Page 118 of Rugger: The Huntress

He palmed the back of my head and lowered it onto his shoulder. Drowning in the abundance of emotions while simultaneously accepting my fate, I began to drift into an orgasm-induced slumber.

“Gazelle.”

Sonnie’s kisses were gentle. Delicate. Strategically placed.

“Gazelle.”

His whispers were enough to keep me from gaining consciousness. I found it hard to resurface after the impact of his father’s presence, the realization of what was happening to my heart, and the overwhelming feeling our reunion provided.

“Gazelle.”

“Hm?” I stirred.

“Wake up, baby. We have arrived.”

My nostrils flared instantly. The familiar smell of nature was overbearing.

More trees.

More snow.

And, burning wood.

Cedar. Cypress. Redwoods. Spruce… Hemlocks.

I flexed my nostrils, quickly changing my interest. The vegetation of the area was next on my classification list.

Yarrow. Moss. Alpine. Penstemons.

“Sonnie.”

“Yes?” He responded, hurriedly.

“This isn’t your home.”

“It isn’t.”

Finally, I opened my eyes. My head separated from his shoulder blade.

The Enclave.

The incredibly beautiful portion of the mountains were privately owned. I’d visited as a child with Richie for family adventures that we hardly participated in. Our goal each time we touched the mountain side was to sharpen my aim, instincts, and reaction.

He opened the door and slid me down from his lap. Carefully, Sonnie adjusted my clothing to his liking. Silently, I examined the white sheets of snow that glistened in the dark as he gathered my newest gift and himself as well.

When his hand looped in mine, we began trekking through the inches of fluffiness, hand-in-hand. Silently, we stepped onto the porch that wrapped around the entire property. My hand slipped from Sonnie’s grasp as we neared the front door.

The steel of my Beretta caressed my fingertips. I eased it from the holster underneath my dress. As Sonnie made his way into the house with his weapon drawn, I monitored the surrounding area with my finger on the trigger–ready to shoot anything that moved.Even Clyde.

“He’s good, Gazelle,” Psalms promised, looping his arm around my waist.

He pulled me into the house behind him.

“He knows where we’re laying our heads tonight.”

“I know where he lay his head every night. Where his children lay their heads. How many cups of dry food they feed their dog twice a day. Which stuffy is his daughter’s favorite. And the brand of skincare his wife coats her skin with every morning and night. Clyde is good.”

I lowered my weapon before turning to face Sonnie. His cologne was overpowering. Overwhelmingly good. And, agonizingly close.

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