently bite Maddie’s lip to distract her, slow her down, to give me a chance to catch my breath and collect myself before this gets out of hand. I stole that kiss out of sheer, frustrated impatience. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but she’s not complaining. She gives as good as she gets, and that’s encouraging.
Maddie laughs at me, nibbling back, her infectious smile finally breaking our kiss.
“Mmm…” she hums, her fingers dug firmly into the flesh above my waistband. “That was nice. More, please.”
Drinking in her scent, my nose pressed into her hair, I can think of a few things more than kisses I’d like to give her.
“I thought you wanted a tour of the house,” I say, lifting my hand to cup her breast, tweaking a nipple, making her stiffen against me.
She whines at my touch, closing her eyes. “I’d rather have a tour of you,” she purrs, sliding her hand down low, curious fingers finding me hard against her touch.
She wanted to wait. That’s what she said. She said there was no rush.
“Please, don’t do that if you don’t mean it,” I huff against her pale, soft neck, sucking her heat into my lungs, pressing my cock into her hand.
Maddie gives me a small squeeze, the pressure maddening, making every cell in my body ache, demanding relief.
“I mean it,” she whispers, kissing me hard, her tongue seeking, her lips soft and full, as tender as ripe cherries and just as tart.
My heart rate quickens, pounding in my ears. Is she serious?
“You said we shouldn’t rush,” I remind her, feeling a catch of tension in my voice. My lips graze the turn of her ear, tasting metal earrings and warm skin. I’m dizzy with her scent.
With her free hand, Maddie pulls me closer, pressing my rigid, trapped cock more firmly into her stroking fingers. “I slept on it,” she whispers, breathlessly. “I changed my mind. Let’s rush.”
Oh, good God.
I pull back to get a good look at her, to see if she’s teasing. Her face is flushed. Her pale blue eyes fixed on mine with intent. She doesn’t look like she’s teasing.
“Where shall we go?” she asks, a tiny smile pressing slightly bruised lips. “It’s a big house.”
A big house, with security cameras everywhere.
I reach down, taking her exploring hand in mine before I come out of these shorts and fuck her right here on the floor. “Come with me,” I say.
Up the stairs we go, in more of a hurry than is customary. I guess we can do the grand tour another time.
There are only a few rooms in this place without cameras mounted high in the corners, surveilling every angle. We make the second floor, rounding the corner, passing bedroom after bedroom. At the end of the gallery we approach a wall that few visitors ever manage to notice conceals a hidden door. I give it a solid thump to pop the spring latch. It swings open a few inches, granting us entrance to the uppermost part of the house, an area not generally open to the public.
“What is this?” Maddie asks, trailing me up a steep, narrow stairwell.
“Servant’s quarters,” I say, glossing over the facts of the original use of these rooms. “Only place in the house without cameras.”
We emerge on a landing with two rooms on either side of us to choose from. These rooms are plain, lacking the intricate ornamentation of those below. They’re sparingly furnished, but one of them will do.
Maddie grins at me, a sheepish expression coloring her lovely face. “In here,” she says, pulling me toward a bright room to the east, facing the sun. Before we even cross the threshold and close the door behind us, she’s tugging at my t-shirt, pulling it up.
We fumble with clothing while backing toward the bed, our urgency making us laugh. I get her on her back, her shorts unzipped, then pulled down, while furiously kissing and sucking beautiful, freshly exposed breasts. There’s no foreplay. No lingering, teasing moments of building excitement. The second I have my achingly hard cock in hand, I spread Maddie’s legs wide. Without another moment’s hesitation, I plunge in deep.
Tight, hot, liquid heat envelopes me, drowning my senses, making me weak.
“Oh, God…” she cries into my ear, her snatch gripping me like a silken fist.
I’ve never felt anything more perfect in all my life. Nothing can touch this. My body moves, shoving in hard, drawing out, ignoring any idea my brain has about slowing down, trying to maintain some modicum of control.
This is not going to last.
“You feel so good,” Maddie whines, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her ankles hooked behind my hips, drawing me in deeper with every forceful thrust I deliver.
It’s been too long. I should have done something – anything – to prepare.
Two minutes – less – my balls draws up tight against my body. I bite my lip and try to concentrate on oysters, but that only makes me think about how salty and slick Maddie’s slit feels, her firm clit rubbing against the length of my shaft. I’m done.
Cum wells up with a rapidly building orgasm, then explodes, unloading in a few short, mind-bending strokes. I hear myself call out, crying against Maddie’s shoulder, my whole body arched over hers, shuddering.
I feel Maddie relax under me, even though her sex is still pulsing, tugging at my softening dick. She sighs while I try to catch my breath. I feel her disappointment in my bones.
“We’re not done yet,” I breathe, feeling her frustration. “Not by a long shot.”
“It’s okay,” she says. Something about the way she says it tells me she’s had some practice with the line.
“Fuck that,” I reply, lifting up.
I start at her earlobes, sucking, nipping, taking my time, letting my tongue and lips explore her sweat glazed body. She’s beautiful; strong and lithe, but soft where I like soft. I work my way down, tracing her collarbone with kisses, telling her how gorgeous she is to me.
By the time I reach Maddie’s breasts, her breath is hard, catching. I tug, playing with her nipples, using my mouth and fingers alternatively. She whines, threading her fingers into my hair. Her nipples are sensitive. My attention sends her back arching, her hips rocking, her legs spreading around mine.
“Touch yourself,” I whisper, looking up into her eyes. “Show me what you do when you’re by yourself.”
Maddie huffs out helplessly, her expression drawn, face flushed and pink. Her right hand slips down low, pressing into her slit, parting her lips. While I stroke the inside of her thighs with my lips, mouth, and tongue, I watch her fingers work, touching her clit, circling it, spreading slick moisture around. She dips two fingers deeper, her eyes searing closed.
“Don’t come,” I tell her, whispering into the soft flesh of her upper thigh. “I’m going to make you come.” Her scent is salty and spicy. My dick perks up.
With a palm pressed against the inside of her other thigh, I spread her wide open. I drop in where her fingers work, following their instruction with my tongue.
“Oh, God, Jeb…” she moans, removing her hand, slipping it instead around the back of my head.
Gentle nipping and s
ucking draws her out. Fingers pressed in deep, spreading tight muscles, hooking her walls, and then shoving in again, cause her to buck against my fist. Her snatch tightens against my hand, moving me inward, then begins to tremble almost imperceptibly.
“That’s it,” I say, nudging her clit with my tongue while my fingers do the real work. “Come for me. Come hard on me.”
She whimpers, her back arching. Her hands grip my head, showing me just where she needs me.
“Oh… oh…” she whimpers as a gush of moisture floods over my fist, drenching my hand, dowsing me in her succulent scent and flavor. “Oh fuck…”
I’m hard again before she stills, before she catches her breath. I stroke myself, using her liquid for lubrication, then press near, sliding the head of my cock between her lips, threatening her entrance but not pressing in.
“We’re gonna take it slow this time,” I say, hovering over her, rocking just enough to make her hips rise to meet me.
Maddie opens her eyes, peering up at me. She swallows hard. “More. Oh God, more,” she begs. “I want you inside. This is so good.”
I slide inside and am once again enveloped in slick heat. This time it’s easier to go slow, take my time, enjoy every fold of her lips wrapped around me, enjoy her little squeals and moans, watch her expression as her tension builds. This is the way I like it; the full sensory experience of listening, feeling, watching. I like making Maddie come, shuddering underneath me, her eyelids fluttering, biting her lips, her fingers wrapped around my upper arms, her heels dug into my ass while I ride her smoothly, grinding myself into her depths.
When she comes the second time, it’s spontaneous and forceful, her cunt quaking against my cock. I keep steady, letting Maddie pace things. When she finally stills she looks spent, but I’m not done.
“Come on top of me,” I urge, rolling us without severing our connection. “You drive,” I say, grinning up at her, reaching with newly freed hands to fondle her full, bobbing tits. It doesn’t take long to bring her to orgasm with her setting the pace, dipping down and then drawing back from me. I use my fingers to tweak her nipples, pressing and pulling. She comes, calling out my name, her snatch seizing tight around me.