Page 75 of Of Grief And Gratitude

The sunlight made her blue eyes even more intense as she studied me. “I know you don’t want to take me.”

“That’s not true,” I protested, squeezing her warm hand. My thumb stroked absently over her knuckles. “I didn’t want to have to leave home, but I want to spend time with you.”

Riona smiled sadly and shook her head. “I doubt being banished to the far reaches of the state is anybody’s idea of a fun vacation.”

“But you haven’t seen the cabin yet,” I teased. “It’s quiet, secluded, and there’s a creek nearby. Plenty of time for hiking during the day and sitting by the fire at night.”

She scoffed and pulled her hand away. “Do I look like an avid hiker to you?”

“It won’t hurt to build your stamina a bit.” I pulled her hand over to rest on my thigh, making her lean toward me. “With stronger thighs, you could ride my face for an hour, at least.”

“I feel like your suggested fitness goals for me are more of a benefit to you.”

“I felt your pussy clench around my tongue and soak my face when you came.” My cock hardened, constricted by my jeans. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t enjoy every second of that.”

“I did,” she admitted, blushing. “I can also do it again—without hours of hiking.”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged, distracted by the prospect of Riona’s pussy on my face.

Our conversation turned to mundane topics like the weather and changing topography until it was dinner time, and the land had grown more hilly as we approached the southern part of the state. Riona nodded off at some point, and I drove with the radio as my companion until we passed through the last town before the forest. I pulled into a family-owned diner and found a spot among all the other vehicles. It was a popular place for a Wednesday night, likely filled with locals.

“Where are we?” Riona asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes and squinting at the restaurant’s signage.

“I thought we’d stop for dinner before heading out to the cabin,” I explained, stepping out and stretching. Riona had opened her own door by the time I walked around, so I offered her my hand. “I figured we wouldn’t want to cook by the time we got there.”

“Good idea.” She yawned, and I moved when she shot her arms out to the side in a stretch that thrust her chest outward. The v-neck of her shirt showed the top swells of her breasts, and my mouth watered for a different kind of meal. “Could you open the trunk for me?”

“Sure.” I pressed the button on my key fob and closed her door while she rummaged through her bag. “What are you doing with those?”

“It’s a disguise.” Riona stood there and donned a hat and sunglasses, like some kind of D-list celebrity who thought the paparazzi would suddenly appear.

“Nobody cares that you’re out here,” I said drolly, leaning my hip against the car.

“What if your father is looking for us?”

I sighed and shook my head at her misplaced caution. “Mia fiamma, if my father wanted to find us, those accessories wouldn’t stop him and his men.”

Riona shuddered, and I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her to my chest and kissing the top of her hat. She huffed against my shirt.

“You’ll be safe with me,” I promised, taking her hand and leading her toward the diner doors. “Now, let’s fill up on burgers and fries. If you’re very good, I’ll get something to take for snacks later.”

“I can buy my own snacks,” she said pensively, but I caught a flicker of a grin under the brim of her hat.

All eyes turned to us as we entered, and Riona quickly removed the hat and sunglasses when it became apparent they were drawing more attention than she wanted to attract. A middle-aged lady with grey-streaked brown hair, a modest black knee-length dress, sneakers, and the efficient gait of somebody with a lifetime in the service industry waved her hand toward the back of the restaurant. “Find yourself a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

I placed my hand on the small of Riona’s back and guided her to an empty table for two, since all the booths were filled. The server rushed over with two glasses of water, not caring when the liquid sloshed over the sides onto the table.

“What’ll it be, folks?”

She pointed to the large chalkboard menu on the wall, which sported a limited selection of sandwiches, burgers, soups, and salads. Riona tapped her finger against her chin while she read through everything, but I’d been there enough through the years to know what I liked.

“I’ll have the monster burger and fries,” I told the server. “And a chocolate shake.”

The server nodded briskly and turned to Riona. “And for you?”

“I’ll take the classic American burger and fries with a cola,” she answered.

“Comin’ right up.” The woman—Marge, her name tag read—whirled and was off to the kitchen window to turn over the ticket to a bustling cook staff.

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