“Gah, Muohta!You’re the worst alarm clock in the world.Okay, are you happy?I’m up.”
Sleeping on the couch was not a good idea, but my ankle feels a bit better.Hop-walking up the stairs, I head for the shower.
I can’t get Dante off my mind.It’s like our meeting was part of the long dreams I had last night.Standing under the warm jet of water, I try to remember every moment.
The way he knelt at my feet to free my ankle.How he lifted me with so little effort.How he placed me on the motorbike seat like a fragile porcelain doll…
And then how he raced me home like a complete maniac!
I suppose men like him don’t have an off-switch when it comes to speed.
Did my thoughts get a tiny bit lewd when the painkillers lowered my inhibitions?
But I stand by them all the same.I’m a woman in the prime of my life, and Dante just might be hot underneath all that leather and hair.
His musky scent intrigued me enough to want more.
Who knows how long it will take to sell this place?The country is not exactly swarming with people who want to live the unplugged life to the extent that Landslide offers.
I will be needing a lover to keep me sane if I am to stick it out here through winter.No, let me amend that.I need orgasms to keep me sane.And I left my vibrator in Minneapolis.
I never got around to fucking Giulio out of my system back home.Would it be irresponsible of me to hook up with a biker for one night?Maybe more than one night?
Nothing long-term; strictly temporary.
From what I have learnt from reading and watching television, bikers are all about those one-night hookups.
Lucky me… I think.
And then it hits me.I could still be lying in the woods with my ankle in a snare.
Tottering, I grab the faucet to steady myself before jumping out of the shower.Only pausing to wrap my hair in a towel and push my arms through the sleeves of my dress robe, I hop down the stairs like a jack-in-the-box.
“Muohta!I love you.You are such a good boy.I promise to never neglect you again.”
The Samoyed is lying on the couch snoozing, but he wakes up when he hears my voice.
Shuffling to the cupboard, I find a packet of freeze dried small fry fish.The label says “not for human consumption,” so I know they are for Muohta.Pouring the entire packet into the steel bowl, I hug the dog hard when he comes to scoff his treat.
“Thank you, Mu.You’re a star.”
The sound of Muohta licking his slobber chops follows me up the stairs and into the bedroom.I plan on driving to the inn today.That’s why I want to look nice.
Maybe looking attractive wasn’t high on Tempest’s priority list, because there are no mirrors in her bedroom.Shuffling back into the bathroom, I dab some tinted moisturizer on my face and then cover my lashes with lashings of mascara.Nothing like a bit of color to raise the spirits.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slip on some cotton panties and wriggle into some baggy jeans so that I don’t have to point my toes.
As always, I check my waistband for weight gain.I’m not obsessed with my weight—I’ve never owned scales—but going shopping for a new wardrobe would be a pain in the ass, so I monitor my weight and fitness levels by the way my clothes fit.
That scare yesterday must have eaten up some calories, because I need a belt to hold up the faded blue jeans to stop them slipping down over my hips.
Like the jeans, my old brown leather belt has also seen better days.The end of the belt flops this way and that as I thread it through the loops and buckle up.
I’ve always preferred sports bras, but today I feel like wearing something different.Sifting through the pile of lingerie that I chucked into one of the drawers while I was unpacking, I find a lacy white balcony bra.
It’s not the most practical item of underwear, I’ll admit, but it’s definitely pretty enough to make me ooze femininity.I’ve forgotten how enjoyable it is to be a woman since Giulio left.
Glancing down at my newly supported breasts, I lift and smooth the soft flesh until I am sure the outline under my long sleeve, scoop neck t-shirt will be perfect.No lumps or bumps.And just the right amount of cleavage.
