Page 6 of Whispers on the Mountain

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Augustus

Her brother's flannel.

Relief has never felt more liberating, and that includes the day I made it back home in one piece.

I still don't know why she'd come up here hoping to find me. From the sound of it, she's already heard about me. Everyone else down in town steers clear of me, too scared of what they've heard to manage more than polite small talk. Except the deputy.

Hawkins seems like a decent guy. Under different circumstances we might have become friends-- but he's recently married, with twins on the way by the end of summer. And that's a stage of life I'm not likely to get to, myself.

The forest nymph at my kitchen table swallows down the last of the liquid in the glass and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

The gesture goes straight to my dick and the damn thing's hard as stone again as I imagine her wiping my cum from those lips and looking up at me with the same self-satisfied grin, like she's expecting a pat on the head for being such a good girl.

A growl escapes my chest.

"How are you feeling now?"

She still looks flushed. So many of those blonde highlights running through her hair have escaped the clip at the back of her head that they look like a halo shining in the sunlight filtering through the front windows.

Without her brother's flannel shirt covering so much of her up, it's easier to appreciate the fine curves filling out the top of that yellow dress, the peach-soft skin on display under the skinny straps that are doing double duty to hold up a set of truly magnificent tits, the full tops of which are tinged with a blotchy pink that contrasts with the light smattering of freckles.

I assume it's a bit of heat stroke, standing out in the harsh sunlight too long without drinking enough water.

Thinking of her out there, not taking care of herself, has me wanting to scold her or even take her over my knee-- thinking about the way her round ass would jiggle and redden with my hand-print has me tightening my jaw, silently acknowledging that my motivation has less to do with teaching her to take better care of herself and a lot more about getting my hands on her perfect flesh...and marking it as mine.

"Better, I guess." Zephyr's eyes don't quite make it all the way to mine when she answers. Her voice is breathier than when we were talking outside and I notice the way she chews her bottom lip as her gaze lays heavily in my direction.

"You sure?" She still looks a little out of it.

I'm about to force myself away from the counter where I'm reclining, desperately trying to find a casual position that relieves the ache of my dick. I'm planning to refill her glass, rummage through the fridge to see what I have on hand to get some sustenance in her, try to get her to tell me just what it was she was expecting when she came up here hoping to find me, when I see something that has me frozen in place.

A whispered oath moves past my lips in my second language. My fingers clenching the edge of the outdated laminate counter under me.

I cannot be seeing this. There must be a far more mundane explanation, flowers like Zephyr don't bloom in the garden of my life.

"You speak Italian?"

The finely controlled movements of her upper arm still momentarily, her hooded gaze widening when she hears the soft string of words under my breath.

"My nonna wanted to make sure we were able to communicate with family in the old country," I confirm with a nod, letting the knowing smirk that's been fighting the corner of my mouth have its way when I see her lips fall open on a quiet sigh.

"What did you say?"

"I cursed the devil for letting me hope for such a gift," I tell her truthfully.

The pink coloring her fair skin definitely has to do more with me than the high elevation sunlight. The blush deepens and spreads. Her eyes finally come all the way up to mine and a sly smile plays at the corners of her pretty lips while the small, measured movements return to the muscles of her left arm.

"Fiore mio, what are you hiding under my grandmother's tablecloth?"

Zephyr stills, her eyes wide and alert like a mouse that knows it’s been spotted by a hawk.

"Nothing," she swears emphatically in a voice so quiet it isn't even a whisper.

A couple of quick steps is all it takes for me to cross the distance to her.

She squeals in shocked protest as I grab the chair by the seat beneath her tempting ass and pull it away from the table with a loud scrape across the tile flooring.

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