Maybe Mr. Refined Editor Guy is the kind of man she needs. He’s got money, a good job, probably a fancy house, and a load of sophisticated thoughts they can discuss. Maybe that’s what she wants. Maybe that’s what’s best for her.
That thought lasts ten seconds before I reject it wholeheartedly. I know that girl. She’d never last with a guy like that. She belongs in the woods, in the country, in the mountains… with me.
I know she feels it too. I could sense it radiating off of her. That’s probably why she ran off so fast. The craving scared her.
My cock hardens at the thought of all the trouble we could find if we gave into those cravings. These are dangerous and filthy thoughts to have, but they flood my mind until my hand is tucked into my jeans and I’m jerking off to my memories of her again.
In the garden while she was harvesting peppers and berries, wearing a sweet little milk maid dress that made her look all kinds of innocent. Sneaking up behind her, hauling her up onto my shoulder, breathing in the scent of her arousal as I carried her into the bedroom.
Her feet would kick, and she’d squirm against my touch, forcing me to tighten my grip around her waist. My biceps would flex and her hand would find them no matter what position I was holding her in. The warm breeze around us, the quiet lull of birdsong, and my cock rock hard at the thought of what was about to happen.
Fuck, it was hot!
The way she’d pant and whine for freedom, though we both know she didn’t want it. The way she’d scream when I spanked her ass. The way she’d beg for more if I stopped.
I stroke faster as I think about the way her breasts bounced back as I tossed her onto the bed. The way her mouth dropped open as I tore up her dress, spread her thick thighs, and sunk inside of her with a moan.
Fuck!
I’d never heard sweeter sounds than the ones her body makes. Her soft breath, the suction of her tight little pussy, her aching moans.
I squeeze my eyes tighter as I try to stay in the moment, reliving every exhalation, every moan, every touch.
Her tight little pussy pulsing on my cock.
My hand around her neck, holding her against the mattress.
Her smooth leg tucked up over my shoulder.
Her full, round breasts swaying back and forth around the floral fabric of her half-torn dress as I thrust inside of her.
I stroke harder, desperate to come, desperate for relief, but an overwhelming sadness stops me in my tracks.
What the fuck?
This doesn’t usually happen. Usually, I come hard, spilling hot seed all over my hand like a fucking loser and move on with my day. It’s not ideal, but it’s much better than whatever the hell is happening now.
I’ve got to get out of here!
This house! This town! This fucking life!
I need something new!
Pissed off, I push the recliner down, tuck my cock back in my jeans, stand up, and head out back into the snow. The cold air is a pleasant shock to my system, so I stand for a moment, letting the wind blow around me. I roll my shoulders back, allowing the cold to settle into my muscles as steam rises from my breath in heavy clouds. Out here, life is basic. The bite of winter, the weight of my body, and the quiet.
The quiet… and the garden where Alice would pick her peppers. The quiet… and the garden where I’d lift her onto my shoulders. The quiet… and the garden where we gave roots to our dreams.
Maybe the quiet isn’t what I need anymore. Maybe the quiet is driving me crazy.
Thankfully, a buzz in my back pocket interrupts the self-loathing spiral I’m in.
I pull my phone out and check the screen, desperate for the distraction. I find myself hoping it’s Alice. She was so close to saying yes to that snowmobile ride up to Eagle Rock. Maybe she changed her mind.
The opposite is confirmed when I see Wade’s number.
What the hell does he want? He was pretty clear this morning when he said he didn’t want anything to do with me.
“Hey,” I say, kicking my snow-covered boot against the wood step before walking back inside the house. “What’s going on?”
