“Don’t push it.”
“Admitting it is the first step. But if there are more fantasies that involve just you and me, I’m all ears, Izzy.”
She rolls her eyes, muttering something I don’t catch, and marches ahead. I follow, trying not to laugh as the guide greets us.
Within minutes, we’re geared up and following the group up the steep path to the first platform. The harness sits snugly against my hips, and the helmet feels like overkill, but I don’t care. The view alone makes the trek worth it. The treetops stretch endlessly, the autumn colors vibrant against the deep greens of the pines. Isabella pauses at the platform, her fingers brushing the railing as she gazes out.
“Okay, I’ll admit, this is . . . something else.”
She places a hand on my shoulder, leans up, and gives me a few quick kisses on my lips. More innocent than obscene, but my heart still flips because she initiated. A first today.
“Told you,” I say, leaning against the railing beside her. “You’re going to love this.”
Her gaze flicks to the zipline stretching out into the trees, and she takes a deep breath. The guide clips her in, and I watch as she tightens her grip on the handles. Her knuckles go white for a second before she steadies herself. Her shoulders relax slightly as she glances back at me.
“See you on the other side.”
Her voice is light but edged with a trace of nerves. And then she’s gone, soaring into the trees with a whoop of laughter. I watch her disappear into the canopy, the sound of her joy lingering long after she’s out of sight.
“That’s the face of someone hooked,” the guide quips, nudging me toward the line.
“Yeah,” I mutter, a grin tugging at my lips as I clip in. “She doesn’t even know it.”
With that, I launch into the trees, chasing the sound of her laughter through the golden light filtering down from above. Her levity climbs higher with every platform we reach.
She’s so blissed out, I’m almost jealous it’s not from riding my cock. But giving her this experience is the next best thing.
The day blurs by with casual competitiveness, flirty banter, shared kisses, some obscene when we’re alone, and a canvas of green and gold treetops as we zip through everyone on the course. There’s still a rush, adrenaline, and exhilaration, but it differs from racing bikes with her. This experience is lighter, with more touching, playfulness, and laughter. Elevated freedom, literally. Carefree laughter pours out of her as we walk toward the exit trail.
“Alright, Mr. Kahale. What’s next on your thrill-seeking agenda?”
Mr. Kahale.
I used to hate it when she called me that, but now she says it in a joking and playful way, which doesn’t grate my nerves.
“Food. You can’t do all this without refueling.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean another hot dog stand.”
Her voice dips into that sarcasm I love.
I raise my hands in defense.
“Hey, that meal deal was iconic. And you loved it. But no, I was thinking something a little classier. Maybe pizza. Or tacos.”
“Whatever you want.”
She climbs onto the bike before I get on it, ready for our next adventure.
I fucking love it.
My heart is about to burst. My cock certainly is. The smartest fucking idea I’ve ever had comes racing into my head.
Whatever you want.
Whatever I want doesn’t include food.
Let’s see if she means that when we reach the next destination. The ride to Quincy Quarries isn’t long, but it’s enough to let the buzz from ziplining all day settle into something quieter. When we pull into the lot, the quarries rise ahead of us, their jagged edges painted with layers of graffiti that glow in the fading light.
