by F. G. Adams
“Oooh!” she calls out in a sexual frenzy.
I smile as I lave the bud gently with my tongue, around and around, to suppress the sting, followed by a cool breath. Taking all her pleasure, owning it.
I pay the same attention to the next exquisite peak, mindful of the gyrating and pulsing coming from Fallyn.
She’s in for a treat; we’ve only just begun to explore the sizzling chemistry between us.
I continue to kiss and nibble down her delectable, lush body until I reach the button of her jeans. Her marred torso rises and falls quickly in anticipation of my next move. Every muscle tense and on alert with expectation.
With my fingers, I capture the button of her jeans and maneuver the fastener open. Eyes blazing with need locked on me, Fallyn watches as I grip the zipper between my lips and pull down slowly, inch by inch. I supply her with a wicked grin.
Her breathing heightens the moment I slide my fingers through the belt loops on both sides of her jeans and slowly tug them down her legs. My fingers caress her flesh at the same time until they are completely off. I absentmindedly toss them to the floor. My gaze focuses on a purple patch of fabric, a wet spot dotting the center, evidence of her growing desire for me. The only thing keeping me from burying myself between her thighs. My heaven.
“I’m gonna take these off now, Fallyn.”
I lightly touch the cloth at the apex of her legs. Spreading her thighs just barely, I outline her panties from the top, down into her moist, heated folds, causing her to squirm with delight.
I gauge her face for any negative reaction, a necessity for me to have her share in this. Fallyn’s dazed from the sexual desire I’ve evoked. I’m humbled by the trust I see with no doubts.
“Is this okay? Are you with me?”
Fallyn nods, but it’s not enough.
“Tell me, Vixen. Use your words.”
I lean down, playfully biting the inside of her leg, and she arches up off the bed.
“Say it, Fallyn.”
“Yes,” she pants out as my thumb applies a small amount of pressure to her aching nub.
“Baby, you’ve gotta stay with me. I’ll only go as far as you want. You say the word, and we’ll stop. No questions asked. Feel me?”
“I do.”
Grabbing hold of the delicate underwear, I slide them off. Her legs spread far enough open for me to wedge my body between them. Keeping skin-to-skin contact, I rub up and down her supple legs, connecting me to her, to our moment. Smothering out all doubt about what’s about to happen. For me and for her.
“Who am I, Fallyn?”
“My cowboy,” she playfully banters and wiggles from my light strokes.
I easily twist her onto her side and bring my hand down with a gentle but firm smack right on her backside.
Fallyn scrunches her nose and squeals out, “Ouch. What was that for?”
She’s out of breath and her attention is on me. Not from being scared, but she’s excited.
I study the blush on her ass cheek then rub and massage it to stifle the burn.
“I need to know you're with me. All the way, baby. Who am I? What’s my name?” I question while I continue to knead her buttocks.
“Oliver.”
Her husky voice lingers in my ears. A whisper of hope, a whisper of her desire.
“Stay with me, Fallyn,” I respond and right her again onto her back. “Are you ready?”
Fallyn begins to nod her head then immediately changes her mind. “Yes, Ollie.”
That’s my little vixen. I smile at her response.
Pushing my shoulders between her awaiting soft thighs, I hook one leg at a time, massaging her calves, over my shoulders, and grip her firm buttocks in my large hands. I pull her heavenly pussy to my watering mouth and faintly blow.
Instantly, a feral Fallyn reaches up and grabs hold of my head, tugging my hair. At the same time, my tongue dives in to lap up her cream again and again.
The moment her juice touches my mouth, I melt. She’s delicious. Her salty flavor in my mouth overrules my logic, and I latch onto her swollen clit and suck. Hard. Kissing and circling with my exploring tongue through her folds. Sucking. Greedily, I lap at her flesh. Pulling her up closer to my mouth. I devour every last drop of Fallyn’s essence. I’m lost in the addiction of how she tastes.
My tongue swirls around her entrance, plunging into her core. The constriction summons a groan from me and a disbelieving “Fuck.” I figured she’d be tight, but damn. My throbbing balls draw up, aching for release. I adjust my dick, releasing the zipper.
Fallyn’s juices drip off my mouth. I lick my lips and tentatively push one finger inside to the knuckle. Her body stiffens, and I seize her swollen nub between my teeth, putting just enough pressure to help her body relax.
“Relax, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good. Trust me.”
I apply enough pressure to push her over the edge. Hooking my digit up inside, moving in and out, helping her to open up. I add a second finger, and Fallyn’s body combusts. Her hips lift high, savoring the euphoria cascading throughout her body. She cries out in a desperate scream. Chanting out my name.
“Oliver. Oliver. Oliver.”
The fiery burn in my body arouses me further, and I quickly shed my pants. No boxers. I’m commando.
Aligning the crown of my cock with her dripping wet pussy, I push forward with my hips a little into her moist center, allowing only the head of my dick to penetrate her entrance.
“Look at me, Fallyn. Are you sure about this? You gotta be sure.”
I’m praying for a yes. My rigid body is on fire, and if she tells me no, I’m sure to burst into flames. I’d walk through hell if that made her happy.
Fallyn reaches up with one hand, caressing my jaw. Her beautiful smile brushes against my torn-up heart. Mending it, piece by piece.
She strikes hard and fast like a snake as she grips my ass and impales herself on my massive dick.
“Oh…my…God,” Fallyn cries out in pleasure and pain.
I still. My cock feels like it’s in a vice grip, the overwhelming urge to move pumping through my straining dick, a haze of need and lust consumes every thought. Fuck! She’s tight. Her muscles clamp hard around my raging dick.
“Fallyn! Oh, baby, don’t move. Please, hold still. I want this to be good for you, but if you don’t stop moving, it’ll be over before we start. You’re so fuckin’ tight. So hot.”
Griping her ass to keep her immobile, because my feisty little vixen’s attempting to circle her hips, taking me deeper into her, I place my forehead to hers.
“Nice and easy. I’m gonna move, baby.”
“Please help me, Ollie. I don’t understand these intense feelings. What’s happening to me? I…I…” Fallyn’s reply is cut off when I slowly begin short, quick movements with my hips.
I ease back and forth, gently rocking into her, stretching and retracting in order for her snug channel to adjust to my thickness.
“Good, baby? You ready for more?” I ask, my voice filled with restraint and pleasure.
“God, yes, Ollie. More. I need you to move more,” she whispers as her pussy pulses around my dick. All the blood in my body has rushed south.
On trembling arms, I begin my invasion, pulling my long dick halfway out of her silky glove, swiveling my hips to connect with her nub, then driving back in deeper. Fallyn meets me thrust for thrust, mindlessly in search of relief. Her sexy whimpers solidify my resolve. I pick up the pace. The primal need to carry her over the edge again consumes me. I need her with me. We are both on a path to an all-consuming orgasm.
I take possession of her mouth, our combined desire stimulating the insanity. She opens up, her soft tongue lashing out, our bodies melding together as one.
I reach between us and tap her clit, causing her to buck and thrash beneath me. Her pussy tightens up further, and we both plummet into the abyss of pleasure together.
“Ohmygod, Ollie!” Fallyn shouts.
“F
allyn!”
I cum so hard. Fallyn’s heated core grips me, milking body and soul. My cock is pulsing, throbbing from the release. I continue to rock into her as we burst into a thousand pieces together.
Fireworks. Blinding lights.
I’ve always loved thunderstorms. When nature can’t handle the pressure, the sky explodes. Just like when I’m inside of Fallyn. It confirms this attraction between us. It’s the real deal. The freedom from my storm.
Hours later, I’m still zinging from the most incredible sex of my life. I glance over at the other side of the truck cab and find a sleeping Fallyn. My exhausted little vixen’s all curled up in a ball, the slight thing she is, with her patchwork quilt bundled securely around her. Her head is propped up with a pillow against the window. She’s lost in peaceful sleep. Beautiful.
I smirk to myself as I follow the passing lights of the other cars on the road. Fallyn still doesn’t have a clue how I showered. I chuckle in the quiet space. I’d booked an adjoining room, just in case. I’m damn sure glad I didn’t have to use it except to shower off.
I should be upset we didn’t get on the road sooner, but I’m not. Hell, it was worth every minute we spent in that motel room, sleep or no sleep.
We made quick work of the pizza, chicken tenders, and salad before we got back on the road. Fallyn ate about as much as I did, and that’s huge, because I eat a lot. She wasn’t prissy about it either, and I loved it.
I was extremely tired from the lack of sleep, but after a hot shower and making love to Fallyn, I was revved up like an engine in a Nascar race about to take off. Still am.
Sleep was the furthest thing from my mind, so driving was the best option. Good thing we did, because we’re almost there.
My thoughts keep drifting to those scars. Her agitated, accelerated breathing when I marked each one with my mouth. There’s a story there. Part of the war she’s been battling for years. I hope she’ll open up and tell me what happened to her one day.
Glancing back to the road, I push down on the handle for the right blinker as the sign ‘Buffalo Branch Hunting Club’ comes into view. Excitement tingles down my spine. Home sweet home.
About five miles down the winding gravel road, a wrought iron ornate gate about ten feet high blocks the roadway. The design placed in the middle of each looming barrier is a buffalo, standing tall and stately. Keeping watch. I come to a stop near the gate access panel and punch in the five-digit code. Immediately, the large entrance begins to slide open, permitting us entry to the property.
The five-hundred-acre property of hard woods and hills is surrounded by a twelve-foot electric fence. Trophy wildlife fills up the woods here. It’s home to some of the largest elk and deer in the region. I have a few trophies on my wall to prove it.
Emotions high from my connection to these woods begin to vibrate on the inside. I haven’t been home in months.
My mom, Olivia, is the caretaker here.
Years ago, when we decided to go into business together, she agreed to take care of everything. We bought up the land around our original property, small parcels to larger parcels, until we had just under five hundred acres of rugged land to run the hunting club. A pastime I believe my mom loves more than I do.
To secure the property, I fortified the finances with my veteran benefits and the life insurance policy Taylor had urged us to get before my first deployment.
My mom is one intelligent woman. She’s turned this place into a multimillion-dollar business.
Mom and her staff entertain large hunting groups that come in from all over the United States. A rich clientele of executives and blue collars alike. That’s how Mom met her husband, Tom Chantum.
After driving approximately point three miles from the access gate, I see my log cabin dominate the scenery of the woodlands. Pulling into the circle drive, I park in front of the entrance. As I shut off the engine, I inhale a deep, cleansing breath.
Fallyn doesn’t move or make a sound. So, I sit quietly while considering what being home means. Will it be different this time, having Fallyn with me? Will my nightmares return? Shit, I hope not. It’s possible if I stay busy, keep my mind occupied with Fallyn and the Cabricci situation, it’ll be smooth sailing on a turbulent sea.
I carry a sleeping Fallyn up to my room and call Keagan. It’s time to assemble the troops. Time to go to work. Time to finish our plan.
17
Fallyn
When I was younger, an older cousin dared me to touch the end of a burning stick. We were all sitting around a raging bonfire roasting marshmallows and eating s’mores. Being the dare devil of the bunch, I leaned forward and grabbed a stick on the edge of the campfire and instantly released it, howling in pain. The tips of my right hand bear the scars from the incident.
To this day, I’m leery of open flames and dares, but it was a lesson I’ve never forgotten. Once you’ve been burned, it’s hard to manage the fear associated with it unless you’ve lived through it. Roman Cabricci scarred me inside beyond recognition, and until I met Oliver, I’ve been scared to touch another man.
I roll over, my hand searching for a warm, solid body. A dull ache in delicate, tender muscles reminds me of Oliver and the dreamy time we shared in that motel room. The magical places he touched brought me back to life and resurrected my dying soul.
There were moments I felt raw and bare lying naked under him from the exchange shared between us without uttering a word. He played my body like a mastered musician, note by note, blending high and low keys to produce a lover’s ballad for my ears only. Our bodies and souls connected as we found indescribable pleasure together time after time. Just thinking about him sends a jolt of desire to my nether regions.
My hand still searching hasn’t found what it was looking for. I open my eyes and realize he’s nowhere to be found in the monstrosity of a bed. The sunlight bounces off the log beams overhead, indicating I’ve slept late. A smile forms at the delicious soreness when I raise my arms and yawn, shaking the remnants of sleep away.
Last night, we arrived at the safe house somewhere deep in the heart of the Ozark Mountains. One moment, I was in his truck on a winding road, and the next in strong, safe arms as he carried me to this room and placed me in bed. That’s all I could gather before I succumbed to a blissful dream-free sleep.
No nightmares visited me. No horrors from the past. I had forgotten how wonderful it feels to be rested. I’m full of energy and raring to go. I sit up and look around. My eyes land on my suitcase. Shower, then I’ll find Oliver. I grin, giddy about the prospect of seeing him.
Clouds and treetops sprinkle the panoramic view as I descend the stairs in search of Oliver. The bedroom loft opens into a great room below. Floor-to-ceiling glass frames the beauty we are nestled in. I meander around the massive cabin looking for a sign of life but come up empty. I find the kitchen from the aroma of coffee brewing, and still no Oliver.
“Where could you be hiding, Mr. Bishop?” I ponder, mixing a hint of cream into a cup of steaming coffee.
A yellow Post-it note grabs my attention on the stainless-steel refrigerator.
Fallyn,
Conference Call. Make yourself at home. Be back soon.
Yours,
Ollie
P.S. Thought you might need this. Check upstairs in the second bedroom to the right.
“Conference call? What in the world do you think I need?”
Anxious to find out, I grab a piece of fruit out of the basket on the counter and make my way back upstairs to find the answer.
When I open the door, I come to a screeching halt, stunned by what I see.
“How did you know?” I mumble.
Then it dawns on me. Grandma. She would have made sure I had a way to express my feelings, and Oliver made it possible. It’s becoming hard not to deeply care for him. My body knows and accepts him. The ice encased around my heart starts to melt, a slow process of thawing.
Everything I could possibly need is displayed in an artist
’s paradise. I sit the coffee and fruit down on the side table and walk around the room. There’s an easel positioned in front of the glass view. Pencils, paints, and paper scatter a worktop area. I zone in on a box of charcoals, my mind racing with anticipation. My fingers itch with a need so strong I flip open the box and stand in front of the blank canvas already positioned on the easel.
Seconds later, a vision forms and my mind succumbs to the birth of a new creation. A tranquil silence envelopes me. The leaves move as the wind directs them to and fro. I place a wide stroke and begin my latest masterpiece.
The psychologist suggested therapy when I was released. Grandma took it a step further and decided art therapy was what I needed to deal with the traumatic experience I had been through with Roman. Because of her ingenious intuition, art has become a way to reduce my panic attacks and help me deal with the suffering and pain.
Feeling lighter than I have in years from hours of creativity, I watch the sun beams hit the canvas, dancing a lover’s waltz, intimately joined in light and movement. The beauty of the moment doesn’t escape me. It only reminds me of the feelings growing for my knight in shining armor. As if my thoughts conjured him, I glance up to find Oliver standing at the door staring intently at me.
“Hey, there, cowboy,” I speak slowly, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of him. “How long have you been standing there?”
His hands drop to his side and he walks closer.
“Long enough to watch you work. You were in another universe, Fallyn. Where did you learn to draw like that? It’s so realistic but with a uniqueness by the artist that screams you. I’m almost positive I’ve seen your work somewhere before.”
I turn back and rub over a spot.
“Not sure, really. I took art in high school and enjoyed it. When I left, Grandma sent me a drawing pad. She asked me to draw when I was troubled and needed an outlet. Soon, she was sending oils and watercolors. One drawing evolved into painting, and before I knew it, I had a room full of art that could fill an art gallery in Chicago.”
