by Amber Burns
“STOP THE FUCK NOW, OR I SERIOUSLY WILL FUCKING SHOOT!” She bellowed, her voice high-pitched and angry, her hands trembling once again, but her heart and mind ready, set on the action she threatened.
She cleared her throat and grunted anxiously and lined up the shot as best she could. She placed her finger upon the trigger and felt her sweaty finger slide down its curve. She stubbornly drove her finger back onto the top of the trigger again and panted, her breaths anxiously tripping over themselves in shaky trembles. The motorcyclist continued to drive towards her at incredibly high speed, showing no sign of stopping. He was fifteen feet away now. Nina fixed her shot, forcing her arms to stop shaking. He was ten feet away now. Nina steadied the gun, took a deep breath in, and drove her teeth down onto her bottom lip, tasting blood. It focused her. All things seemed to stop, and clarity took over, peacefulness settled upon her. He was five feet away. Nina loaded the chamber and flicked her finger, ready to shoot.
He was two feet away.
Nina latched her finger on the trigger.
She pulled.
BANG!
The bullet flew from the mouth of the gun and cracked the darkness of the night, just as the motorcyclist suddenly veered right, then left, then reached to his side and in one swift movement grabbed Nina by the waist and threw her onto the back of the motorcycle.
Nina screamed and slammed her fists against the man’s back. She kicked at his feet, but her own bare feet cried out in pain upon meeting the cool metal feel of the man’s steel toed boots. Nina decided she had but one choice. She had to jump. She turned her body to the side, swung her leg over the seat and, with a thundering heart, prepared herself to leap from the speeding motorcycle.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man suddenly said.
Nina’s head snapped back to face him. Her shoulders were heaving up and down from fright, and she felt beyond shaken, but she swore she knew that voice. She swung her leg back over the seat of the motorcycle and reached forward unsteadily. She caught the black gleaming helmet of the motorcycle’s driver in her hands and tore it off, throwing it out into the air, then quickly grabbed at his back in order to keep herself from flying the helmet in its wild and deadly dance into the night.
Dark black locks of wild hair flew back from the driver’s head, whipping her in the face.
“Goddamnit Rowan!” she screamed. She punched him, hard, in the shoulder.
He started laughing a low, grumbling laugh, and she felt so angry she thought she might shove him from the seat. But the speed was so intense, and the air was whipping by them so fast that she quickly felt her anger subside, having been completely taken over by fear of falling. She wrapped her arms around the leather jacket and squeezed him around his waist, clutching his chest desperately.
“There you go,” Rowan called back as the wind hit them both in the face. “That’s a better plan than jumping, Nina!”
“Seriously, fuck you!” Nina screamed into his ear, and she heard him chuckle.
She squeezed more tightly, ducking her head from the wind, using his wide shoulders to shield her from the whipping, cool night air, driving her nails into his stomach, that part was simply to teach him a lesson, to scold him against the great fright he had given her.
“Were you actually going to shoot me?” Rowan yelled into the wind.
Even in the whipping and whistling of the wind, Nina could hear the amusement in his voice. She felt both her fear and anger melt away as she realized how close he was to her now, her body pressed against his, nothing but open land and endless night sky and air all around them, them flying through the darkness at lightning speed, throwing away all fears and inhibitions.
“This is nice,” she heard herself say. She was surprised to hear the words coming out of her own mouth. She leaned back slightly, letting the wind slap her on the cheeks.
“What?” Rowan yelled again.
He jerked the steering sideways sharply, and they revved around the corner, nearly skimming the ground. Nina screamed, but her shrieking quickly turned into giggling as Rowan righted the motorcycle and they continued forward at incredible speed.
“I said, yes I was actually going to shoot you!” Nina called, pressing her head against his neck.
The air felt clean and good against her skin, and she screamed out in joy this time, raising her legs and swinging them against Rowan’s thighs. He laughed and screamed out too, joining voices with her, both of them happy, truly happy, and letting the entire population of trees and stars and emptiness know it.
“I didn’t know you had a motorcycle!” She screamed, laughing again as Rowan spun a three sixty and revved back the other way through the darkness.
“There are a lot of things about me you don’t know,” he called back, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead.
He stared into the blackness, the high beams bouncing off the grassy ground and splashing against the wall of trees that was the forest. He felt Nina pressed against his back, her arms comforting wrapped tightly around his middle, her breath warm against his neck, the smell of her surrounding him, warm and comfortable, like a cozy sweater. He gunned the machine forward at high speed, and her excited shrieking sounded in his ear, which made him laugh and made him feel as joyous as he had felt on that first morning when he had purchased the Harley. He shot the machine through the darkness, everything flying by in a pastel blur of black blue and green and brown, and then he braked, coming to a stop just inches from the front door of the house.
Nina, still laughing, breath heaving, cried out again in joy, her arms loosening from their tight grip around Rowan’s muscled waist and falling to his thighs. She leaned back, shaking her hair out, a wild dance of tendrils of flame against the coal black backdrop of night, and slid herself from the motorcycle.
“Well then,” she said, jumping down and onto the ground. “That was something else!”
Rowan grinned and turned the key in the ignition. The motor died, and he pulled the key from the bike and parked it against the cabin. He walked forward to retrieve the gun. Nina watched him, his tight black jeans hugging his popping muscles, his ass working up and down as he walked slowly across the moonlit lawn. Her stomach flipped, and she jogged across the darkness to where the helmet laid. She picked it up, rubbing the scuffs of dirt from its shiny surface with the sleeve of the robe. Then she walked back to the cabin, to meet Rowan.
“Thank you for that,” she said. She handed him the helmet, and he smiled. He hugged it under his arm, his other arm preoccupied with the carrying of the gun. “What did you mean when you said there were things I didn’t know about y…” she began, but before she could finish, he had leaned forward and kissed her so passionately that the words had slipped from her lips and out of her mind.
“Thank you,” he said. He chuckled and began to walk back inside. “When I hopped onto the bike tonight, I definitely did not think I was going to be getting myself into a shootout with a fair maiden who happened to be wearing nothing but a bathrobe.”
He turned to glance over his shoulder at Nina, standing several steps behind him, the robe hanging open to reveal the curve of her perfectly round breast, the night air helping to reveal the prick of her nipples pressing against the fabric. The material flapped slightly in the wind, revealing her taut stomach, her thick thighs. He bit his lip and continued walking into the cabin. Nina followed him in.
“Well, you really can’t say that I didn’t warn you,” she said, closing the door behind them.
Rowan placed the helmet upon a chair and slid the gun back up take its place atop the mount. He turned, an eyebrow arched up his forward, his face rosy with the kisses of the wind, his hair mussed and wild from the terrific speed of the ride. Nina felt her knees tremble at his image: muscled, tan, wild, tattooed. She swallowed to maintain her steely composure.
“You warned me?” he said, his lips twisting in interest. “Oh really. How is that?”
“I told you,” she said, stepping forward. “I
f you play with fire,” and she tossed her hair flirtatiously, her green eyes glinting as she teased him. “Then you might just get burned.”
Rowan stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. He wrapped an arm around her thin waist and dipped her low to the floor, his dark hair falling into her face.
“Alright, then, fire girl,” he said, his voice dripping with seduction. “Come on. Burn me.” And he pressed his lips to her face and lowered her slowly to the floor.
Nina wrapped her arms around the back of Rowan’s neck, tangled her fingers in his hair. She ran her lips up and down his neck as he untied her bathrobe. Then he gently took her hands from his body and laid them down upon the cool wood floor that lay beneath their wind kissed bodies. He looked her in the eyes and felt his heart pulse hard against his ribs. He leaned his head forward and began to kiss her neck, then her chest, then her rib cage. He kissed down her body, all the way down her thighs, her legs, to her toes, then back up the other side. His eyes closed, his dark lashes pressed against his tanned and rosy skin, his tattooed flesh rolling over her gently, lovingly, feeling every inch of her.
He was worshipping her pale flesh, her beauteous curves, the graceful way her ankles became her calves, her calves turned into ample thighs; the shivering perfection of her thighs as they curved to encompass the moony roundness of her ass. He licked her sides, her breasts, her shoulder, her collar bones which were white and thin, her neck, her cheek, her eyelashes. He stopped at the tips of her hair, the place where her scalp met the fiery red locks, and suddenly, his eyelids flickered open again. His eyes were large, their coal like orbs somber, more serious than Nina had ever seen. He stared into her green eyes and saw the flickering black of his own reflection staring back at him, tiny within those stunning glassy green orbs. And before he knew what he was saying he felt his heart swell and pump the words out of him.
“I love you,” he said, and the syllables fell nakedly across her lips, her chest, soft and yet heavy, all at once.
Her smile fell from her face, and she stared up at him, pale, not at all reacting, her eyes seeming at once full and empty. Her hands fell further away from him, and she pulled her moonlight colored body out from underneath him, pushing herself up and into a sitting position across from him on the cool surface of the floor.
“What,” was the only word that slipped from her lips.
The word was barely a word at all, more of a whisper, more of the ghost of a word as it trembled upon her pink lips. She looked at him, her plump mouth hanging open, her fingers fluttering around her middle, as if trying to locate her heart and check in with the organ in order to see how it felt about this woodsman’s sudden and total proclamation.
Rowan felt for a moment like he should take the words back but, no, he would not, he could not, and he did dare not. For in that second he felt with the entire fullness of his being that those three words were the most truthful words that his lips had ever birthed, that he had ever dared to speak. He realized, in that second, as his heart continued to swell and scream with joy, as he stared at the beautiful woman that sat before him, her breasts heaving up and down in shock at the words she had felt against her ears, that this, this was his truth. Nina was the most real thing that Rowan had experienced. More real than his getting back to basics out in the middle of the forest; more real than his having built his home, with his own hands, from the ground up; more real than foraging and growing his own food each and every day, than tending to his animals and making his own medicinal remedies, his own alcohol, his own herbs, and his own heat. He stared transfixed at the miracle that sat before him, and he said it again then, now sure of it, now saying the words with passion, with intent, feeling them, savoring their taste against his mouth, the feel of them leaving his lips.
“I love you,” he said again, more loudly this time, more solidly, and he looked at her, a huge, genuine smile creeping across his well-defined face. He grinned and said it again, his lips large and full of life, moisture cropping up in the corners of his eyes. “Nina, I love you.”
Nina stared at the good-looking man that sat before her. Tattoos crept and tangled up and down his flesh, holding him together, it seemed, with etches of ink and the tails of snakes. She knew he should not love her, could not possibly want her, and yet, had the very words of love themselves not just danced willingly off of his tongue, from his very soul? Her heart raced wildly as she stared back at him, wanting him so badly she felt her middle burning, her fingers aching to run themselves over his body and sing out, I love you! I love you too! I love you too!
Rowan crawled forward slowly, his eyes wet with passion, his jaw set with determination. He pressed his face inches away from her own. And then he repeated it again.
“Nina,” he said softly, but solidly, staring into her eyes, falling deep within those green orbs. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Nina breathed, and a rush of joy overwhelmed her, took over her being, and she could no longer hold herself back.
She leaped upon him, wrapped him in her arms, and they tumbled backward against the floor, holding tightly to each other, hugging each other so closely, as if desperately willing their bodies to meld into one being made entirely of love.
Rowan squeezed the red headed girl against his chest, running his hands fondly over her tangled mass of fiery hair, gripping at her eyes with his own, willing himself not to cry in sheer joy. He kissed her again, running his lips over her own, his nerves electric, excited at the touch of her, her fingers on his cheeks sparking explosions of ecstasy within him. Holding her so closely against his body gave him the calm he had always been in search of, for all of those long, hard, unsatisfied years.
Feeling her body moving slowly up and down, on top of his own flesh, now, made every second of those years he had deemed wasted, those years spent behind a computer screen, pounding out formulas to generate sums for people he did not know and did not care to know; those long, awful years… they all now seemed worth while, just to hug this pale skinned girl against his body now. He pressed his lips into her hair and breathed in the scent of her as she kissed his neck, his chin, his cheek. He wanted to jump up and down, to scream, to tell everyone he had ever met, had used to know, that he had done it, he had succeeded, he had found the key to happiness, the answer to life, and it was her, this girl, this stunning woman that he now clutched so fondly against his chest. Instead, Rowan simply lay they are, happy to do nothing but trace the outline of her head through the mass of her tangled red hair, his fingers exploring the ridges of her body.
They stayed like that on the floor for over an hour, simply tracing the outlines of each others’ bodies, finding new areas to kiss and hold, enjoying the feeling of their forms pressed together, seeping in their newly professed love. Finally, as dawn began to crack across the sky and filter in through the windows, Rowan peered at Nina. Her fingers had stopped their wandering moments ago, and he saw through his own sleepy eyes that she had fallen asleep upon his chest. Smiling wearily, he scooped up her sleeping form and carried her gently, protected in his muscular arms, across the cabin and back to his bedroom.
He pulled back the sheets with one arm and carefully lowered her into the bed. Then he slid in beside her and pulled the cool sheets up over them both. He wrapped her safely into his arms and pressed a soft kiss against her cheek.
“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered in her ear, stroking her hair as the amber light of the breaking morning slithered in through the window and draped the shadowed room in pleasant, drowsy light. Then he let his head fall to the pillow and quickly fell asleep.
7
Several Years Earlier
Rowan zipped up the fly of his pants and sorted his clothing back into place. Then he sighed and cleared his throat, turning to let himself out of her office once again.
“Alright,” he said, waiting by the door as she walked across the room, her high heels clacking against the floor and sending echoes bouncing across the walls. “Have yourself
a great day.”
Ilsa walked to stand by his side, raised her key card to the computerized pad, and then halted mid-air. She eyed him suddenly, seriously, all seduction wiped clean from her face.
“Mr. Davis,” she said seriously. “I would like to take this moment to propose something to you.”
