Page 103 of Smut

She manages to tear her eyes away from the scenery and looks at me curiously.

“What?” I go on. “You would go crazy here without me.”

Maybe that seems too forward, but I don’t care. I park the car at the end of the driveway and she opens the door and steps out, her body drawn toward the cottage like a tractor beam.

The cottage is not at all what I was expecting. Given Amanda’s family and their wealth, I was expecting something grand and obnoxious, even though she had told me numerous times it was small and modest. Well, she was definitely right. It is small, can’t be more than two rooms, and it’s a step beyond modest. The first word that comes to mind is quaint. Which is one step above “rustic” and “dilapidated.”

It’s pretty awesome.

“Wow,” I say, stepping out of Mr. Mean.

She pauses on the stone path, the squares cracked and worn, periwinkle and grass running between them, and looks back at me, her brow raised saucily. “Is that ever-present sarcasm I detect? Have I let you down?”

I close the car door and stride over to her, shaking my head. “Not at all. Honestly, the fact that this is your beloved cottage makes me like you just a little bit more.”

“A little bit more? That means you must like me somewhat.”

“You know I like a lot of things about you,” I tell her, running my fingers under my nose and grinning at her. “Why don’t we step inside and I’ll show you more thoroughly this time.”

She rolls her eyes, even though there’s a hint of a teasing smile on her hot pink lips. I’m suddenly hit with a strange, almost guilty realization that I haven’t kissed her today. I should have her magenta lipstick all over my face, my neck, but instead I got her off on the ferry without touching anything more than her pussy. There’s something crude about that, and though that’s a feeling I never shy away from, it just doesn’t seem right anymore.

“Okay, so maybe the cabin is nothing special,” she says as she continues down the path and stops in front of the wide covered back porch along a high bank of grass that overlooks the harbor. She spreads her arms out proudly and throws her head back. “But how can you not be impressed by this view?”

I am impressed. I briefly take in the family of quail running from the low hedges and toward steps that must lead down to the beach, the wooden stairway flanked by tall cedars. I notice the covered deck with Adirondack chairs and woven blankets, perfectly set up for the sunrise or star gazing, the stack of firewood in the corner.

I also take in her arse, perky and toned from her crazy (yet well-appreciated) addiction to running, her legs, her back, that gorgeous red hair of hers, forever bound in that ponytail, and finally, when she turns around to look at me because I’ve remained suspiciously silent, those lips again.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m moving down the path like a ghost and grabbing her face between my hands. Her eyes are wide and wild beneath her glasses, and her mouth drops open, so sticky sweet, and I press my lips against hers, inhaling her taste, her scent, the lush softness of her mouth.

For a long, agonizing second she stiffens, unsure of what to do next. I know I’ve caught her off-guard with this kiss—it’s caught me off-guard too. But before I can regret it or second guess it and step away, she’s melting against me, her hands wrapping around my waist while mine drift from her face to her hair, to the back of her neck, holding her there while our tongues dance languidly against each other.

I press myself against her, my cock as hard as concrete and straining against my jeans, ready for release. She gives a soft gasp as I dig into her hip, a throaty sound that only makes me thicker. Getting her off on the ferry was one of the hottest things I’ve ever done and I’m surprised my dick has survived that case of blue balls.

But it won’t last much longer.

“Let’s go inside,” I whisper to her, taking her hand and leading her to the front door.

She fishes a key out from under the mat.

“Really?” I ask.

She waves the key at me and puts it in the lock, opening the door. “Anyone who wants to break in has to hitchhike out here. Believe me, all the riff raff is in town and they’re harmless for the most part.”

We step inside. The cabin smells like old cedar and memories, and from the look on Amanda’s face, they’re all hitting her at once.

She walks to the middle of the small room by the wood stove and sits down on the couch, staring at the board games that are at least as old as she is.

Aside from a small dining table, two couches facing a coffee table, the wood stove, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom there isn’t much to it. It’s just enough for one or two people. But I can tell it’s more than enough to Amanda.

I sit down on the couch next to her and let her take it in.

After a while I brush the hair back from her face and ask, “What do you want to do?”

At first I’m not sure if she’s heard me, she has such a faraway look in her eyes, lost in a memory somewhere. Then she looks at me, blinking back to reality. She takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom. “I want your cock inside me. Everywhere.”

I gulp, swallowing hard, more than ready.

I follow her, standing in the doorway before the twin bed covered with flannel sheets. She slowly strips in front of me until she’s this pale glowing goddess, beckoning me to join her.

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