Body Heat

by Unknown

“About 400 acres.” He starts walking toward the woods.

  “No nosy neighbors up here, huh?” I follow behind him. “I bet you don’t hear a thing at night.”

  “Nothing besides the occasional coyote or wolf. Which I’ll take over the clamor of the city any day.”

  “We don’t have to worry about them now, though, right?” I scan the countryside with renewed interest. He’s right—I am a city girl.

  “No—you’re perfectly safe here with me.” He says it matter-of-factly without arrogance or attitude. And that makes me believe him.

  “Where do you stay when you’re out here? I didn’t see a house from the air.” I’m careful as I place my feet, watching out for any roots or other tripping hazards. Or rodents. Or snakes. God, I hate snakes. “And please don’t tell me you camp out here.”

  “Don’t worry, city princess. The land came with an old hunting cabin. I haven’t gotten around to replacing it, but I’ve fixed it up a little. It suits me just fine as is for when I spend a night or two up here. Besides, lately work has been crazy and I haven’t been able to sneak away as much as I’d like.”

  “Will you show me the cabin?”

  “That’s the plan. It’s on the way to the riverbank, where I thought we could have lunch. It’s maybe a twenty-minute walk in the woods to the cabin. There’s a trail, so it’s not completely overgrown.”

  “I’d love to see it.” Hopefully, it has a working bathroom. I drank way too much coffee this morning and the thought of squatting behind a tree is less than appealing.

  “Well, then it’s your lucky day. I like to check it at least once a month to make sure everything is secure. It won’t take long. I packed food, so we can picnic by the river if you want.”

  I stand beside him as we reach the tree line. He takes my hand in his own and leads me into the woods. The sunlight filters through the leaves and it feels like we’re wandering through nature’s cathedral. The dirt is soft under my feet, and the air is crisp. I never knew a walk could be so pleasant. I stop from time to time to pick up a leaf or examine a bird. He waits patiently for me each time, never rushing. We walk next to each other in easy silence, and I find myself again reaching for his hand.

  “I enjoy spending time with you,” I say, and it’s the God’s honest truth. It’s not much of an offering, and I know he wants more, but it’s all I can manage right now.

  “Right back at you, beautiful.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Are you holding up okay? I know this is a lot of nature for you.”

  I laugh. “Yes, it’s lovely.” I struggle to explain the peace I’m feeling here. “This is so different from city parks, where you run into other people every ten feet on the trails. It’s very relaxing.”

  We walk, hands entangled, until the trees open into a small clearing. A log cabin is nestled among several pine trees. I imagined a ramshackle lean-to, but it more closely resembles a storybook cottage. Everything about it is charming, from the tidy landscaping to the freshly painted red door and matching window trim.

  “Wait here,” he says. “I’m going to have a quick walk around to make sure everything looks okay.” He drops his pack to the ground and disappears around the side of the building.

  “Can I see the inside?” I ask when he returns.

  “Sure, but it’s not much,” he cautions. “The land was the selling point. I’ll probably bulldoze this someday.”

  I won’t be deterred—my curiosity is getting the better of me. “Show me,” I say as I grab his arm. He obliges and opens the front door.

  It’s not what I imagined looking from the outside. It’s even better. It may be a tiny one-room cabin, but it’s neat as a pin and everything has been carefully maintained. The log walls give the room a warm cozy feel, and the wood stove tucked in the corner only contributes to that, even with no fire burning. The world’s tiniest kitchen is tucked in one corner, and a small double bed covered in an authentic-looking patchwork quilt is nestled in the other. A small sofa and battered coffee table rest in front of the wood stove. For some reason I can’t explain, I’m utterly delighted.

  “You can use the bathroom if you need to,” he says, “and refill your water bottle.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I head for the bathroom door and emerge a moment later, greatly relieved.

  “When you said it was rustic, this is not what I pictured.” I gesture to the framed maps on the walls. “This is absolutely charming. I could see why you want to come out here.”

  “Really?” He looks somewhat shocked.

  “Yeah—it’s like we’re in an entire other world out here.”

  “It certainly is,” he says, and he’s still looking at me a bit funny. “Are you getting hungry? It’s about a half an hour walk to the creek.”

  “Sure.” I can’t wait to see what he has planned for lunch.

  He double-checks everything one more time and then locks the front door. We’re lost in the forest again. At least I am. He walks with such an easy grace and confidence that I never question where he is leading me. I’m rewarded in short order.

  I’M FAMISHED BY THE time we arrive at the river, but it’s too beautiful not to take a look around. Besides, I may be ready to tear the food from Max’s back and chow down like a wild animal, but he insists on setting everything up properly. So I make a poor showing of skipping stones across the still water while he spreads a picnic blanket on the ground and produces container after container of delights from the soft-sided cooler in his backpack.

  “It’s ready if you’re ready,” he calls, and I run to join him.

  I collapse on the blanket and survey all the goodies: pasta salad, kale salad, shrimp kabobs, bread, fruit, and numerous other items I don’t recognize. He has gone all out and it thrills me. I squeal with delight when he pulls a bottle of cheap sweet sparkling white wine out last.

  “You know me so well.”

  “You didn’t think I’d let my girl down, did you?”

  His girl. It sounds so nice. A rush of pleasure goes through me and I grow warm in spite of the blustery fall day. “I’m so impressed.”

  “That makes me very happy. But it is all catered.” He pours wine in a plastic tumbler and hands it to me

  “Yeah, but you made the effort, which is just lovely of you.” I grab a crostini and spread it with a luscious goat cheese dip. I take a giant bite.

  “I can see why you like it out here,” I remark for what feels like the hundredth time. But I have fallen under the spell of this place. I feel so calm and serene out here.

  “I feel like a different person when I escape here.” He piles shrimp and pasta salad on a plate and attacks it.

  “What are you escaping from in the city?” I ask it as a joke, but he looks down at his plate and doesn’t answer. I can tell something is troubling him. He just hides it better than I do. I can only see because he lets me. And how can I expect him to confide in me when I shut down every attempt he makes to get to know me? The real me.

  “I started a new job a few months ago,” I offer, and he snaps to attention. I can tell he’s shocked I’m sharing without any prompting, but he holds back and just nods encouragingly.

  “I mean, I guess it’s not really a job, technically. I volunteer. I have family money, and my sister knew of a nonprofit that was looking to hire a victim advocate.” The words start tumbling out faster, like water rushing over a collapsed dam. “Something happened a few years ago, with my ex-husband, and I ended up navigating the system by myself until I found someone to help me.

  “I can’t talk about all of it with you yet. I want to, I really do.” I struggle to find the words to explain it to him so he’ll understand. So he knows I’m not shutting him out on purpose. I’m trying, God knows I’m trying, to open myself up again.

  “You don’t have to,” he says as he puts a strong hand on my calf and squeezes gently. “I’m so sorry someone hurt you like that.”

  “I couldn’t make sense of anything. Of why it was happening
to me. Why worse things were happening to better people. So I quit my job at Champagne and went back to school and studied counseling and the criminal justice system and a boatload of other subjects. I took this new job thinking maybe if I could help other people, I could make something good come out of a bad situation. But now I’m more confused than ever. I still can’t make sense of any of it. And I thought helping others would make me feel more empowered, but it just makes me feel more helpless. Because I couldn’t help myself, so how can I help them?”

  I feel the tears building and I have to stop talking. I have been staring at my wine glass the entire time and I’m scared to look up. To see how he looks at me now that he knows how deep the damage runs.

  “Ivy,” he says, and I raise my eyes. I breathe deeply because I see nothing there but kindness and tenderness and compassion. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” He takes my hand, turns it over, and gently kisses my palm.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what to do? That’s what Nova and my parents and my friends do.”

  “I figured I’d just listen. If you’re anything like me, you get enough of that from everyone else in your life who thinks they know what’s best for you.”

  “You know what I’m talking about?” I whisper.

  “I know a little about people trying to help so much they just make things worse. People who have all the answers but only because they’ve never had to live through something that was scary and horrible. And they don’t know how your mind keeps going back to the things you wish you could stop thinking about.”

  “My family, and friends, told me to see a shrink and work on moving on. And take self-defense classes. And now they tell me to quit the new job because it’s too stressful. Oh, and I need to exercise more so I can sleep better.” He nods in agreement. “What do they tell you?” I ask.

  The silence stretches forever. He sets his plate on the ground, rests his arm on his raised knee, and stares into the woods. Can he trust me? I hope so. I need him to confide in me, to let me in. Realizing I’m not the only messed up person out there has strengthened my resolve. We can make this work. If he talks to me, I think we have a chance.

  “They want me to go to the VA counseling center, or see a shrink, or join a support group, or volunteer with Wounded Warriors, or start taking pills so I can sleep at night.” He says all of this so whisper-quiet I can barely hear. The shame drips from his voice and it breaks my heart a little.

  “I imagine you saw more than your fair share of really shitty stuff over the years.”

  “Yeah, so did a lot of other guys,”

  “The fact that other people saw it too doesn’t diminish what it did to you.”

  “I know that on a rational level, but it’s hard to wallow in self-pity when there is a whole bunch of people way worse off.” He lies back on the blanket, tucking his arm behind his head.

  “I know,” I say. I’m suddenly exhausted and emotional. I lie next to him, tucking in close and resting my cheek on his chest. I bask in his warmth and soak it all up. He wraps his free arm around me and pulls me close. I take in everything around us. The fluffy clouds overhead. The way the trees shiver in the breeze and shed their colored leaves. The chirping of the birds. I feel at peace here, with him, more than I have in a long time. We stay that way for a while, cherishing each other and our secrets.

  He finally breaks the silence.

  “We should probably head back to our ride. I made a promise to get you home well before dark.”

  But I have other ideas. “Take me back to the cabin,” I say. “I want to stay here with you tonight.”

  WE STUMBLE INSIDE THE cabin and tear off each other’s clothes in record time. I feel as light as cotton candy after our emotional exchange, and I’m ready to play. To cement our bond. I want to do everything with him.

  I had never given much thought to bondage. But that had changed the night I had tied Max’s hands behind his back and pleasured him. I trust him now, completely, and the thought of being tied open for him to use as he wishes is intoxicating. I want him to do that to me.

  He has my breast in his mouth when I tell him so. “I want you to tie me up tonight. Just my legs to start with. I want to be spreadeagle for you.”

  He groans and carries me to the bed. We hadn’t bought supplies but he MacGyvers a setup with utility rope and spare linens torn into strips. He binds my ankles to the bedposts, but I want more. He runs a length of rope under the bed, pads it with the cloth, and ties it around my knees, forcing my legs open. I feel so vulnerable and wanton at the same time. My pussy aches. I feel my warmth drip down between my cheeks. Max looks at me like a wild dog eying up a juicy steak. But I’m not scared. He’s strong enough to rip the bumper off a car, but the gentleness and care he takes while securing me is humbling.

  “Are you okay, babe?” He runs his hands along my skin to make sure I’m comfortable. “Is anything too tight?”

  “Everything’s fine, but I wouldn’t mind a pillow under my head.” I want to watch every delicious thing he does to me. My hands are free; I stretch them above my head.

  “Is it warm enough in here for you?” He runs his fingers over my goose flesh. “I can throw another log on the fire.”

  “I’m fine.” I grin at him. “Those are chills of excitement.”

  “I wish you could see how fucking hot you look right now,” he says. “Spread open for me, with your pussy all swollen and wet.”

  I look down and have to admit, I do look pretty fucking hot. My alabaster skin is flawless, and my pink pussy is practically throbbing, just aching for his attention. Of course, he’s not so bad either. He lacks any trace of self-consciousness when he’s naked. He’s all broad shoulders, bulging muscles, and neatly trimmed body hair. His cock bobs around as he moves, and I want to take it between my lips and suck the perfect plump crown of him.

  He grabs a chair from the small dining area and sets it at the foot of the bed, between my feet. He takes my hips and pulls me closer to the edge of the bed. The footboard itself is low and he slides me right to the edge.

  Still standing, he runs the back of his hands up and down my soft inner thighs, caressing the warm skin. He sits on the chair and moves it forward until I’m positioned perfectly in front of him. I’m spread open like a buffet for him to feast on. I’m desperate for his touch, but all he does is stare.

  “I’ve always wanted to be able to look at a woman’s pussy like this.” He places his warm hands at my outer labia and gently spreads me. I gasp. “All the women I’ve dated have been shy or self-conscious.”

  He massages my inner thighs in long gentle strokes that pass closer and closer to my core each time. He lowers his head and plants small gentle kisses where his hands had just traveled.

  “God, I love how you smell. It makes my dick so fucking hard.”

  He caresses the sweet flesh where my inner thigh and pussy meet. “Your skin is so damn soft.” He gently pulls his thumbs apart and I spread open before him, my silky folds revealed.

  He takes his time playing with me. He pinches my lips together and rolls them between his thumb and index finger. I spasm every time he hits my clit. I gasp when he spreads my pussy with one hand and traces my slick folds with the pads of his fingers.

  “Please, I need your mouth.” My hips are thrusting against air. I have no control over them.

  He bends to my cleft, licking my juices but avoiding any contact with my clit. I squirm under the lash of his tongue. He moves lower, to the pink pucker of my asshole. His tongue feels so hot and wet and divine. He traces the crinkled skin with the tip of his tongue and then pops it inside me while he sucks against that sensitive rosette. He lays his hand flat on my mons and strums my clit with his thumb.

  “Oh, Christ, that’s so good, I’m going to come.”

  I buck against his face as I orgasm; he holds my hips down with his free hand and sucks until the pulses fade.

  He has a satisfied smile on his face as he runs his hands
across my thighs. He playfully slaps my deliciously plump pussy with the flat of his hand and I jerk against him.

  “Are you doing okay, babe?”

  “I need your cock.” My skin is flushed and sweaty. I’m totally drunk for his cock and I need it in my mouth now. “Please, I need to suck you off.”

  “There’s nothing I’d love more than your mouth on me. But I’m not done with your pretty pussy yet.”

  He turns his head to the side and locks onto my sex like he’s kissing a lover. He spreads my outer lips with his own and runs his tongue through my velvet warmth. He sucks my entire labia into his mouth and releases them with a wet smack.

  “Oh God, that is so good,” I say. “Please do it again.”

  He sucks again, hard this time, tugging on my pink lips and stretching them tight before releasing them. He keeps the suction tight, and I grind myself against his mouth. I’m glad my hands are free; I run my hand through his hair and pull him closer. He slides one finger, then another, into my achingly tight pussy. I come with a cry, pulsing around his fingers and bucking against his face.

  “Jesus.”

  “Do you need me to stop?”

  “I need your cock; I’m going crazy for it.”

  “Not yet, babe, not yet.”

  He keeps his fingers inside me, massaging my tunnel in slow circles and slowly easing them in and out.

  “That’s so good. Fuck my pussy. Harder. Harder.” I collapse. I’m a mound of quivering flesh. Every time he touches me, jolts of pleasure surge through me with an intensity that scares me. He reaches one hand up to toy with my nipples as the other one continues to tunnel in and out of me. He has three fingers inside me; a fourth, slick with my juices, circles the entrance to my dark entrance. He slowly applies pressure, and I wonder if it’s possible to die from too much pleasure. I struggle to prop myself up on my elbows so I can look down at where we are joined.

  “Does that feel good?” he asks. I can only manage a whimper in response. “Do you like it when I fuck your tight little asshole with my big finger?”