“I want to read it, after you move away, that’s when I’m going to do it.” Bringing up the fact that I’ll be moving at the end of summer, brings a pain to my chest, the sensation that someone has just driven a knife through my heart and then twisted it. It’s something we both avoid talking about, and it surprises me he’s mentioning it now.
“Wow, that’s really… depressing. And masochistic,” I remark, my face pinched in concern.
“You leaving is really depressing,” he shrugs, before pulling the nightcrawlers out of the cooler and handing the container to me.
“Pinch one of those out between your fingers, pierce it with the hook, and then try to tie it in a knot,” he instructs. Following his guidance, I open the lid and fish out the biggest and fattest nightcrawler I can find. It takes every bit of my self-control not to make a face or display a full body shudder, when the squishiness squirms between my fingers. And when I pierce it with the hook, my stomach grows queasy. Still, I make no outward display of how disgusted I am, wanting to impress him with my toughness.
“Show me how to cast out. I want to try it without your help,” I tell him. He fixes up his own pole much quicker than I did, and then goes about explaining how the reel and pole function.
“I probably should have got you a different reel, but I wasn’t thinking. Some reels you just hold the pole back, and press down the button, and then flick your wrist forward in a smooth motion. When you get to the point where you want the line to start releasing, you let the button go. It’s kind of like throwing a ball, but the motion is a bit different. This reel is a little more tricky than that, although it has the same overall concept. Before you try anything, I want you to practice going through the motion a few times,” he orders, so I try it out a few times to see if my manipulation of the pole feels precise, testing the fluidity of the movement.
“Nice,” he encourages, “now flick your wrist a little more towards the end of the motion. That’s it! Now, this reel you’ll use your thumb to flip up this part on top,” he tutors, as he shows me the piece that moves up and down almost like a type of switch. “When you want it to begin casting the line, you just flip it up, and then when you want it to stop releasing you’ll need to flip it back down. Just try the casting motion a few more times, and then do it for real.”
Instead of extending my practice lesson, the next time I bring my arms back to “pretend” cast, I do it for real. I watch in absorbed interest, as the line sails out smoothly right into the middle of the river, with a plinking sound once the hook and worm hit the water. I turn around and smile brightly at Gray, waiting for his praise.
“Turn the handle there, so the line gets taut enough to register if you get a bite,” he says instead of congratulating me for getting it right on the first try.
“You’re not going to tell me how awesome I am, for doing such a good job the first time I ever fish?” I tease.
“Nope, we’re fishing for Trout here. Not fishing for compliments,” he attempts to say with a straight face, but I don’t miss the way the corner of his lip quirks up the way they always do when he’s amused about something. I scowl, as he makes his way over to me, leaning down to kiss me hungrily. Like always, I’m distracted, completely beguiled and wrapped up in his essence.
“I think we should have a little competition, to make things more exciting,” I suggest, pulling away to meet his eyes.
“Sounds alright. What are the prizes for the person who wins?” he asks.
“Prizes? As in, more than just one?” I clarify.
“Yes, more than one. Why not make it doubly interesting? The winner gets two prizes, of their choosing, within reason. We’ll both name what we choose, before the tournament commences.”
“So now it’s been upgraded from a friendly competition, to a full-on fishing tournament. Okay then. Bring it on,” I say as I run my fingers through my loose hair, and attempt to make a messy bun. Yep. Shit just got real.
“Bring it on, Buttercup,” he agrees, giving me a lazy smile as if he’s sure he already has this in the bag.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, Gray. I’m gonna make you eat your words.” He takes two steps closer to me, looming over me before he leans down as if he’s going to tell me something in confidence.
“Sugar, words aren’t the only thing I wanna eat. Maybe we should skip the tournament. I want a snack,” his filthy mouth replies. I love it when he talks to me like that, despite the fact my stomach flips as if it’s currently taking a tumble amongst a dryer full of clothes. Spreading my fingers across his chest, I take in a shaky breath as I try to appropriate myself.
“You’re just trying to distract me. It’s not going to work, but you should know, two can play that game,” I tell him, just as I’m alerted of a little tug at my line. I jerk just a bit, and then begin reeling in at a moderate pace. “Looks like I’m already in lead,” I say with satisfaction.
“Looks like we need to state our desired prizes,” he reminds me.
“What’s your first one, then?” I ask, continuing to turn the reel.
“When I catch all these fish, I want you to cook me dinner. A good ol’ fish fry. Just the two of us.” He holds his hands down, and face up at his sides in an “I come in peace” type of pose. I, however, take it as indication that the next stipulation of his prizes is going to get messy.
“My first one is, that you read to me out loud from that romance novel you were teasing me about earlier,” I request, thinking about how silly it will make him feel, and about how freaking hot it would be, him reading those dirty scenes aloud, those naughty words coming from his velvety smooth voice. It would definitely end with me jumping him, which I figure, is a win-win situation for the both of us.
“Come again?” The corners of his lips are upturned slightly, lower lip trembling as he fights the need to laugh at my absurd demand.
“Mutual benefits,” I explain, “you’ll see.”
“I’ll see if you win, and that’s a big if Buttercup. My second specification, prize, or whatever, is that you let me draw you, in my private journal. N—.”
I cut him off, interrupting him without much thought beyond the fact that I’ll relish in the attention.
“Okay,” I agree, pausing the reeling in, as I daydream for a moment. Images of myself that I’ve already regarded in his private drawings, all bombard my mind. A slight sense of shame that I snooped through his belongings without his permission pricks at my conscience, but pride overpowers all else. The detail going into those works of art, show that the artist is so devoted to his subject, that he’s well versed with each little detail of her, stored the mental photos in his memory to bring forth at a later time. It shows how attentive Gray is with me. This is about the easiest thing he could have asked for, so easy-peasy I’ll do it with a smile on my face, and then ask if he wants me to pose for any additional ones.
“You didn’t let me finish,” he admonishes before breaking it down for me. “Naked. I want to draw you naked.” I scoff, completely taken off guard.
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Seriously. You didn’t really specify the parameters in which our prizes should fall into,” he reminds.
“What the hell,” I agree, throwing up my hands, “I’m going to kick your ass anyway.”
“Okay then, let’s see you do it,” he eggs me on, as he casts out his own line. “Oh, only the trout count.”
The fish is becoming more and more active, fighting against my own line, and although I feel bad about taking a life, fish or not, the burning fire I have to win supersedes all other emotions. Except for maybe one—desire.
I can’t let myself get distracted. The fish I’ve hooked is finally close enough to the surface that the shimmering scales sparkle just beneath. Just when it’s about to emerge, Gray speaks up and reminds me that I still haven’t put on record my final prize.
“Oh, that’s easy. I want a picture of the two of us together AND I want a drawing done by you, of me, albeit n
ot one where I’m in the nude.”
“That’s a two-for-one,” he points out, “but I’ll allow it since they’re in the same category.”
My fish breaks free of the surface, and on to the bank as it flops around. It’s not tiny, but not going to win any trophies either.
“Is it a Trout?” I ask, excitedly.
“Yep, it’s a Rainbow Trout. See the row of iridescent-looking scales? That’s how you know,” he points out, seizing the opportunity to teach me something new. “Hold my pole for a second, and I’ll unhook ‘em for you. I don’t think your tender disposition could handle that part,” he teases, handing over his pole. In a swift move, he unhooks the fish and deposits it into the cooler we brought along with us.
Next, he grabs a stick, and drags it along a section of the silted riverbank, drawing out a “G” and a “V” with a tally mark beside it. Pleased that I’m currently ahead, I hand his pole back, but only after I feel a tug at the line in which I ignore. It’s cheap, but I’m hoping the fish nibbling at his bait will get the worm without being hooked. I giggle out loud, but say nothing when he narrows his eyes in my direction, never making any signs of having snagged that first bite of the day.
XoXo
Gray
When our time is up and all the tallies are counted, we end up with Valley having four Trout, while I have seven. I have to give it to the girl, she was some damn good competition, especially considering that she’s a rookie. If only she hadn’t have caught two fish that weren’t Trout, we would have been pretty much neck at neck. She doesn’t seem too upset about losing though, and I plan to surprise her with the prizes she requested anyway, just because of the effort she put into the tournament.
“Do you always excel at everything you set out to do?” I ask her, as we pick up our supplies and head back up the pathway to the cabin.
“Gray, I lost,” she points out.
“So? It was your first time. I’ve been fishing for years, and you caught one less fish than I did, if we were counting every fish and not just the Trout. You picked up the Art of Seduction, when you were still a virgin. Remember when you seduced me, despite my apprehension?” I tease, before listing off her other commendable qualities. “You’re a master of disguise and blending in. You ought to try working for the CIA in the future, you know that? You’re smart as hell, and not just book smarts, but you catch on to things quick. There’s a long list of things I could say to you, but I might be a bit biased.”
She lets loose a whir of musical laughter, the same laughter that always causes me to gravitate towards her.
“You’re being silly. Cut the bullshit and let’s get to the cooking part. I’m starving from all the casting and reeling,” she says with a light and teasing tone.
I clean and fillet all the fish for her, and even though I requested that she cook dinner for me, I help her. Once everything is finished, the food has been eaten, and the kitchen and dishes have been cleaned, we go to sit in the living room.
“That was delicious, you’re a good cook,” I compliment her, which elicits a scoff.
“You did most of the cooking, but I am a good cook so I’ll take your compliment,” she smiles at her cocky remark.
“I’m not going to try and argue with you on that, but, I need I remind you that I did win the tournament? You’ve only awarded me one of my prizes and I wanna claim my other one, sooner rather than later,” I dictate.
“Where would I even lay when you draw me?” Her voice is breathy, and her face etched with worry and trepidation, as she starts playing with the end of some strands hanging loose around her face. She always does that when something is causing her anxiety.
“Hey,” I lay my hand on her leg to comfort her. “Look at me,” I order, “I’d love nothing more than to remind you every day, multiple times a day, how perfect I think you are. But, it pisses me off that you don’t already know that by now. Do you think I’d want to draw someone who I found unattractive? Someone I didn’t care a whole hell of a lot about?” She shakes her head, finally meeting my eyes, just as I witness a fire igniting in them.
“Where would you like to draw me? The bed? On the bearskin rug by the fireplace?” she asks again. I thought about that the whole time we were fishing, all the different places I could lay her delectable and beautiful nude body out, and all the poses I could be so bold as to have her do. I thought about the layout of the cabin, every possible scene until I discovered the best one. I pause for a few beats, withholding my decision from her.
“Gray?” she prompts again, biting her lip with anticipation.
“The loft upstairs,” I answer vaguely, and she stands as if to go up there.
“What about it?” she asks, cocking her head and hip at the same time.
“The ceiling-to-floor-length mirror up there. I want you to stand in front of it, naked, with one arm in contact with the edge of the mirror as you lean in slightly to gaze at your reflection,” I instruct, as she drags her eyes from the spot on the floor she was just reservedly honed in on, up my body and settling on my face, in an apparent attempt to get a read on me. I’m thinking she’s going to chicken out from the innocent expression that she’s currently showcasing, but like always, she astonishes me.
“Okay then,” she quirks an eyebrow at me, allowing a sly smile to spread across her face. Crossing her arms over her abdomen, she grasps the hem of her shirt, and begins peeling it over her head, and quickly disposing of it. I can’t look away, not when she unbuttons her jeans and slowly unzips them, and definitely not when she pulls them languorously down her sleek and toned legs before stepping out of them.
Now standing before me in a matching red bra and panty set, that I never would have guessed she even owned, she reaches up and releases the hair that’s nestled on the crown of her head, letting it tumble in soft waves down her shoulders and back. She turns on her heel, and when she begins her ascent up the stairs leading to the loft, my eyes zero in on her round and bubbly ass, the way it sashays from one side to the other with each step she takes.
I’m so dumbstruck and mesmerized. Anchored to my seat, I can’t peel my gaze away. It takes her stopping and looking coyly over her shoulder, silently willing me to follow, before I bolt upright and retrieve my journal and other drawing materials from the bag I brought with me. I arrive upstairs just in time to enjoy the final moments of the strip-show, where she removes her bra and her cheeky panties.
“Would you rather have me like this?” she asks stepping in front of the mirror and posing, “or like this?” she queries as she tries out another pose, arching her back and placing her right arm out to brace herself.
“I’d rather have you as many possible ways as I can,” I grin, thinking about something other than sketching her. I better change my tune before she changes hers though, because then we’d never get this finished. “Definitely that second pose, it’s better than I pictured,” I say, opening up my journal. “Drape your hair over your right shoulder, but make sure it accents your breast rather than covering it. And if you don’t listen to anything else I say, try to stay still.”
“Mmmhmm,” she agrees.
Quickly taking out my pencil, I begin lightly tracing the planes of her body, outlining her curves in lead, the dipping of her waist above her hips and how the tapered distance between them flows in and out just right. I fill in her breasts, accenting and framing them, showcasing how perfect they are, how perky and high they sit. I map out her supple and firm backside, not missing the opportunity to highlight even the smallest of her features, take for instance the two dimples sitting at the small of her back. Her body is a work of art, in and of itself, graceful and pliant, needing to be respected and presented as such.
Only after I’m satisfied with her silhouette and everything within, do I move on to her face. It might be a smaller section to work on drawing, in comparison to the rest of the picture, but it’s the one that will prove to be the most time-consuming, the part that will require the most painstakingly
clear-cut detailing. I work on perfecting her expression, the same expression that is watching me through the mirror’s reflection with heated and apt interest.
Finally, I add her wavy tresses and the way they snake around the curve of her breast, practically cupping it, eliciting a tinge of regret that I’m unable to replicate the deep cinnamon hue on paper. When my pencil stops, but my staring does not, she senses it and moves to take my journal from my hands so that she can study it for herself.
She smiles softly as she regards the drawing, and then places it on the table beside us. She begins to straddle my lap and I reach out and wrap my arms around her, helping to coax her to me. We instantaneously lock lips, the passion between us starting with a spark that soon becomes a wildfire. Teeth are gnashing as she helps remove all my clothes in record time.
I try to lay her out on the bed before me, but she wrestles me onto my back, demanding that I relinquish all control of the situation as I slide all the way up the bed to the headboard. I lean back against it in sitting position as I rest my back there.
Crawling slowly all the way up to me, she sits astride me once more, wasting no time grasping my thickness in her fist and inserting my swollen head into her entrance. She takes no suggestions as she confidently knows exactly what she wants and just how she wants it.
Valley leans in to suck on my lower lip, just as she starts riding me up and down, slowly at first as she gets used to the sensation of me stretching her, and then more rigorously, meticulous and with purpose as she grips the bedframe and gains the ability to use more force.
“Fuck, V, slow down for a minute,” I rasp as the tension starts to build, the friction becoming too much, too soon. The vixen tries to keep going full speed, apparently finding her control over me amusing, so I grip her hips tightly, holding her in place until I can allow the building tinge of desperation in my balls to dissipate.
She might not be riding me anymore, but she’s still squeezing and contracting her tight walls around me, as she slowly gyrates her clit against me with each rotation of her hips.
Love on the Run Page 27
