Chapter 22: Gabrielle

Chapter 22 – Gabrielle

John has given me several orgasms, so it’s my turn to return the favor. This is something I’ve been looking forward to all day. The whole time we were riding up here, I was fantasizing about giving him head. Ever since he mentioned that I’d be on top—so that he didn’t grind me into the ground—it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

There’s no doubt in my mind—John Burke is the most exciting lover I’ve ever had. The most raw and elemental lover.

I unzip his jeans and work them down his long legs.

“By the way, there’s a condom in my satchel over there,” he says, nodding toward a small canvas bag in the corner of the tent. His voice seems a bit deeper than usual, rougher. “I came prepared this time.”

“You’re such a Boy Scout.”

“Me? Hardly.” He scoffs. “I want to be prepared for any contingency. It’s the Army in me.”

I glance over at his rifle, tucked safely in its worn, leather scabbard. He also has a pistol in a holster somewhere, but I don’t see it. “Like the rifle?”

“You’ll be glad I have it if something unpleasant comes into our campground during the night.”

I shudder at the idea of a wild animal coming into our campground. The proximity of the rifle also makes me nervous, but I guess it’s a necessity out here in the wilderness. I look away, returning my attention back to John, which is where it should be.

“Do you know how to shoot?” he asks me. Apparently, he’s not ready to let the topic drop.

“No.”

“Then I know what we’re doing tomorrow after breakfast.”

“And what’s that?” I’m pretty sure I can guess.

“Shooting lessons. If you’re going to be traipsing around the wilderness, you need to know how to handle a firearm—just in case. It’s for your own protection.”

“Okay,” I say as I toss his jeans aside. “But that’s a conversation for tomorrow.”

The outline of his erection presses firmly against his black boxer-briefs. It’s just as impressive now as it was the last time. It wasn’t my imagination. The man is endowed.

I reach for the waistband of his briefs and begin sliding them down past his hips, careful not to catch the fabric on his package. Meanwhile, he’s casually unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off. Then he whips off his undershirt and tosses it aside. When he’s finally naked, I take a moment to look my fill.

His body is gorgeous—there’s no other way to describe him. Everything is so firm and chiseled, probably a result of lifting saddles and hauling around bales of hay and straw, or sacks of grain. He has an actual six pack. I can easily count the ridges.

The thought of him being injured breaks my heart.

When my gaze lingers on his face, he says, “It was a long time ago, Gabrielle. Don’t fret over it. I hardly remember anything from that day.”

I don’t know if that’s true, or if he’s saying that so I won’t feel bad for him. Mentally, I shake myself. This moment is supposed to be about him. I don’t want to bring him down by stirring up bad memories.

I press my hand to his bare chest and push him onto his back once more. Then I wrap my fingers around his erection.

When he makes a sound that’s half groan, half growl, I smile.

He’s hard, the length of him firm and defying gravity. When I draw him into my mouth, he sucks in a sharp breath and fists the sleeping bag beneath him. His eyes are clenched shut, and I get the feeling he’s trying to hold on. I may not be the best or the most experienced when it comes to giving a man a blowjob, but he seems to think I’m doing fine.

I’ve watched enough soft porn videos to have a decent idea of how to use my mouth and hands on him. His chest rises hard and fast, and he’s about to rip a hole in the sleeping bag, so I figure I must be doing something right.

I lick and suck on him, rim the crown, stroke the long hard length of him. I feel a vein pulsing underneath my tongue and fingers. When I reach down to cup his sac, he blows out a rough breath.

I lick around the rim of his head, then draw him in all the way to the back of my throat.

“Gabrielle, fuck!” The words are ripped out of him.

So I keep doing what I’m doing, enjoying every second of it. Enjoying the feel of him underneath my fingers and in my mouth. But most of all, I’m enjoying his reaction. The sounds of his pleasure.

Suddenly, he sits up, yanks my panties off me, and pulls me astride him.

“Fuck! Condom!” He leans way over, catching me when I almost topple off him, to grab the condom packet. He tears it open with his teeth and quickly rolls it on. Then he slips an index finger between my legs, touching me gently, sliding through my arousal. “Thank God!” he says.

Oh, I’m plenty wet. I think I’ve been that way most of the day, anticipating this very moment.

“I have lube in my satchel,” he says. “Do you want it?”

Shaking my head, I push him back down so he’s lying flat before I straddle his thighs. I guide him to my opening.

He mutters something raw and rough, and I can’t quite make out the words. I get the gist though, because when I start to lower myself on him, he clenches his jaws.

I gasp when the head of him presses inside me. I rock on him, slowly working myself down his long shaft. He fills me exquisitely, stretching me perfectly. The feeling of fullness is delicious.

He looks up at me with a heated gaze. “You are so damn beautiful.” Then he cups my breasts with his warm palms, gently covering them, holding them, molding them to his palms. His thumbs brush over my nipples, making them pucker tightly.

Heat rushes through me, from head to toe. Every inch of me is aroused. Once I’m almost fully seated, I begin to move, slowly at first, then with more confidence. He reaches for my hands and presses them to his chest so I have something to brace myself on.

I rock myself on him, adjusting the angle so he’s hitting my sweet spot.

He groans loudly. “You’re killing me, honey.”

Once my body adjusts to him, I start to move faster. His hands grip my hips, and he helps me raise and lower myself on him. Eventually, he bucks his hips, thrusting into me, and I grip his wrists to hold on. He’s incredibly strong, thrusting deep and hard.

“Okay?” he pants.

“Yes.” I gasp, my own breathing picking up as feelings of pleasure swamp me.

He reaches between my legs, and his thumb starts rubbing circles on my clit, alternating between firm and soft touches. Tingles shoot up my spine, and my belly clenches tightly. My body clamps down on him, squeezing him, and increasing the sweet friction between us. Our gazes meet, and neither one of us looks away.

We come at the same time. My body has turned to mush, and I nearly collapse on him. John thrusts one last time, so deep his hips raise off the mat as he sinks deep inside me. He catches me when I lose my balance.

“Oh, wow,” I say. My heart is pounding. “I thought this only happened in romance books.”

“What?”

“Climaxing at the same time.”

He smiles as he sits up and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. The night air feels cool against my damp skin, and I shiver.

“I guess we’re meant to be then.” He kisses me gently, and then he strokes my cheek.

He’s still inside me, and when I flex the muscles between my legs, he closes his eyes and moans. “Damn.”

Then he lies back down and rolls us onto our sides. After gently withdrawing, he removes the condom, wraps it in a tissue, and sets it aside. “Come here.”

We slip inside the double sleeping bag, and he turns me onto my side so he can spoon me from behind. His hand covers my breast, and I feel his lips in my hair.

He kisses the back of my head. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

* * *

I wake with a start, momentarily confused by the raucous sounds coming from outside our tent—hooves pawing at the ground, the jarring clang of cowbells, and Zeus’s loud, angry snorts. “John! What’s wrong?”

John slips out of bed and quickly pulls on his jeans and boots. “Stay in here,” he barks at me.

I reach over and switch on the lantern. “What is it?”

He removes his rifle from the scabbard, then he grabs a long black flashlight. “Predator.” As he unzips the tent, he says, “Do not go outside, Gabrielle. You hear me?”

“Yes,” I whisper. My heart is pounding from fear of the unknown. It could be anything out there—a bear, wolves. Those poor horses!

John slips silently into the darkness as the horses continue making enough noise to wake the dead.

“Ha! Get out of here!” he yells. Then I hear the crack of a rifle shot. Then another.

I crawl to the tent flap and unzip it just enough so I can peer outside. As my sight adjusts to the darkness, I can just make out John standing by the horses, going from one to another as he examines them with the aid of his flashlight. “It’s okay,” he says. “Everybody’s fine.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Did you see what it was?”

“Bobcat.”

“You didn’t shoot him, did you?” I ask, horrified at the thought.

“No.” He chuckles. “But I put the fear of God in him. He hightailed it out of here.”

“Will he come back?”

“I doubt it. And if he does, he’s no match for Zeus and Odin.”

After making a thorough search of the immediate area, John returns to the tent, puts the rifle away, and slides back into our sleeping bag. “You okay?” he asks as he draws me close. “You’re shaking.”

“I was startled, that’s all. It’s not every night I’m awakened by the sound of Armageddon.” I reach for his hand and link our fingers together. “Are you sure the horses are safe?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll raise an alarm if there’s a problem. Horses have an excellent sense of smell and hearing.”

He drops a kiss on my bare shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll stay awake for a while and listen, just to be sure.”

* * *

When I wake again, it’s light outside. I roll over to find the other half of the sleeping bag empty. Then I realize I can hear John outside stoking a fire.

I manage to find my clothes and put them on before crawling out into the early morning chill. “Good morning.”

He looks up from his task and smiles. “Good morning. I hope you slept well after all the excitement last night.”

“I did.” I look to the horses, who are all calmly nibbling on the grass at their feet. “The horses are okay?”

“They’re fine. Coffee?” He nods to the tin coffee pot on the grill.

“Yes, please. It smells wonderful.”

He reaches for a black-and-white speckled enamel mug and pours a cup. “Everything tastes better outdoors.”

I come out of the tent and join him at the fire. After taking the hot mug from him, I sit on the log and sip the strong concoction. “Mm. Cowboy coffee. If you’ll get the cooler down from the tree, I’ll start on breakfast. Scrambled eggs and bacon. I also brought some bread. We can toast it on the grill and have it with butter and strawberry jam.”

John wipes his hands on his jeans. “I’m on it.”

After breakfast, I wash the dishes in a plastic tub of warm soapy water while John sees to the horses. He moves them to another grassy patch so they can graze and offers them water.

“Any sign of the bobcat this morning?” I ask as I dry our dishes.

“Nope. I think he’s long gone.”

Later in the morning, we hike around the lake again. I stand on top of a fallen log at the water’s edge and watch fish darting amongst the rocks and fallen limbs. We spot three turtles sunbathing on a log half submerged in the water. As we pass by, startled frogs leap into the water, splashing.

We finish off the last of the leftover beef stew for lunch and eat baked potatoes that I wrapped in foil and cooked on the grill.

“Ready to head back?” he asks me as he finishes the last bite of his food.

I frown. “Do we have to?” I’m really enjoying being out here with him, just the two of us.

“Afraid so. I promised Hannah I’d have you back in time for the supper rush this evenin’. But we can come back again, any time you want to. Just say the word.”

I stand to collect his dirty dishes, then lean down to kiss him. “I’ll wash these while you start to pack up.”

Just as he’s putting the rolled-up tent into its bag, we hear loud voices coming from the other side of the lake. Several young male voices from the sound of it, loud and obnoxious.

As John finishes packing up, he keeps an eye on the approaching group of three young men.

“Hey!” one of them yells at us as they get near. “How’s fishing?”

I guess them to be in their early twenties. They’re dressed in jeans, boots, and hoodies. Two of them are wearing University of Colorado Denver hoodies. They’re each carrying a backpack loaded with camping gear.

“Don’t know,” John replies. “We’re not fishing. You guys camping?”

“Yeah,” one of them says. “Camping and climbing. We’ve been out here roughing it for a couple days now.”

“We’re on summer break from school,” another one says. He points at a tall, vertical rock face to the west of the lake, not far from where we’re standing. Probably a hundred yards away. “That looks like a good site,” he says to his friends.

“That’s insane, Kirk,” the third guy says. “You’ve never climbed anything that high.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” the one called Kirk says. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

As the three guys head toward the rock face, John asks, “Are you experienced climbers?”

The trio stops and turns back to John.

“Sure. I climb all the time,” Kirk says. “These guys, not so much. But they’re learning.”

John points toward the rock face. “I happen to know that’s a tough climb.”

Kirk shrugs. “Like I said, I’m experienced.”

“Yeah,” his buddy says. “He climbs at the rec center all the time.”

John shakes his head. “This is no rec center climbing wall, pal. Where’s your gear?”

“I don’t need any gear,” Kirk replies. “I’m going to free solo it.”

John props his hands on his hips. “I don’t advise that. If you’re going to climb it, at least use gear. Are your friends experienced belayers?”

The kid waves John off and continues to the rock face, followed by his friends.

I sidle up to John. “What’s wrong?”

“He has no business trying to free solo that rock.”

“What does free solo mean?”

“Climbing without gear. Just using his hands and feet.”

The one named Kirk is sitting on the ground changing his shoes.

I crane my neck up to the top of the rock. “That’s huge. If he falls—”

“Yeah. Maya’s nickname for that rock is Resting Bitch Face.”

I try not to laugh, but I can see the resemblance. “What should we do?”

“We finish packing up camp,” he says, “and then we hang around and wait for him to fall.”

John says that with such certainty I realize it’s a sure thing. And I really don’t want to stand here and watch.