Page 70 of Preying Heart
“What happened?” I ask as her eyes flutter open and stare into mine.
“I got cold and lonely. Scared if someone broke in, I’d be a sitting duck. At least up here, they might not see me right away.”
“I would never let anyone get to you. Neither would Glock.”
“Glock’s a good dog, but he never barks.”
I should tell her he can’t bark, but that would be another downer. Besides, I already told a white lie when she first came home with me.
“You have nothing to worry about. No one knows we’re here. Not only that, I didn’t bring any electronics. No cell phone. Well, I did bring one of those old digital cameras, but they have no network capabilities.”
“You think of everything.”
“We’ll get a burner phone when we get to the post office box where your wallet’s waiting and do the transfer there. What do you want to do today?”
She hums and smiles while running her hands up and down my upper arm like she’s appraising the furniture. “Just spend time with you. We can sleep in, right? Nowhere we need to be going.”
“Nowhere at all.” Except in each other’s arms. She’s inviting me to make a move and I’m only a man, not a saint. She’s wearing a sheer nightie, the sexy panties she eschewed that first day when she chose the beige, and I’ve done my part—opened up my inner self to her.
Still, I let her make the first move. She kisses me, soft and sweet, and I kiss her back, savoring that tentativeness. She’s not used to initiating, that much is true, and I just might be the first man she’s felt comfortable enough to crawl into bed with on her own initiative.
“Are you okay with this?” She draws back with worry lines pinched between her eyebrows.
“I’m more than okay. I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.” I hate being so cheesy but it’s the truth. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
She smooths her fingers over my temple and runs her hand down past my ear and to the back of my neck. “I want to know what it’s like to be loved and cherished. You said you could do that for me. Show me how it feels. How different it would be with a man who loves me. I know it sounds selfish, but I want to know.”
“You’re worried because you don’t want to use me?”
She nods, her eyes mesmerizing and grayish green in the scant morning light. “I don’t know what love is or how it feels.”
“You don’t have to love me for me to make love to you, Remi. It’s all on me—a gift.” I cup her face and lay a more forceful kiss on her—one that lets her know in no uncertain terms how much I want from her—how much I’m willing to give—how much of my life’s passion I’ll pour into her.
She sighs and softens, relaxed as I drink of her suppressed passion and fan the small embers of her nascent desire into veins of fire. I move slowly but thoroughly, awakening every begging nerve and lavishing attention on each and every sensual zone she has until I have her soft as jelly and writhing with heat pulsing through her veins.
I spend the entire day and into the night making love to her, taking breaks for food and water, walking Glock and holding hands with her. Climbing rocks and ledges, always in close contact and sneaking kisses and caresses. Watching the sun set behind the trees and counting the stars. Talking about anything that comes to my mind and listening to her every thought and observation. Bathing together and giving and receiving massages, and yes, at the end of the night, after the card games and the fifty questions, the truth and dare, and the strip poker, crawling into that featherbed and filling her with everything I have—spending my life force on her and holding on to her as she experiences all I have to offer.
Making love is not solely the physical act of sex, but everything involved with joining yourself to another human being—the emotional, the meeting of the souls, the everyday and ordinary facts of life and the large, momentous acts of bravery, sacrifice, and surrender. It’s in the paying of attention and the reception of trust. The give and the take, and yes, the ecstasy of climax as well as the deep peace of sleep.
I will, if she allows me, make love to her with everything I have—every day, every night, and in every way—even if it means letting her go free.
But until then, I’ll bind her to me with love and passion so much so that she won’t fly away even with the cage door wide open.
Remi
I’m speechless and void of thought. All I know is that being made love to by Heath Rugar encompasses my entire awareness. It’s so intense and yet at the same time, a craving that keeps me coming for more. He’s not only a pro in bed, but he knows how to woo a woman well. He takes me shopping. I mean, what man likes to shop? We drive all the way to Cheyenne and he lets me hit all the malls. We act like teenagers in love, necking and petting in the movie theaters, romping and bouncing on his lap at the rodeos, and feeding each other appetizers at the bars and nightclubs. I even get to ride a mechanical bull and of course, we go trail riding and to a buffalo ranch. We spend a day at the apple festival, doing silly stuff like bobbing for apples, riding on a hay wagon, and running around in corn mazes. I feel bad for Glock, because when the other dogs in the pumpkin patch bark at him and he doesn’t respond, they get aggressive until he bares his teeth.
I don’t want our little trip to end. The last day, we set up my crypto account at one of Wyoming’s crypto banks. Heath buys me a burner phone and transfers my NFTs and my earnings to my own private hardware wallet. He even tells me an idea on how I can claim my existing money. I would have to go back to Seattle and bid on my own NFTs.
Why didn’t I think of it?
I’m still in a glow of being loved and cherished when the bubble pops.
Heath thinks I’m going back to Seattle?
I wait until we’re in his pickup truck driving back to Idaho before broaching the subject. I didn’t want to ruin what’s left of our pre-honeymoon, but I want to know what to expect.
“Did you mean it when you said I would go back to Seattle for my bank accounts?”
