The ground cover crawls with poison ivy. The plant doesn’t affect me, but one touch of a leaf against Conor’s skin and she swells up with an itchy painful rash. She’s so sensitive to the sap she’s been hospitalized on several occasions.
“If you do what I say, I promise you won’t come in contact with it.” I clasp my hands behind my back. “Remove your boots and jeans.”
“You’re out of your damn mind.” She fixes me with an incredulous stare, her eyes glowing in moonlight.
“You want answers. I want your boots and jeans.”
A battle of wills heaves between us. I don’t look away. She doesn’t move.
I’ll win this, because she’s curious by nature. She doesn’t just desire the knowledge I’m keeping from her. She’s dying to find out what I intend to do in that grove.
So I wait her out, and it doesn’t take long.
“For the record, you’re a cock-sucking pig. But you know what?” She yanks off a boot, mumbling to herself. “I lost all my give-a-fucks.” The other boot follows. “They’re all gone, wherever give-a-fucks go.”
If she didn’t give a fuck, she wouldn’t be tearing at her zipper like she has a burr in her pants.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, anyway.” She shoves down the jeans and kicks them away. “Probably set your filthy eyes on every pair of panties in town.”
She’s wrong about that, but I haven’t exactly lived a life of celibacy, either.
She straightens, fists her hands on her hips, and hurls a livid glare in my direction.
The thin tank top meets the top of her thighs, the cotton as white as the crotch of panties peeking beneath the hem. As much as I want to absorb every glorious inch of her, I rein in my eagerness and turn my back.
“Climb on.” I squat low and tap my shoulder.
“You want to…” Her voice rises an octave. “Give me a piggyback ride?”
“That, or I’ll carry you like a baby. Your choice.”
“For the love of Pete.”
She paces behind me, back and forth, back and forth, and stops.
Her hand touches me first, a soft pressure on my shoulder, and my pulse races. Then her other hand, her legs, her chest. The dainty length of her wraps around my back, and I pin my lips to contain my ragged breaths.
My legs straighten. My hands grip her thighs. My boots step onto the path. But my thoughts are elsewhere, careening off the tracks and into a vivid dream where I’m burying my face in her pussy, pinching her nipples, tying down her arms, and fucking her until the cows come home.
By the time I reach my destination, I’m so fucking hard it hurts to walk.
“We’re here.” I back up to a stump surrounded by poison ivy. “Put your feet down.”
“You promised!” She clenches her thighs around my waist, her arms clinging to my shoulders.
“Keep your feet at the center of the stump and hold onto the branch above you. Do you see it?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I already told you, and I’ll tell you more if you obey.”
She shifts around on my back, stalling, hesitating. Then she lowers her legs. When she’s finally in position on the stump, I step back and take her in.
Starry sprinkles of moonlight filter through the canopy, delineating the alluring shape of her.
Fingers curled around the branch overhead, she balances on the stub of wood. Tank top, underwear, and bare legs, she glows white against the shadowy backdrop. With her unruly red hair, tattooed arms, and defiant glare, she looks like a bloodthirsty angel.
Everything inside me tenses with anticipation.
“Wipe that look off your face, Jake Holsten.” She shifts her weight. “I’m not having sex with you.”
Not yet. “You’re standing on a stump, enclosed by poison ivy because it’s the only way I can think to restrain you.”
“I changed my mind.” Her throat bobs, and her legs grow restless. “I’m not comfortable with this. Take me back to Ketchup.”
“Hear me out.” I step around her, stamping down errant saplings of poison ivy. “Tonight, we’re reestablishing the roles we once had and setting a foundation for trust. My approach to your therapy doesn’t exactly conform to the social constructs of sex and mental health. But every step I take will be carried out with complete honesty, control, and care.”
And love.
I love her so goddamn much, but she’s not ready for that truth. That’s why we’re here.
Earlier today, I placed the stump on uneven ground. Little movements cause it to wobble. Not enough to topple over, but it fucks with her balance and forces her to hold onto the overhead branch. That keeps her hands out of my way.
“I can’t restrain you by conventional means.” I pause in front of her and meet her eyes. “No rope. Nothing touching your wrists. That in itself is problematic. And before you give me hell for wanting to truss you up, think back to the night of your birthday. Before the bad stuff happened. What did I do to your wrists?”