Shutter speed: a Snapshot novella

by Freya Barker

  Her mouth opens in a silent ohh, and I use the opportunity to kiss her deeply. I've always been more of a show than a tell kind of guy.

  I know the moment her hands curve around my back and slide up under my shirt, that whatever happens, there's no way I'll be able to walk away from her this time. Breathing hard already, I force myself up on my knees and yank my shirt over my head. Isla runs her tongue along her freshly kissed bottom lip and reaches out to run her fingers through the hair on my chest.

  "You're silver everywhere," she mutters.

  "Not everywhere," I growl, pulling the gun from my waistband and tossing it on the nightstand. My hands work impatiently at the buttons of my jeans, and I quickly stand up to divest myself of the rest of my clothes.

  "Commando," she sighs, as her eyes slide down to where my cock stands out hard from the only hair on my body that's still the original color. The rest of me turned gray when I hit thirty-five, almost overnight.

  "Only way to go," I rumble, climbing back on the bed and over her. "Now let's see about you."

  My need to get her naked has me pulling those ugly as sin sweatpants down her legs, tossing them on top of the growing pile of clothes on the floor. When I tuck my fingers in the sides of her panties, she's already got her shirt up over her head, and by the time that's gone, she's as naked as the day she was born. I sit back on my haunches between her legs, placing my hand on her chest, just below her neck. Her heartbeat hammers against the palm of my hand, and I can almost reach the width of her shoulder with the span of my fingers. Fuck, she's small. Her legs, like the rest of her, are short but nicely shaped, with narrow ankles, strong calves and thick thighs. Her hips are wide, tapering into a small waist. She looks like one of those waifs in old paintings, with a body considered the epitome of seduction in those days. Apparently it works for me, since I can barely hold back from sliding myself inside her. Trailing my hand down between her breasts, I cup one of the small globes in my palm, while bending down to play with the pebbled nipple of the other with my lips and tongue.

  "Perfect," I mumble against her skin, feeling her arch off the mattress when I suck her breast in my mouth.

  Isla's small hands grow impatient against my head as I change sides, before running my open mouth down her soft stomach, nipping at the pliant skin with my teeth. Her groan, and the scent of her heat, has me slide my hands behind her legs, pulling them up over my shoulders. A taste: a quick one, because I won't be able to hold back much longer.

  Groomed, but not shaved, her pussy is slick with her juices, prettily swollen, and ready for my tongue.

  "Sweet Pixie," I moan, when I've licked the length of her slit, back to front. Her heels dig into my back as her hips lift off the bed, eager for more.

  "Please, Ben..."

  Knowing I won't last long once I'm inside her, I focus on getting her taken care of first. I tease her clit with my tongue, while sliding a single digit into her tight channel. A second finger joins the first, and I feel her slowly stretch around me. I am not a small man, but I soon have her grinding herself on my hand.

  "So close—I need..."

  I can't ignore the sharp tugs on my hair or the whispered pleas. In a swift move I have her flipped over on her stomach, her hips pulled up, chest to the mattress and her luscious ass sticking up in the air. I have to squeeze my cock to slow down before I come all over her. Leaning over, I pull my wallet from my jeans. In seconds, I've rolled on the condom and have my cock teasing her center. With a hand braced on her hip, I ease in, struggling not to go too fast. Her cunt is like a tight fist around me. When she moans softly, clenching her fists in the sheets, I stop moving. Her head promptly shoots up and she squints at me over her shoulder.

  "Don't you dare fucking stop," she spits at me. If I hadn't just been given the green light, I would have laughed at her flash of temper. To tease, I move my hips back slowly, listening to her whimper before I slam home, balls slapping against the back of her thighs. The sight of my slicked up cock disappearing into her body rips any remaining control from my grip, and my hips piston into her with muscle-burning force.

  "Fuuck, baby," I grunt, curving myself around her back when I feel my balls draw in tight. My hand slips around and between her legs, where I'm surprised to find her own fingers already working frantically. Covering her hand with mine, I add pressure to the friction, and I soon feel her come with a full body shudder I can feel massaging my cock. With my arm wrapped around her chest, I pull her with me when I rise up on my haunches. Her back tight to my front, and my arm keeping her anchored, I furiously drive up into her, finally grunting my own release in her neck.

  I drop sideways on the bed, my arm still holding her tight and my cock still connecting us. I'm gonna feel that tomorrow. It takes more than just a few minutes to catch my breath. Reluctantly, I carefully pull out, quickly taking care of the condom in the bathroom.

  She hasn't moved an inch when I carefully crawl in behind her, thinking she's fallen asleep until I hear her soft voice.

  "Can we do that again?"

  I bury my face in the back of her neck and laugh. Fucking forty-eight years old, without a decent sleep in days; not to mention I almost gave myself a heart attack just now—and still she manages to make me feel like a fucking teenage horn dog.

  CHAPTER 7

  He sleeps like the dead.

  I've been watching him for the past twenty minutes since I woke up. His full lips slightly parted on the soft snores filling my bedroom. My eyes have traced every exposed part of him there is to see, from the firm, wide chest under the dense mat of silver hair, to the straight line of his slightly flared nose. The permanent set of creases between his eyebrows is barely softened with sleep and seems harsh against his relaxed features. I know nothing about the man and yet, more than once already, he's jumped in the fray for me.

  I know he rides a bike, has a truck, is, according to him, semi-retired, although from what I have no idea. I also know he carries a gun, as became apparent last night, something that's been plaguing me since. I know it's not uncommon to carry a concealed weapon, especially in these parts, but it's always been something I've felt uncomfortable around. My eyes involuntarily drift back to the weapon; he so carelessly tossed on the bedside table earlier, before shifting back to him. Unable to hold back any longer, my fingers reach out and revel in the feel of his skin. Soft but tough.

  "Mmmm..." he mumbles in his sleep, turning his head away from me. As my fingers slide softly up along the strong lines of his neck, they encounter a ridge just at the base of his beard. I lean in a bit closer and see the puckered skin of a scar, just this side of his Adam's apple.

  I lightly touch it with the pad of my index finger, when the steel band of his hand catches my wrist. My eyes shoot up to meet his ice blue ones, peeking at me from under heavy lids.

  "Don't," he says, his voice almost nonexistent.

  "Why?" I want to know, my finger still tracing the scar, despite the tightening of his hand around me. "What happened to you? Were you sick? Is that why your voice is always raspy?"

  With a firm tug, he removes my hand and almost jumps out of bed, disappearing into the bathroom. I roll on my back and stare at the ceiling, ignoring him when I hear the toilet flush and feel the mattress dip under his weight.

  "Hey." His face appears in my view and looks almost contrite. With his big palm, he strokes some stray hair off my face. "Sorry," he says on a slight tilt of his lips. "I don't like talking about it."

  Feeling a little guilty for prying, I lift my hand to his face and rest it along his jaw. "I shouldn't have pried."

  "You didn't pry. I...I got injured at work. It damaged my voice box, and now I sound like a walking advertisement for a horror movie."

  I can't help the giggle bubbling up. It's funny and actually very true; he does sound like he could be the lead in a creepy movie. I'm glad he meant it as the joke for which I took it, judging by the gleam of humor in his eyes. My second hand joins the first to brace his face, a
nd I pull him toward me.

  "I think it's sexy," I confess, when his nose touches mine.

  "Yeah?" he rasps.

  "Uh-huh." I nod, rubbing the tip of my nose along his and seeking out his lips with mine.

  The kiss is soft, sweet, all the more so because his crystal clear eyes stay focused on mine the entire time. I try to suppress the butterflies starting to swarm inside my chest, but I'm afraid it's already too late.

  Since neither of us bothered getting dressed earlier, there's no delay in getting as close as two bodies can possibly be. Which we accomplish in very short order, Ben buried deep inside me, this time with his unexpectedly soft eyes on my face instead of my ass. The languid pace of our morning loving brings on a much less volatile, but no less soul shattering orgasm than the one he gave me during the night. I have to admit; either way works for me.

  It's close to nine o'clock by the time I surface from my postcoital daze to find Ben standing beside the bed, tucking his gun in the small of his back. I'd forgotten all about it.

  "What is it that you do...exactly?" I want to know. "Government employee you said?"

  "Different things," he evades without any apparent shame in doing so. "I'm sent off on different projects." Before I have a chance to push him for more than that vague explanation, he presses a hard kiss to my lips. "I've gotta run," he states. "Got a meeting I'm gonna be late for."

  Without a chance to ask for clarification, I watch his very nice ass disappear through the door. So many questions, so few answers.

  I moan as I drag my ass out of bed and into the shower, feeling every little bit of last night's, as well as this morning's, activities down to my toes. With Ben off doing God knows what, I think I'll head to Cortez, get those images printed, and drop them off at the bakery in town after.

  Funny, how opportunities open up for you the moment you decide to open up to them. In more than one way. I've done some really cool edits on the five shots I selected and am hoping I can find some decent frames for them. That way if Jen, the owner of The Pony Express, likes them, they're ready to go up on the wall. Perhaps a little too optimistic, but it doesn't hurt to have a positive outlook.

  Deciding on a bit more put-together look today, I pull my one and only summer dress from the one tiny wardrobe this trailer boasts. It's dressier than I'd normally be comfortable in, but I find with my feet in rubber flip-flops, I don't feel completely out of my zone. They actually look quite cute, the red matching the color of the large poppies covering the retro fifties sundress I pulled off the rack in a thrift store. The shoulder straps aren't too wide, the bodice fits me like a glove, and the skirt is wide and flirty: very girly, but with my boyish haircut and selection of footwear, it isn't froufrou.

  -

  The printer where I order the photos needs only two hours, so I grab a quick bite for lunch at a small diner on Main Street and capitalize on the fact that my cell phone finally has a few bars showing by calling my uncle. Ginnie is doing a little better. Apparently, during a lucid moment, she’s now agreed to move into the full-time care facility Uncle Al had found for her. He, on the other hand, is struggling with guilt and understandable sadness. After not only having to say goodbye to his sister and the love of his life, he also is preparing to say goodbye to the woman he's shared the past eighteen or so years with. I understand the sadness and also the loneliness that will undoubtedly follow after she's gone.

  That kind of loneliness settles in your bones until it just becomes part of who you are. Not wanting to be an island in a sea of people, trying constantly to find that right connection, but ending up one just the same.

  I manage to cheer him up some when I tell him all is running smoothly on the mountain, not wanting to worry him with things he can't do anything about anyway. His mood is considerably better when I finally end the call. After paying for my lunch and leaving a tip on my table, I head back to my car.

  I hit up two places for frames to fit the 20" by 30" prints I've ordered, walking away with five unique pewter colored frames. All different, but still looking like a set because of the metallic sheen. Initially the size made me a little nervous, but the guy at the lab assured me that the quality of the shots could handle it. That had made me feel really fricking good and the day's only gotten better since. By the time I'm heading back to Dolores, the pictures beautifully framed with the help of the dude at Southwest Printing, I'm really excited.

  When I leave The Pony Express an hour after that, my prints safely tucked inside Jen's office, waiting to be added to her gallery wall after the weekend, I'm positively over the moon. Rushing up the mountain, I'm eager to get started editing some of my other shots.

  I pull into my parking spot at the back of the trailer and glance over at Ben's trailer below. I'm surprised to find the bike in its usual spot, but the pickup truck gone. I've only ever seen him on his bike. My mind occupied with thoughts on what he might be up to, I don't notice the curtains on the bedroom window shifting slightly.

  "Look," I tell Luis the moment I arrive. "You fucking hired me for security. To make sure to keep people away from this side. I don't mind picking up a few supplies, but I'll be damned if I drive all the fucking way to Moab to make a delivery for you. Get him to do it." I point my thumb over my shoulder, where I know Carlos is listening closely.

  A ping on the satellite phone Luis had supplied me with alerted me to a message, just as I got to my trailer this morning. His text had simply said: 10 mins—Moab—shipment. I'd used the ten minutes to put on fresh clothes before making my way over to the far side of the campground.

  I don't like the look on his face as Luis stares me down. "Think carefully," he says, his voice low with threat. "I appear to be short a courier and a very important customer is impatient. Carlos is needed here. Consider thoroughly before you question your duties—or I will have to question them for you."

  I wasn't about to show him my excitement. This was the turn in the case we'd been waiting for, an opportunity to take down not only the meth lab, but also hopefully the distribution network. My resistance was only for Luis' benefit. The guy he thinks I am wouldn't easily be pushed around, so I could hardly pump my fist and do a happy dance. I had to stick to my role.

  That's why I took my time to end the stare down, finally just shifting my eyes to the side and grunting my yield on the matter. The firm clap of his hand on my shoulder confirmed I'd played my cards right. A man like Luis would have no respect for someone weak. That could get me dead.

  Once he and Carlos help me load up, closing the cover on my truck bed tightly, I head out. I hate seeing Isla's trailer get smaller in my rearview mirror, but the sooner I put another nail in the local drug trade's coffin, the closer I'll be to wrapping things up. Isla will be safe, and I'll have plenty of time to think of her and of my future. The one I'm starting to see my Pixie part of.

  -

  "You've got a tail."

  I just passed through Dove Creek and am about ten minutes from the Utah border when the warning comes through my earpiece. Immediately my eyes fly to my rearview mirror but I don't see much.

  "How the fuck can you tell I have a tail?" Been driving this damn highway north for the past hour without stopping, so how anyone can make a tail in the steady stream of traffic heading north, I don't know. The chuckle from the FBI agent on the other side grates like nails on a chalkboard, but I bite my tongue, well aware that he's part of the team I'm trusting to have my back on this. In this case, a team that is setting up in position at the address of the warehouse in Moab I'd been given.

  "It's the silver Tahoe," he clarifies, sending a chill down my spine. Something is going down.

  "Got a bead on the driver?" Descriptions for the trailer, the vehicle, and the two men have long been part of the file.

  "Carlos." Is his answer. "Makes no sense, he's not getting closer, we're just passing the motel in Dove Creek."

  I'd have to agree. It doesn't make any sense to me either, unless they are testing me. Figure we'll
soon find out.

  By the time I pull into the open loading dock of the warehouse in Moab, I've guessed and second-guessed Luis' motivations for sending Carlos after me. I don't have to wait long, because the familiar silver SUV pulls in right behind me. I stay in my seat as instructed and in my side mirror watch Carlos get out and walk up to my driver's side. I slowly lower my window, slipping into my role as muscle for hire.

  "This is fucked, Carlos. What's the deal here?"

  The younger man just shrugs his shoulders. "Bossman says I gotta keep an eye on you. I'm keeping an eye on you. That's all."

  "This a test? Cause if it is, it doesn't make any sense to me. Easier just to send you." I unbuckle and open the car door, pushing Carlos out of the way. I don't want to have to make a move before the buyer gets here, but I'm ready if I have no choice.

  "How else are we gonna know you can be trusted, amigo?"

  I give him a dirty look before moving to the back of the truck, where I unlock and open the cover. A door in the back opens and three men walk in. A short guy in a suit, in the middle, holding a briefcase and two more casually dressed goons by his side. I pretend to ignore them and start unloading the truck, while Carlos walks up to meet them. Together they head this way, yapping in Spanish the entire way.

  I step back from the containers I've stacked on the fold out table against the wall. One of the three guys walks over and starts opening random lids, checking the contents with a field scanner. Those things don't come cheap, at about five grand a pop, so I assume this is a serious operation. I lean against the side of my truck, just steps away from the driver's side door, trying to look casual while still keeping an eye on everyone around me.

  The moment the guy in the suit drops the case on the table and opens it, stacks of money visible, the loading dock is suddenly teeming with agents. I barely have a chance to draw my weapon at the first sound of shots fired, when it's over. One of the goons is on the ground, bleeding from his arm, by the looks of it, and the others are all facing the agents in front of them.