Page 80 of Burning for You

I say, “You couldn’t find anything because your fiancé didn’t want it to be found. I went into Josh’s office. He’d hidden all the plans in a secret compartment in his desk.”

“Right.”

“They named it Project Bitterroot.”

She sniggers. “Bitterroot, the state flower of Montana.”

Once more, Josh calls Carolyn.

“You really need to go back to him or he’ll know something isn’t right. Well, I guess he already knows, but not the real reason behind your disappearance.”

She nods.

I ask, “What story are you going to go for?”

She seems to mull over the same question. I can see she has thought about one. “Remember I told you I was tender?”

“On… your…” I cast my eyes at her crotch.

“Yes.” She gulps, pinching the trimming of the sheet. “I had a motorcycle accident and broke my pelvic bone.”

All the sex, the pouncing I’ve subjected her to… “Carolyn, have I hurt—”

“No, no. You haven’t done anything to hurt me. I mean, I might use that as an excuse for my disappearance. Let me think of the details, but it might work.”

I touch her groin. “I’ll be gentle next time.”

“Levi. I’m going to make up a story for Josh. I’m tender, it’s true, but it’s a good kind of tender.”

“When did that happen, your accident?”

“Couple of years ago. I believe Rupert was behind the accident, but there was no proof.”

“He’ll have to pay for that.”

“He will. But we have to be smart. Your land is the priority now.”

I nod, although I still can’t get over the thought that I’d hurt her and she just didn’t want to admit it.

“Levi, I’m okay,” she assures me. Perhaps my worry has manifested in my expression. “I recovered physically. Although I’ve never rode again since then. I used to bike everywhere.”

I stroke her regretful face.

Seemingly not wanting me to pity her, Carolyn climbs out of bed. The sheet unshrouds my nakedness, with my manhood reclining softly against my thigh. With a cheeky look, she hoists my shaft as if handling a sleeping kitten. She tidies it up so my cock curves nicely along the seam of my sac.

Carolyn sheds her clothes, piece by piece as she heads to the shower. I watch her glorious naked body swaying.

I follow her.

As steam starts to fog the mirror and glass, we step under the hot shower. We sigh simultaneously, feeling the water pressure sluice sweat from our bodies.

Her shoulders lock together. “You’re tense,” I say.

“Make me forget that I’m about to go into a lion’s den.”

“You don’t have to go back to him,” I say. “We’ll find another way.”

“Just make me forget, for a while. For however long you can give me,” she whispers.

I hug her, pecs to breasts, belly button to belly button. The first time we made love, she begged me to untie her so she could hold me. Now I offer her a flash of surrender, telling her I’m hers—to hold, to handle, even to dismantle if she wishes.

“How does it feel?” I whisper in her ear when she traps my body in her embrace. “To feel me like this?”

She spends a moment dealing with her inability to speak. Then she says, giving her soft eyes to me, “It feels like I’m hollow, and then you slowly seep through my skin and spread your flesh and spirit into me.”

“That’s exactly how I feel too,” I murmur. Much as she doesn’t want to leave me, I don’t want to let her go.

---