Page 32 of Silver Brewer

My thoughts drift to Clara. I don’t want to compare the women, but Clara hated giving head, and truth be told, she struggled at it. When Letty took me deep last night, I thought I’d blow right then. Not to mention, after I licked Letty, she let me kiss her. Clara would refuse, not wishing to taste herself on my lips. Don’t take this experience from me, she said, and I agree with the sentiment. I don’t want to forget one minute. Everything we’ve done is nothing I’ve ever done before even though I was a married man.

We rest for a few minutes before I slip out of her. I need to clean up and get her something as well. Camping hasn’t been the most convenient time for my newfound sexual adventure, but then again, I didn’t plan to sleep with the enemy. For a moment, I remember the land and then dismiss the thought. I want to enjoy Letty as much as I can before we talk business again.

“Let me get you something.” I slip from the sleeping bag and rummage for a spent tee. She takes it from me and wipes herself. “Hey, I noticed your feet yesterday.”

She twists to look at me over her shoulder and then looks down at her covered toes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the blisters?” I ask.

Her head falls back, and she stares off to the side of the tent. “Because I didn’t want you to say I told you so.” She huffs. She’s tough, and I like that about her. I like her. Too much.

“Let me bandage them.”

She shifts to her back and chuckles. “You do not want to touch my feet.”

To prove her wrong, I slip my hands inside the sleeping bag, reaching for her toes. She kicks out at me, but I catch her ankle. Her other foot attempts an attack, but I clutch it as well.

“This could be a very compromising position.” I could spread her again and mount her like last night, which reminds me I haven’t left the tent to clean myself from round one. She giggles and throws her head back, attempting to wiggle her ankles free.

“Oh my gosh. Do not look at my feet.”

I look. She has perfectly painted toenails and nasty looking blisters. “You anti-feet or something?”

“Yes,” she huffs, settling her squirming legs.

I chuckle. “So if I were to lift these to my mouth, and say, suck your toes, that would gross you out?”

Her eyes close, and her legs wiggle against my hold. “Yes. Yuck.”

“What if I licked the underside?” I laugh a little more, lifting her foot and pointing my tongue at the intended spot.

She makes a puking noise.

“But I want to taste every part of you.” She stops squirming and gagging, and her lids pop open. She stares up at me. The petulant child act appears to settle her.

“I’d like that.” Her sultry tone makes something rush up my chest. I want her again, but I’m almost fifty and can’t quite get there that quick. My thumbs rub at her ankles.

“Maybe once these are healed.” The implication is there. Healing takes time, and this hints at seeing her in the future. Her legs relax. “I’ll get the bandages but let me clean up first.”

I step outside, naked as a jaybird, and use the water in the bucket near the smothered campfire to rinse myself off. The cold shock douses thoughts of seeing her again. Taking a deep breath, I suppress the scream rising in my chest. It isn’t fair. She wants my land. That’s why she’s here.

I turn back for the tent and find her sitting up. She wears one of my T-shirts and she’s holding the collar up to her nose.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Her voice drifts, and I hold up a hand.

“It’s okay. I like seeing you in it.” When I shouldn’t. When I shouldn’t think of her wearing my clothes, or coming to my home, or fucking her again. Seeing her in my shirt settles my restless thoughts a bit, and I kneel for my briefs. After tugging them on, I work on bandaging her toes and heels.

“I was hoping to go canoeing with you, but it’s a hike. I don’t know if those can handle it.” I’m referencing her blisters.

“I’m sure I’ll be okay. I made it through yesterday, and I’d love to go canoeing.” My eyes drift up to hers to find her watching me. “I can’t remember the last time I went.”

“It’s a three-mile hike up to the drop.”

She sits up straighter. “I can do it.” Her determination shouldn’t startle me, but her tone does. She sounds very business-like, and I decide she must use that enthusiasm in her job. The one where she steals land from people. Does she volunteer to tear people from their homes? Does she suggest she go in for the kill to take property out from under people? I curse myself for the sudden shift in thoughts. I just had sex with her. I like her, but what does she think of me? Am I only a business venture? A prospect? Does she do this often?

It’s been a year since I’ve been with anyone. She sounded sincere, and I hate my doubts. I should ask her what we’re doing here—what’s between us—but I don’t because it isn’t my style. Confrontation. Communication. Discussion. Not my thing.

You didn’t do half the things you’ve done with Letty with your own wife, my head hammers. Try it. Try talking to her, whispers through my thick skull, but the problem with a thick skull is, it’s too thick sometimes.