Page 36 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part 2

“Yeah, actually, I do. It’s my best escape.” A kiss lands on my forehead, then one on either temple. Between us, something is growing and as tightly as he is holding me, it is putting a delicious pressure on my clit. He has to know he is doing it, but he says nothing.

“It’s a good escape. I’m glad you have somewhere to run to when it gets hard.” Kisses continue to pepper my skin. One bounces off the tip of my nose.I love nose kisses–melt every time. Sometimes he’s so sweet my chest aches for him.

“Believe it or not, one day my father was actually nice enough to take us out of the house and we wound up here. I hate he is the reason I know about it, but that was a good day. My mother laughed and smiled. She swam with me, splashing around, and we played hide and seek in the trees as we hiked here. Of course, we couldn’t be too loud. My father was sober and annoyed. Well, he was always annoyed, but that day he seemed to handle it better. Mostly we acted as if he wasn’t there,” Riggs muses, his blue eyes going glassy. He’s looking around as if he can remember each part of the forest their feet touched when they were here.

What I wouldn’t give to experience that happiness with him. It looks good on him.

“You loved your mother.” We still have yet to dive into his confession that day. Now I know why Riggs carries around so much guilt, why he thinks he isn’t worthy. Honestly, I haven’t really taken the time to dissect what he told me. I don’t need to. Sure, I want to know more about his past, but I want him to tell me when he is ready. Right now, our connection is still fragile, and he has been doing so well that I don’t want to push him.

Should it concern me he killed his parents? Maybe, but he was a child and I’m aware of the fear of an abusive parent. I get the feeling his abuse was way worse than mine ever was and that killing his mom was just an accident.

“Yeah, I guess I did. But I don’t want to talk about them anymore.”

“Okay,” I say, and wrap my arms around his neck. He has been treading water while kissing my face relentlessly, but he backs us up and sets me on a formation of rock that juts out perfectly, placing my hips up near his face. This allows him to push my legs wider, to tease me more. I give a little wiggle to get what I desire. Who wouldn’t want to come in the water? “How long have you been tagging?”

“Shit, as long as I can remember. I’ve pushed a lot of the memories of my parents to the back of my mind. A few of the worst stick out, but most of my memories are of the time after I moved in with Gramma. So I’ve been tagging my whole life, basically. Not always as good as I am, but practice makes perfect.”

“Did you know her?”

“Yeah, but I barely knew she existed before my parents died. My father wanted me to have no contact with the outside world. It crushed her when she found out what I went through.”

“Riggs, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay. I came to terms with it a long time ago. She spent our years together apologizing for not learning about it sooner. Took it all as her fault. It mortified her,” he explains sadly. I’m sensing the need for a subject change. I don’t even want to think about how Gramma felt when she found out what happened to Riggs under the rule of his parents. That’s enough to make anyone cringe, and I have none of the details.

I’m sure she learned everything eventually, and that had to have killed her. My heart breaks for the two of them. They were so damn close. Gramma was such a sweet, caring woman with a feisty side.

“If I hadn’t killed them, Gramma would have.” I flinch. Hearing him talk casually about what he did is shocking. “She hated them so much.”

“I can’t blame her.”

“Outlaw, lean back for me, spread your legs and tell me where you want my tongue first. I can’t have your pussy so close to my face and not take this chance to make you come.”

I shiver. “Possibly the best subject change ever performed.” He bites his bottom lip and places my legs over his shoulders, bringing my core right to his mouth as he stays in the water. I spread myself for him and finger my clit. He groans deep in his chest like a starving man.

Droplets of water on my skin glitter in the early morning sun. It’s warm outside, but being up high on the mountain, there is a chill in the air. That coupled with Riggs’ command, my nipples are tight little peaks. I run my hand over the swells of my breasts and tug on my nipples. Bolts of pleasure zap at my nerves. Icy eyes flash with hunger so powerful it has me clenching with anticipation. This side to my man is unbelievably sexy.

“Tell anything out here willing to listen how good my mouth makes you feel. I want to hear everything you’re feeling.” He closes his mouth over my wet folds. My fingers dive into his hair, my nails digging into his scalp as his ministrations drive me wild. I let my legs fall open, slipping from his shoulders and giving him plenty of access. He sucks me into his mouth, taking his time out here in the wilderness. My cries grow louder and louder. The closer I get to my release, the more my control slips.

He tongues my entrance then slips two fingers inside and teases my g-spot. The move has my hips lifting off the surface of the rock.

“You like how that feels, Outlaw?” I moan, squirming to find his mouth again. “What was that? I’m not sure I heard you. Do you like how that feels?”

“Fuck, yes,” I say, finishing with a whimper when his mouth meets my throbbing clit and gives it a good suck. My hips shoot off the rock again and my orgasm detonates. His head follows my movements, continuing his assault until I’m begging him to stop. I grip his hair and yank him from my pussy. He snarls.

“Jester, damn.” I pant, grinning at him as he licks me from his lips.

We spend some time swimming in comfortable silence after Riggs devours me. Then we hike deeper into the forest where he tags a rock face with the image he doodled on the paper in class the other day. It’s beautiful, and he makes it look effortless. Riggs has a gift with a can of paint, leaving me to wonder just how good he would be if he sat down with some oil paints and a canvas.

I’m sitting propped on a fallen log, watching him work. He doesn’t talk much when he paints and I’m guessing that’s because when he normally tags, he needs all the concentration he can get in order to get it done before the police show up. I wonder how many times he’s run from the police. I’ve never heard about him being arrested before, but I’m also fairly certain the University wouldn’t give a scholarship to someone who’s spent time in jail.

“What goes through your mind when you’re painting?” He takes a second to break free of the trance that holds him captive, but when he does, his icy eyes are alight with something I can’t quite read.

“Well,” he exhales, “that depends on the time and place, what I’m putting down and who is with me.” The sound of spraying continues, picking up as if he never stopped.

“Who normally comes with you?” I feel a pang of jealousy knowing that someone else has shared in something that means so much to him. But I don’t know how this works. Do they go out in groups? How often does he go out?Whydoes he go out?

“No one normally comes with me. I prefer to come by myself, but sometimes I have company.” The way he stops painting but avoids looking at me makes me feel like he’s keeping something from me. I’m not sure why I want to push this so hard, but I can’t help it. Riggs doesn’t keep many people in his life, so if someone comes with him, why haven’t I met them or heard about them?

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