BIG MOUNTAIN

On top of everything else, it seems I’m becoming a morning person all of a sudden, too.

My stomach growls, probably because it just emptied itself forcefully, and I grab my purse and head down to see how early shops wake up in this town.

Erin’s is still shuttered, the owner probably sleeping in. But a bakery next door smells like heaven, and one glance at the cinnamon buns in the window has me sold. I dart in and buy one, and finish scarfing it down in record time; practically before the cashier has even finished checking me out. I buy a second one for the road, and finish it lingering in the doorway of the shop. Then I head up the road, licking my fingers clean and eying the houses I saw the night before.

Funny how different a place can look by night versus by day. Like a whole different world. Nighttime here used to be mysterious, beautiful. Last night, though, it felt a little ominous too. Dangerous.

This morning, on the other hand, with the sun rising over the mountains out east, is magical. The way the light catches on the trees as they bend over the houses, offering shade, comfort…

It gives me an idea. I raise my camera and start to snap some pictures. The light catches the town perfectly—the waking hour—and already I can envision a series of portraits of Bailey. The village throughout the day, a different place at every hour. It cheers me up, having a project. Gives me a little something to plan for, instead of just whining about all the waiting.

I can turn this time into something else. A project, one I enjoy.

Between that and Gil, well… Okay. Another week here wouldn’t be terrible.

Finished shooting, I finish the climb up to his house. To my surprise, I see lights on in the windows, smoke curling from the chimney of both the house and his little work shed, which has a wood-burning stove of its own to heat the place in winter, whenever he works late.

Usually Gil sleeps in. Or maybe it’s just that when we’re together, neither of us much wants to get out of bed before we absolutely have to. We’re usually too distracted by each other, exploring one another’s bodies, his hands roaming all over mine before he pulls me on top of him, or rolls over to pin me beneath his strong, thick, muscular body.

Not going to lie, my thighs tighten and my belly clenches in anticipation of the pleasures to come, as I climb the last few steps up to his door.

But when I knock and then ease the door open, poking my head inside, I find the living room deserted. The bedroom too, and the kitchen. I don’t hear the shower running either, so it can’t be that. “Gil?” I call out, tentatively.

Then I remember the other curl of smoke I saw, the one from the shed. Maybe he woke up early, the same way I did, and decided to use those extra hours of daylight to squeeze some more work in.

I tiptoe out the back door and up to the door of the shed. I turn the knob without knocking, ease it open a crack to call through. “Gil?” I ask as I step inside.

He looks up from the workbench, and both of us freeze.

My eyes go wide. My lips part.

There, on the bench between us, nearly finished, unmistakable in shape, design… Is the most beautiful handmade wooden baby crib I’ve ever seen. “Gil…” My voice comes out a whisper. I step closer, unable to look away. The wood carvings he’s added to the railings are so intricate—the posts of the crib look like tree trunks, with branches that curl toward one another, and even tiny leaves sculpted between the bars, so it doesn’t look so much like a cage, the way cribs often do, but more like a nest of trees cradling the spot for the baby to sleep in.

The rim of the crib, he’s made to look like a tree canopy. There are pines and leafy green leaves carved along it, joined together to make the railing. I even spy a few little fruits carved into it. And as if that wasn’t fanciful enough, the legs of the crib itself are made to look like roots stretching toward the ground.

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes.

When I look up again, Gil swallows hard. “It’s not finished,” he says, as though he’s apologizing. “I mean, literally, this is just the bare wood I’ve been carving. I still need to paint a few coats of finish on top. I was thinking ebony stain for the legs, maybe cherry for the bars, and a simple pine varnish for the top here, to give it a hint of green…”

“It’s beautiful, Gil.” I cross the shop toward him and extend my arms.

He catches me in his, holds me close. “You like it?”

“Like it?” I shake my head, feeling those tears burn closer than ever. “Are you kidding? Gil, I love it. It’s gorgeous. Nobody’s ever made something like this before, not for me; god, how much time did this take?”

“A few sleepless nights,” he admits. “And some early morning work sessions.”

I laugh under my breath. “So this was your secret project. The one you never let me see; the one you kept saying you needed to work on alone.”

“I wanted to find some way to prove to you that I’m serious, Jenna.” He leans down to kiss the top of my head, and then murmurs the rest into my hair. “You asked me to show you how much I want a family with you. This was the best way I could think to communicate that. As much time and effort as I poured into this crib, I’ll pour a thousand fold more into our life together. Into caring for you and our baby.”

He reaches down to brush his fingertips over my stomach, and I lean into him. He flattens his palm against my belly then. Lets his fingertips graze the top of my jeans. “I want you, Jenna. Not just as a hookup, not just as a fling. As my partner in life. As the mother of our child.”

I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. A solid, sincere gaze. One I’ve come to trust more than I ever thought possible in this short a time. “I want you too, Gil,” I murmur. “I want to be with you. Not just for a couple weeks; all the time. I want to start a life together.”

“Are you sure?” He holds my gaze, serious and steady.

“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything,” I whisper. Then his lips crash into mine, and I forget about anything else. The detective, the case, our totally different living situations. Who cares? We’ll figure it out.

He walks me backwards to one of the benches that line his workroom. Then he hoists me up onto it, until my waist is even with his. I wrap my legs around him, arch my hips forward to grind against the hard erection I can already feel pressing through his jeans. He keeps his lips on mine the whole time, until he reaches down to undo my jeans. Only then does he kiss his way down my jawline to my neck, nipping and biting lightly there, his beard scratching gently against my cheek.

“You drive me wild, Jenna,” he whispers against my skin, breath hot as hell and driving me even hotter.

“I want to feel you inside me.” I reach for him, grab at his zipper.

He undoes mine, wriggles my jeans down my hips, just far enough to push down my panties too. Then he puts those workingman’s fingers of his to work, sliding them down over the freshly shaved mound of my pussy to explore my lips, tracing the edges, teasing, taunting. “I love the way you squirm when I touch you.” He grins down at me, fire in those icy eyes of his.

I finish undoing his jeans and shove them down, his boxers with them. Then I reach for his cock, explore his length with both hands. “I love feeling how fucking hard you get for me, big man.” I wink at him, and his smile deepens. Turns dangerous at the edges.

“About as wet as you get for me,” he says, and dips one finger between my pussy lips to trail along my slit, coating his fingertip in my juices, since he’s right. I’m already dripping wet. “Tell me, dirty girl. Do you touch yourself when you think about me?”

My eyelids flutter, and my hands lose track of their places on his cock, as he starts to finger me, back and forth along my slit, the edge of his finger brushing my clit each time, which swells in anticipation. “Oh yes,” I whisper.

“Did you touch yourself last night?” His lips find mine. Kiss me, until the truth tumbles out.

“Yes.” In the shower. Remembering our last time together.

“What did you thin

k about, when you touched yourself?” His lips move against mine now, as he speaks.

I swallow hard. Try to remember, because what he’s doing right now is pretty damned distracting. “I… pictured you… bending me over this bench.”

“Hmm.” His fingers circle harder against me, faster. Zeroing in on my clit, which throbs now, aching for release. “And what did I do next, in your dirty little daydream?”

I lick my lips, which have gone dry. My tongue flashes across his lips too, still pressed close to mine, and he kisses me for a second, distracting me further. “You… knelt down behind me.”

“And then?” He slides one finger into me, just to the first knuckle. I gasp at the sensation.

“And then… you started to lick me. My… my pussy.”

He pushes his finger in deeper. “Did I make you come?”

I moan a little and rock forward into him. “Yes. Over and over…”

“And then what?” His finger is all the way inside me now, and he draws it out, thrusts it back in again. At the same time, his thumb presses down on my clit lightly, not hard enough to hurt, just enough for the pressure to excite me every time he fingers me.

“Then… you fucked me.” I’m panting now. I remember my hands, still around his cock, and I tighten them. Try to pump along in motion with the thrusts he’s giving me, pushing his finger in and out.

“From behind?” he asks, with a grin.

“Uhhhh… huh,” I manage. My body arcs back. I forget about his cock again, unable to hold on, too lost in the pleasure.

He speeds up, fucking me with his fingers now, harder, faster. “And did I come inside you?”

“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His thumb grazes my clit one more time and that does it. I cry out as the orgasm sweeps through me, all the way to my fingertips, my toes. My whole body vibrates like from an electric shock, and it’s all I can do to keep sitting upright, as my pussy tightens, reflexive, the muscles gripping his fingers like steel.

He pulls his fingers out of me then, and licks them off, one at a time, while keeping his eyes locked on me. I’m panting, still breathing hard from the orgasm, and every nerve in my body feels electrified. “Get off the bench,” he says, a new steel sound in his voice.

My heart skips, and I obey. I jump down to stand before him.

“Turn around.”

My pulse races. I do as he says, turning my back to him.

“Bend over it.”

He’s reenacting my fantasy, I realize. I step forward and bend down over the workbench. The surface is wood, but polished and smooth. It doesn’t hurt. I lie along it, my breasts digging into the flat surface, my ass sticking up in the air now, facing him.

He parts my ass cheeks, and I gasp as he runs a finger up my slit all the way over the tight little pucker of my ass. Then he laughs, softly, and bends down, until I feel his nose press against my taint, right near where his finger just slid. I groan and rock back against his face.

His tongue lashes out to trace along my slit, right around my pussy entrance. I moan in response.

I’ve never had a guy eat me out from this angle before. I have to admit, it feels fucking amazing when he pushes his tongue inside me. I was already wet from his fingering, but I’m soaked now, my juices dripping down his face as he laps and sucks at me. He runs his tongue over my clit, then back into my cunt, until I’m bucking backward, trying to reach his face, to force him deeper into me.

He laughs, then, and pulls away, leaving my pussy soaked, the air cold against me where it hits, now that his heat is gone.

“Don’t stop,” I protest with a moan.

But he reaches up to grip my ass with both hands, massaging me, his fingers digging into my supple skin. “Oh, I don’t plan on stopping, Jenna.” I feel him press up behind me now, his crotch warming my ass. The hard dig of his cock presses against my inner thighs. I clamp my legs tight around him, try to pump his shaft with my thighs.

He rocks against me for a moment, groaning in satisfaction. “You know what I think you need, dirty girl?” he murmurs, as his hands trace up my back, then back down again to my hips.

“What?” I whisper, still trying to rock back against him, my thighs clamped around his cock. He pulls back, and slides out from between my thighs.

“I think you need to get fucked. Right here across this table, like the dirty girl you are.”

“Yes, please,” I moan.

“I didn’t hear that.” He positions his cock at my entrance, circling around it, not quite pushing into me, not yet.

“Yes, please,” I gasp, louder.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, god, yes!” I’m shouting now.

“Ask nicely,” he scolds, and draws back, his tip leaving me entirely.

I pant, at the edge now, wild with desire. “Please, sir, please fuck me. Fill me with your big cock, dirty man.”

“That’s better.” Then he’s back at my entrance, his tip pushing inside me, parting my pussy lips around him. I moan and buck in pleasure, and he spears me slowly, inch by inch, digging deeper and deeper until I feel stuffed full, stretched wide. Every inch of my body is his, and he fills every inch of me completely.

“Gil,” I moan.

He reaches down to brush my hair back into a ponytail. Then he wraps it around one of his fists, and gently tugs my head up. When I glance over, he’s leaning down beside me to press a gentle kiss to my lips. I return it, softly, slowly. Then, as we break apart, he grins. “You want it rough now, dirty girl?”

There’s fire in his eyes. I answer it with heat of my own. “Fuck. Yes.”

He answers me by pulling back and slamming back into me, so hard my hips drive into the table. But I don’t mind. The pain adds to it, pain and pleasure contrasting to bring my peak even higher, as he starts to truly fuck me. He pulls my ponytail, forces my head back and my chest to arch up across the table, to grant him better access. His other hand grips my hip for purchase, and he pounds into me, again and again, his thick cock spreading my lips wide with every thrust, spearing deep into me.

“Take it, baby, take it fucking all,” he’s groaning through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t take long before I’m screaming again, my voice throaty and deep, as the orgasm thunders through my body. He just keeps going, fucks me right through that orgasm and into the start of another, as his cock drags across my G-spot with each thrust, angled down into me like this.

I lose track of time then. Another orgasm sweeps through me, and my whole body is shaking, but Gil keeps going, keeps fucking me, and I feel stretched, full, aching with want still.

“I’m almost there,” Gil growls from behind me, and I arch my hips back up into him, because that’s what I’m aching for. Aching to feel him come inside me, to feel his orgasm as strong as my own.

He thrusts into me once more, slamming my hips against the table, then again, again… And I feel him finish, his cock jumping and tensing inside me as his hot cum coats my walls. I tighten my pussy muscles around him, clamp down hard, and he moans again, louder, and rocks inside me, as I milk every last drop from him.

He steps backward, pulls out of me with a gasp, and my eyelids flutter shut as I feel the hot spill of our mingled juices down my thigh. It’s dirty as fuck, but I have to admit, I love that feeling.

Then he’s spinning me around, his arms around me, and pulling me into another hot, deep kiss, his tongue exploring mine, our tongues tangling together. When we break apart, we’re both breathless, hearts beating fast. My whole body feels deliciously used and sore. I’m going to have bruises tomorrow, and I fucking love that too.

What can I say? I like it rough.

“God, Jenna.” Gil’s doing that thing again, where he looks at me like I’m magic, like I can’t possibly be real.

I know the feeling. It’s exactly how I feel about him too. I reach up to scratch at his beard, then pull his face down to mine for another kiss, slower this time. Sweete

r. “That was…” I start.

“Fucking incredible,” he finishes.

We both laugh, our foreheads pressed together. From the corner of my eye, I spot the crib he built again, and a swoop of pleasure rockets through my belly all over again at the memory of what he’s done for me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work,” I say, though, and wink up at him.

He chuckles, and follows my gaze to eye the crib. “Trust me, I really do not mind this kind of interruption.”

“Should I leave you alone to finish this?” I tease. “Or shall I stay and interrupt you more in a little while?”

He laughs, and kisses my temple. “Well, I have another hour or so of carving left to do, to finish the last side… But after that I’ll need to give up for the day anyway. At least until I can run down to the hardware store and pick up the finish I need.”

“I can do that for you,” I offer with a smile. “If you tell me exactly what to look for.”

“This is a present for you,” he replies, stubborn as ever. “You can’t start helping me make it. That’s not how presents work.”

I roll my eyes. “It doesn’t count as helping if I just run one errand for you. It’s not like I’m volunteering to carve one of the legs.” I wave at the sculpture, a work of art in itself. “I would screw that up immediately. But this, fetching some paint—”

“Finish,” he interrupts.

“Finish, whatever.” I laugh. “That, at least, I can handle.”

He hesitates.

I reach for his crotch. Toy with his cock, which has gone soft, but jumps in my hand at the touch. “Or,” I offer, “I can distract you even more. Make sure you get no more work done today.” I grin and wink.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “How about this.” He steps closer and dips his hand down to cup my pussy, swirling a finger through my juices. “If you really want to run one errand for me, okay. Then you come back, and I’m taking another break from work.” He grins and leans down to lick the corner of my mouth. “This time, it’s my fantasy we’re acting out.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine all the things he might mean. “Deal,” I say, almost before he’s finished speaking.