Page 74 of Fight
Shit, I’m about to finish.
“I’m gonna paint these pretty tits with my cum, and then you’re going to swallow it.” With the last functioning brain cell I have, I pull out and straddle her stomach, pumping my cock twice and coating her breasts with me. It’s as passionate as it is obscene.
Scottie excites me in ways no other woman has. We may be trapped up here, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. She props herself on her elbows and looks down at my masterpiece, chest heaving.
“I’ve never—” She sighs. “It’s never…” The smile on her lips grows, and she practically giggles. My fire for her doesn’t burn out after I come. It consumes me, thawing the dormant heart in my chest. Cum pools between her breasts.
“It’s never what?”
Dipping my head, I lap up my mess. Then I gather her hair in my fist, and tighten my grip. She instinctively parts her lips. I spit it into her mouth, then slide my tongue against hers, and she greedily takes every bit. My thumb caresses her jawline as I cup her face, sweeping up a lingering drop and tracing herlips with it.
“Go on. Be my good girl.”
She swallows, devouring me.
Scottie gazes in my eyes like I’m the one who rescued her from the cage she’s been kept in so many years, and it rocks me to my core. There’s something powerful about this connection we share. Like it was written in the stars long ago, and we’re finally at the right place at the right time—at the top of Quell’s Peak, stranded in a fire tower. I press a kiss to her forehead and clutch her hair. Her thighs squeeze my hips. She’s never looked so beautiful. Her cheeks have the perfect glow, one that can only be achieved through mind-blowing sex and multiple orgasms.
I’m half gone with her, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep that glow on Scottie’s face... because I’m keeping Scottie.
I like her. Right now, the real world is miles away. We have this bubble, and I’m making the most of the time I have to repair what I ripped apart. I’ve got no clue how this is supposed to work, but I’ll figure it out. Regardless of how her marriage was, it doesn’t change the fact she’s still married. We’ll deal with it eventually, and I’ll support her in whatever capacity she needs.
While standing in nothing but boxers and socks, I fill a pot with water and light the camp stove. We have to refuel after that. I grimace at the cubie sitting on the floor. With each day we’re here, the water line falls lower. It’s a stark reminder that our days in the lookout are numbered. The storm continues to rage, but for the first time, it’s not worse than the day before. As soon as we get a window of clear weather, we’ll have to move quickly.
I’ve been spending the afternoon poring over maps while we had proper light, and I think I finally found a decent route for us to follow. It’ll take longer, since we have to traverse over Goat’s Ridge, but it’s not nearly as steep and we can follow the riverbed to meet the main trail closer to the base.
Our biggest challenge will be the snow and wind at the top,but once we reach a lower elevation, we’ll be in better shape. This is the safest way back. I’ll still need to check the snow for avalanche conditions. If all goes well… then we should be good. The problem is, if we end up in trouble, anyone looking for us will be searching the trail, not Goat’s Ridge or along the riverbed.
With water boiling on the stove, I stare through the slats of the shutters. I can just barely make out the shadow of a nearby mountain peak. That’s a good sign. Until today, the constant snowfall has kept the visibility no farther than twenty feet or so.
Scottie snuggles under the covers, turning pages in her book while I prepare a meal for us.
“Are you feeling like chicken wild rice again or should we switch up and go with chicken noodle? Keep in mind, we are out of chicken...”
Her bright eyes find mine, and they still have that sparkle in them. Seeing her smile as if she’s completely forgotten about our predicament, is enough to make me forget too.
“Hmm. Could we use the leftover foie gras as a substitute?”
“We could, but the fig confit I made just went bad yesterday,” I reply, matching the bit.
“Aw, rats.” She snaps her fingers.
“Nope, we’re out of rats too.”
“Typical.” She flips a page and sighs. “These new rodent migratory patterns are getting ridiculous. I guess we’ll just have to use the caviar.”
“Good idea. Did you want the Beluga caviar?”
“Obviously. You know it’s the only one I can eat.”
“Because the other types make all your teeth fall out, right?” I ask, trying to make her break character.
She purses her lips, attempting to hide a smile. “Yes, and my dentist is already furious with me.”
“Well, I think he took issue because you insisted the dentures be made out of cadaver teeth.”
She sits up in a huff. “What’s wrong with that?” she asks, dropping her book on the bed in faux frustration. “They look more realistic this way,” she adds, baring her teeth like an animal.
“I know, but was it necessary to use a horse cadaver?”