“Have you ever seen them since?” My voice is hoarse, weighed down by the sadness I feel for the little girl she once was. I wish I knew her then. That I could’ve saved her from those experiences.
“No, they were charged and the found guilty. I’ve never visited them in prison. At first it was because my foster family wouldn’t take me.” She hangs her head and I run my hand over her silky hair. “You know what’s really sad? Even after all of that, I begged, I mean I really begged that first family to take me to see them. I was devastated when they said they wouldn’t. I mean, just crushed.” She looks up at me and tears fall down her cheeks every time she blinks. I gently wipe them away with my thumbs, wishing I could erase her wounds as easily as I can make her tears disappear.
“Yet, I was devastated to be away from them. All I wanted was to be with them. I told myself that they would love me more once they were in prison, you know?” Her chin trembles as she tries to sputter the words. “That it had been the drugs that made them act that way, but then one day I finally had a meltdown about my foster parents not taking me to see Mom on visitation day and they lost it on me. They told me my parents didn’t want anything to do with me, even though they were clean, even though they had time to think about their mistakes, they still didn’t want me to… to bother them.” She hunches forward, like the weight of her sorrow just broke her back and I hold her up.
I won’t let her collapse. I will be her strength when she has none left. “They just didn’t love me,” she sobs and I can hear the pain of the confused child she once was, in her voice. “They never loved me,” she barely utters the words.
Guilt swirls through me like the Arctic cyclones of wind outside the door. Not just for how harshly I’ve treated her, or how much time I’ve spent judging her. I mean, a little bit for those things, but mostly it’s guilt for my own happy childhood. For the love I grew up never questioning. My parents lived for two things, their sons and their restaurant and it was always clear that it was in that order.
I understand now how Ashley and I could have such a different take on Catcher in the Rye. She already spent her entire life as the outsider. An outsider in her own family. She has lived the pain, she has carried that burden. I never felt that until I chose to. It wasn’t until my family was taken away from me that I turned my back on society, deciding to live alone in the woods. Ashley was never given the option.
“Hey, I want to do something for you, ok?” I murmur with my cheek pressed against hers. Quickly, I kiss the top of her head and look down at her, “I think you’ll like it,” I smile.
Ashley looks up at me with her red-rimmed eyes, confused. “What is it?”
“Wait a sec,” I cross the floor and pick up the large pot of water on the stove, I pour it into the basin by the fire, filing up the old-fashioned washing bucket halfway. “I know you’ve been missing taking a shower, so I put together the next best thing,” I hold out my free hand toward the dented basin like I’m offering her a brand-new car.
“You made me a bath?” She sniffles.
“Yep, it’s pretty warm too, climb in, you’ll feel a lot better.”
I drop the empty pot by the door and Ashley walks over to the edge of her bathtub, peering inside uncertainly. Though I scrubbed it out earlier, it’s still in rough shape.
Pink spreads over her cheeks and a sparkle returns to her blue eyes, reminding me of the glittery waves on the lake under the summer sun.
“You did this for me?” She whispers.
“Yep.”
Her mouth twitches into a smile and she tilts her head at me, looking up at me coyly. “That’s the most thoughtful thing I think anyone has ever done for me,” her fingers begin to unbutton the plaid shirt I lent her. I can’t help but stare as the flannel falls off her pale shoulders and drapes open around her soft tits. Ashley unties the knot around her waist and shrugs the shirt down to the floor. The pants I lent her are quick to follow. My gaze licks every inch of her skin, as I long to feel her pressed back against my body. I want to feel her pussy clenching around my cock. I want to hear her beautiful lips scream my name again. I shift uncomfortably as my cock grows hard for her.
This isn’t about me, I chide myself. Get a grip. It’s about Ashley. “Go ahead, I have a towel in my bag you can dry off with when you’re done.
“Thank you,” she dips her toes into the water before plunging her foot inside. I grab the large towel and clean washcloth I have stored in my hiking bag as Ashley sits down in the bath with a sigh.
I watch as she lays her head back and her eyelids flutter closed. Peace washes over her face and the tension she’s probably carried on her shoulders her entire life seems to slip away into the water. I hang the towel on the back of a chair and never take my eyes off of her as I walk over to the edge of her tub. I want to kiss a trail down her supple skin, over every curve and edge, leaving her quivering for my touch and begging me for my cock.
Fuck, it’s like my body only has two modes when I’m with her, fuck or protect. I either want to let the winter slowly melt into spring as I spend my waking hours claiming her body and teaching her what it feels like to be with a real man, or I want to protect her, wrap my arms around her and shield her from the pain and ugliness of the world. I wish with every fiber of my being that I could take the pain she’s already had to endure.
Ashley opens her eyes and smiles up at me. I fall to my knees and hover my lips over hers, “You’re so beautiful,” I wrap my hand under her wet hair and softly kiss her. Ashley moans into my mouth, testing my restraint as our tongues meet.
I dip the washcloth into the warm water and wring it out, slowly washing her. I let the fabric lick her skin, gently scrubbing her.
Ashley closes her eyes and leans back into the water, soaking her long hair.
“Just a minute, I’ve got something for you, “I hop to my feet and open my hiking bag again. I pull out a bar and her eyes light up.
“Soap!”
“It’s actually shampoo,” I bring it over and begin to build up a sudsy lather in my hands.
“It is?” She closely examines the bar.
“Yep. I get it in bars so I don’t have a bunch of plastic bottles to deal with. I use it as soap too, it works for both,” I explain.
I run my bubbly hands through her hair, massaging her scalp. Ashley moans like she just came. It takes all of my restraint to stay where I am and shampoo her hair.
“Thank you, Sawyer,” she murmurs and keeps her eyes shut as she leans back into the bath, rinsing the shampoo from her hair.
She arches her back, lifting her tits from the water and I kiss across her cheek and down her neck. Cupping her breast in my hand, I suckle her rosy nipple, teasing it until she’s squirming in the water.
“Oh Sawyer,” she breathes my name. “I need to feel you. I need you inside me,” she pleads.
I stand up and grab the towel wordlessly. She doesn’t need to ask again. I want to make her feel good in every way I can. Emotionally, spiritually and physically. I want to give her everything.
18
Ashley
He drapes the large towel over my hair and it hangs over my dripping body like Little Red Riding Hood’s cape. Maybe he is the big bad wolf I was supposed to be scared of.
Maybe he’ll eat me.
I smile at the thought. What is it about him that makes me ache for his touch? I’ve never met anyone like him. I gaze at his thick forearms, they could be sculpted from granite. Clearly years of hard labor have chiseled his muscles, giving him a body that men who spend half their lives in the gym could only dream of.
Stacey and her husband Tom pop into my mind. He’s not built like them. His muscles don’t look like they’ve been blown up with an air pump until they are about to explode. Sawyer is solid. I glance at the bulge pressing against his pants. Well, there is one muscle that looks like it might explode… inside me.
“Thank you for the bath, I feel so much better,” I lean into him as he dries my skin.
“Good,” his voice is deep and rumbles in my ear, “I’m about to make you feel even better than that,” he quickly lifts me from my feet with the towel around me and walks me into the bedroom.
I throw my arms around his neck pressing my cheek against his beard. I’m amazed how soft and clean he keeps something that looks so gruff and manly.
Sawyer lays me on the bed and strips down in front of me. I shamelessly watch as he peels off his pants and his cock springs up in front of my face.
“I love how you look at me,” Sawyer sounds amused. “Like you can’t get enough of this,” he wraps his hand around his cock and gives it a tug. “You’d think I hadn’t just fucked you a few hours ago.”
“I want more,” I whisper, like I’m confessing a sin. I lick my lips and slide off the edge of the bed, falling to my knees in front of him. A bead of precum glistens on the head of his dick and I swipe my tongue over it, savoring it like an appetizer before the main course.
Sawyer groans and I open my mouth wide, pushing my lips over his girth inch by inch. He’s big. Too big to take the whole thing this way, but it won’t stop me from giving him the most pleasure I can.
My nipples grow taut and my pussy clenches as I kneel in front of him. I love how he towers over me, commanding and strong. I flatten my tongue and take his thick cock as far into my mouth as I can manage, sucking on him like I’m starving for his cum. I want to make him feel as amazing as he’s made me feel. Not just from giving me orgasms, but the way he takes care of me. How he cooked for me, how he gave me a bath, how he makes me feel safe, how he looks at me. I’ve never met anyone who has ever made me feel so… loved.
I push the thought away and concentrate on making him feel loved instead. Loved by my mouth. I swirl my tongue over his steel dick and feel him tense up and grunt like I’ve hurt him somehow.
Sawyer pulls out of my mouth and lifts me from the floor, “Get up here,” he plops me down on the bed.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t that feel good?” I frown.
He climbs up onto the bed, “No, it didn’t feel good, it felt fucking amazing. Now get over here,” he grabs my thighs and twists me around so my pussy is hovering over his mouth. I can feel his breath blowing heat between my thighs. I lie down on him and wrap my hand around the base of his cock and slide him back inside my mouth just as I feel him bury his tongue inside me.
“Mmmm,” I swivel my hips, grinding down against his mouth as I bob my head over his dick, in unison with my pumping hands.
Sawyer plunges a finger into my pussy and presses another firmly against my asshole as he feverishly flickers his tongue over my clit.
I can see his balls tighten and his cock twitch in my mouth. I keep sucking on him while my mouth and hands work his dick together.
Sawyer presses his lips around my clit and sucks on it lightly, sliding his tongue over it gently. I moan loudly around his cock and my thighs tremble against the sides of his face as my orgasm jolts through me, bringing every nerve in my body to life.
I slurp and suck on his dick hard as I spasm against his mouth. The powerful shock wave he sent through my body begins to fade just as Sawyer grunts loudly and thrusts his cock deep in my mouth. It twitches against my tongue as his cum spills into my throat in a spurt that is almost too much to swallow.
Sawyer’s head drops from between my legs to the bed and, for a second, we both lie still, panting and enjoying the glow of our pleasure.
I sit up and twist around, snuggling in against his chest. He throws his arm over me, pulling me in tight.
“That was amazing,” his voice is hoarse and his breathing jagged. “I have half a mind to kidnap you once this storm is over and take you back to my cottage.”
“Oh yeah,” I smile, “who says it would be kidnapping?” I twirl my fingers in his chest hair and let myself indulge in the fantasy for a bit.
Sawyer’s breathing grows heavy and I realize he’s already asleep. I look outside the bedroom window at the snow that never seems to let up. Maybe I could get him to come back to the city, to stay with me. I know he won’t but I can’t help but hope. One thing is for sure - at some point, this snow will stop and I’m not ready for us to go our separate ways.
19
Sawyer
My stomach roars at me, pulling me from my deep sleep with a craving for strawberry crepes. I lick my lips, remembering how my mother used to make them with fresh berries and topped with a cloud of whipped cream. Not that shit you buy in the can either, no, hers was handmade and infused with vanilla bean.
I open my eyes and smile at the wild wisps of hair strewn over me. It still has the faint smell of strawberries. No wonder my stomach is confused. I haven’t had a breakfast like that since they were killed. All of them. My mother, my father and my older brother. A week later, I put them in the ground and left the city. I never looked back.
The only time I’ve forced myself to come back in has been for these supply runs. I’ve never second guessed the decision to walk away. I didn’t realize how much stress I carried with me every day until I abandoned it at the edge of the forest. Not just the stress caused by the rumors about my family, by the fake fucking news. Or the stress of losing them all to a misguided and mentally ill vigilante. The lump in my throat builds and I pull Ashley tight against my chest.
That kind of stress went without saying. What happened to us was horrific, but it could happen to anyone in today’s world. When I disappeared from society, the pain of losing my family didn’t just fade away. It’s been four years and that wound still hasn’t healed.
However, after I built my home, after I learned how to forage, hunt and grow my own food. Once I learned how to get clean water, then I started going to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and waking up refreshed. Without all the little day-to-day moments in the city that chipped away at my soul, traffic jams, emails, to-do lists, fake friends wishing empty condolences for my family’s very real deaths. Those were the things crumbling the foundation of who I was.
Like a slow, steady drip of water that eventually carves out a rock, living that life was smoothing down my edges and hollowing me out.
I wonder if she’ll come back with me? I run my hand over her back and listen to her soft breathing. She feels perfect on my arm. Perfect in my life.
You know she won’t. Don’t fool yourself. This is like the opposite of a spring fling for her. Instead of going wild on the beaches of Miami, she’s letting herself cut loose in a cabin in Colorado. Different setting but the reason is the same, she has no intention of ever seeing me again after this is over.
The thought stabs my heart. I don’t want to lie here and think about what I’m going to lose. I’d rather enjoy the time we have. And that time isn’t going to be very pleasant if I don’t get my ass out of bed and build a fire.
Carefully, I roll Ashley over and free my arm from under her. I quickly kiss her cheek.
“Mmmm,” she half smiles and snuggles into her pillow.
I pull back the lasagna layers of quilts and blankets we’re buried beneath and want to shrink back under the covers. The cold clings to my skin, leeching the warmth from me as I force myself to jump out of bed and quickly pull my clothes on.
My teeth chatter as I exhale and my warm breath hangs in the air like a frozen fog. The blankets that Ashley is under are covered in frost making the bed look like a dewy hill on an early October morning.
Yeah, fire might be a good idea.
I scurry over the painfully cold floor and race over to my outdoor gear. Once I zip up my parka and slide my feet into my boots the bitter cold air becomes slightly more tolerable and I get to work on getting a rip-roaring fire lit.
It takes some patience to get it to catch, I shouldn’t have let the coals die out. Even though I’ve done this thousands of times, once I hear the distinctive whoosh and watch the orange and red flames crawl over the logs, I still feel a sense of pride.
Standing up, I let my limbs thaw for a bit while
I look down at the bathtub I put together for Ashley.
The way the water glistened over her perky breasts flashes through my mind, tempting me to jump back in bed with her and wake her up with my stiff morning wood.
The water that last night lapped at every inch of her body is now a block of ice. Looks like it’s going to take a few hours before I can dump it out and begin gathering more snow.
Now that I can actually feel my fingertips, I grab my crank radio and lower the volume before winding it up. It whirrs loudly while I spin the handle and the light on the front flickers as the voices cut in.
“San Miguel county search and rescue is coming under fire for the weather-related delay in beginning a mission to search for twenty-three-year-old Ashley Young.” A woman reports. “On the line, I have Mark Gilbert, the San Miguel County Sheriff’s Office Operations Coordinator. Sir, can you explain the hold up in this operation.”
“Certainly, Sandy,” the line is crackly but his voice is clear, “we have been eager to get the search operation for Ashley underway. However, as your listeners are aware, the weather has not been favorable. We haven’t had flyable weather to send out our helicopter and with the reduced visibility and extreme drops in temperature we’ve been experiencing, we haven’t been able to send out people on the ground.” He explains.
“What do you make of the internet outrage about the delay in this operation? People are saying that Ashley Young is likely deceased due to these hold-ups.” The woman drills him.
“Unfortunately, I would suspect that is true. It’s highly unlikely that she has managed to survive in these conditions. I understand that people are upset. We are not happy about this either. We want to find every single person who goes missing alive and well, but we can’t risk the lives of our search and rescue team by sending them out in weather that could kill them,” he stresses. “At the first opportunity, we will deploy our team in search of the young lady and if she can’t be found at this time, there will be an operation to retrieve her remains in the spring.”
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