Page 16 of Silver Brewer

He releases my fingers from his lips and guides my hand back into the sleeping bag. His palm covers the back of my hand, collectively lowering our fingers under my waistband and diving deeper. The pulse at my core sets a beat more rapid than my heart. With Giant’s fingers over mine, he leads me to the place I need attention, and then he stills his hand while I brush over myself. He’s so close to touching me, and the tease spurs me onward. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. We’re virtual strangers, yet this man does something to me. Something I’ve never felt, not even with Hudson. Especially not with Hudson. I toss away thoughts of my ex and concentrate on my fingertips over the swollen hood.

As the intensity of my fingers increases, I notice movement next to me. A subtle scratching, jerking motion from Giant. Is he getting himself off while torturing me with his hand so close yet not quite close enough? I hum, and his breath hitches. It feels scandalous and delicious. Forbidden and necessary.

“Giant,” I squeak. Asking. Warning. Telling. I’m on the verge of one of the biggest orgasms I’ve ever given myself.

“Finish, Cricket,” he demands, and the command breaks me. My knees separate as much as they can within the confines of the sleeping bag, and my back arches. I give in to the pleasure rippling through my lower belly and the slick proof of my desire.

I hear Giant grunt next to me, and the sensual noise echoes straight to my clit. My knees come back together, holding Giant’s and my fingers pinned between my thighs. I could go again, but I’ve rarely had a second orgasm. I’d need his fingers on me, yet I could never outright ask him to touch me. Suddenly, I’m so embarrassed by my behavior.

The slick sound of skin on skin next to me fills my ears, and I roll my head to the side, wishing I could watch him but settle for imagining it in my head. I need another go, but Giant slowly retracts his hand, sliding his warm palm up my wrist and over my sweatshirt-covered arm. He frees his hand from my sleeping bag and awkwardly zips up the side. Movement rustles next to me, but I can’t see him, and I’m cursing the darkness. More shifting. Another huff. And then the stillness alerts me that Giant has turned onto his side, leaving his back to me.

This was the most adventurous sexual experience I’ve ever had, and with a stranger, no less. But Giant rolling away from me, building a wall between us, is reminiscent of Hudson and his quick, no-nonsense pace. The immediate rejection stings. My heart crushes under the weight of memory and the lack of words from Giant. Did he think that was crazy, insane fun? Or just crazy and insane?

I should say something—thank him or apologize— but within seconds, I hear his breathing deepen and then a soft snore. I release my hand from inside the sleeping bag and reach toward Giant as if to touch his back, but I don’t. Hovering over the broad expanse, I whisper to deaf ears, “Good night.”

Then I roll to my side and allow the traitorous tears to silently fall.

7

The day after.

[Giant]

I shouldn’t have done it, I think as I grip myself in my large palm for the second time in less than eight hours. With one arm braced on the tree before me, I rest my forehead on my forearm while my other hand jerks and juts, squeezing harder.

I couldn’t help myself. She thought she was so stealthy next to me, but I’m military trained for slight noises. The hitch of her breath. The movement of her arm. And then there was the scent. Heady. Feminine. Sex. I smelled her fingers, sucked her essence off them, and then I couldn’t stop myself. My twitchy fingers rested over hers—so close yet not close enough. My dick leaped to life, and I gave in to the raw pleasure.

Like I’ve never done before.

Like I’m doing again next to this tree.

When I woke this morning, the pressure at my back told me Letty had curled into me. I should have said something last night. I should have apologized or thanked her. I should have held her. She was a spark of that spontaneity I’d been longing for and never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined what we’d done.

I loved my wife. Clara and I had been similar—quiet and reserved. She was my high school sweetheart, and when I joined the military, the natural progression of things suggested I marry her before I went away. But when I returned, we were strangers. I’d been gone from home for too long. My desires were different, and she was hesitant with me. Then she died.

I hear a rustle of leaves to my side, but I don’t look up. Please be a curious animal instead of her. I pray the mountain opens and swallows me if she catches me getting off again, but I can’t seem to help myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, and Letty isn’t like any woman I’ve known, especially Clara. Uninhibited. Daring. Seductive. I woke with the hardest morning wood I’ve ever had, and it refused to go down no matter my thoughts.

Baseball…and traveling the bases on Letty’s body.

My grandmother…and pulling Letty into a closet.

Giant Brewing Company…and then pouring beer all over her body and lapping it up.

I am a mess over this woman and making one in my hand. It was rough going with spit in my palm, but fast work as the fantasies would not cease. I bit into my forearm as relief quickly came, coating my fingers.

Fuck, it felt good, but dirty and shameful. I’m not ashamed of touching myself but using Letty as my woody wet dream seems disrespectful. We don’t know each another.

But you want to get to know her, my heart beats. You want the spontaneous spark she ignites.

Removing a bandana from my back pocket, I wipe up the mess, then tuck myself back in my pants and zip up. It’s only a few short steps to the quiet campsite, and I stoke the fire when I return. I don’t even know what I’ll say to her this morning or how I’ll address what happened last night. I’m expecting her to demand I take her back down the mountain, and I admit the thought hurts my chest. I don’t want her to go. Not yet.

I step over to the tent and discover Letty missing, but so is the towel and cloth I left behind for her. I shouldn’t do it, I warn myself, but I rise from my haunches and trek to the stream. I’ll be shocked to find her in the water. That rippling river is damn cold.

Instead, I see an unexpected sight. Her back to me, she stands naked from the waist up. She rubs a wet washcloth slowly up her side, taking her time to outline her body, and I realize I could watch her all day. Lowering for the stream, I’m mesmerized by her backside. Her snug jeans accentuate each curve and hug the hips my fingers long to touch. Rinsing the cloth, she then adds more soap. The all-natural, easily dissolvible body wash works wonders when a full shower can’t be had. After she stands, she slaps the cloth over her shoulder, and her hands lower to the waistband of her jeans. My throat clogs, and I cough. The noise startles her, and she crooks her head. She can’t see me, I tell myself, as I remain under the cover of trees.

What am I doing? Creeper. Stalker.

What is she doing to me?