Page 35 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

Our tangled bodies move slowly, languorously exploring each other without words, just our soft groans of pleasure telling the other what we like. We come together with cries of ecstasy in bed and again in the shower, trying to get clean.

When we finally emerge, our skin flush, our bodies clean and sated for now, we sit down at the quaint table in his quiet apartment. I can’t help but notice the way his expression turns sad and his shoulders slump.

“A penny for your thoughts?” I ask, scooting my chair closer because I can’t stifle the urge to touch him. It seems like forever before his eyes finally meet mine. When they do, he isn’t really looking at me, like he’s stuck in a memory or something. I cup his chin, running my thumb over his cheekbone. He turns into my palm, returning to the moment.

“Just missing her is all. We used to watch Saturday morning cartoons together all the time,” he shrugs, fumbling with his fingers in his lap.

“We can watch cartoons if you want to. I’m down,” I suggest.

He waves me off with a flip of his hand and readies himself to stand. “Naw, let’s get out of here. The weather is nice and I want to show you something.” The sparkle has returned to his eyes and before he lets me stand, he stops to run his fingers through my wet hair. He fingers the long tresses and I love the way he always pays attention to my hair. The strands plop back on my shoulder where my shirt is darkened with damp spots.

He eyes my outfit, something I threw together last night when I stopped by my place to grab some clothes. “As much as I love seeing your legs, can you put some jeans on?”

Thankfully in my tired haste, I managed to grab some.

“Does that mean we’re getting on the bike?” He nods, knowing damn well I’d do anything to get on the bike with him. “Be right back.”

I’m grinning like a fool as I tuck my hair into my helmet, stuff my hands in my gloves, then swing my leg over the bike. The swatch of leather my ass is perched on could barely be considered a seat, but leaning forward into Riggs’ firm body makes up for it. This is not a comfortable ride, but it’s still fun and I trust him. On my back I’m wearing his pack, and from the sounds it was making as he shifted it from his hands to my shoulders, I’m guessing I’ll find paint cans if I look.

Excitement bubbles through me as we drift through winding mountain roads. It’s hot as sin outside and the morning sun beats down on us, but the random bits of tree coverage we have provide enough reprieve. Various hues of oranges and yellows appear on some trees, promising the late arrival of a southern fall and a break in the heat. The higher up the mountain we go, the forest grows dense and the bustle of people slows aside from a few tricked out cars racing and some bikes who give us a wave when we pass by them.

Riggs is in his element, but I can tell that having me on the back is slowing him down. Not to say that we aren’t still flying through the back roads. Eventually, he slows and we pull off on a tight trail. We go about another mile before he stops and cuts the engine.

With stiff legs and a sore lower back, I slip off the bike. I’m pretty sure my vagina is numb, but who needs that right now, anyhow? I’m walking a little funny when Riggs snorts a laugh.

“You look like you took it up the ass real good, Outlaw.”

“I feel like it, minus the post orgasm buzz.” I whine as I unwind the clasp on my helmet and slip it off. I smooth down my hair that is most definitely frizzy from being put into a helmet wet. Riggs shoves his gloves into the pockets of his jacket, then drapes it over the bike. He does the same with mine and moves in to hug me.

“You’re still buzzing from that orgasm I gave you earlier, trust me.” My stomach gives a little flip and my heart knocks on my chest, loving the way he talks to me. Confident yet sweet.

“I could always use another one.”

“And that I will give you… later.” I pout, making hushed moaning sounds. “I’m not saying that being up here is better than sex with you, but it’s a close second.” He grabs my hand and guides me to walk next to him. We navigate roots and broken down trees and not long after we’ve started, the trail ends. The sound of rushing water echoes through the forest, soothing me.

Before us, the trees open to allow a sprawling rush of water that rages over giant cuts of rock, peaking and dipping, moving so fast you can barely see into it. It dumps into a vast pond at the bottom of the hill after it spreads out over the side of the mountain like a curtain of glittering drops. It’s absolutely stunning, serene. I’m sure people have been here, but the land seems relatively undisturbed.

Birds chirp while flying overhead, and a hawk calls out, circling off in the distance. Earth and pine and plain fresh air invade my senses, stealing the tension from my shoulders. The threat of stress from school and Jonas falls away for a few moments as I run my fingers over the jagged rock edges that jut out in random formations.

We climb over them, straddling the water’s edge until we make it to the swell of water at the bottom. It doesn’t take long before Riggs drops his pack and sits, patting the flattened rock next to him.

“Sit,” he orders, and I happily plop my ass down. Drops of water splash onto my jeans and shoes. The drops are cooling, tempting me to join them and soon enough I’m up from my spot with the bright idea to dip more than my feet in the water.

I kick off my shoes, tuck my socks into them, then fold my jeans. Riggs watches every move, carefully studying me as I fold my shirt into the pile.

“What are ya doing?” he asks, icy irises glued to my naked body.

“I’m going swimming. What are you doing?”

“I’m enjoying the show. Am I allowed to come swimming with you?”

“I don’t know, are you?” Leaving him sitting like a bump on a log, I step into the water, careful not to slip on the slick rocks. I dip all the way in and when I come up for air, Riggs is stripping out of his clothes. He looks as if he’s filling out some, looking a little less etched than before. He climbs the rocks to where the waterhole gets deeper and dives right in. When his head bobs up out of the water, he gulps in a breath and his powerful hands push the mop of hair out of his face. He definitely needs a haircut. I’m digging the beard, but I like his clean fade with a messy flop of hair as well.

Water drips from the surface of his skin, illuminating the tattoos that cover his upper half, spreading up over his neck. The man is simply stunning.

Why is it that water and guys mix so well? Even the droplets dripping off his thick, dark lashes, slicing down his face, do something to me.

“Do you come here often?” I ask once he settles down. He welcomes me into his arms and I wrap my legs around him, spreading myself for him.

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