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“These are very good.”
I smile at him. “Thank you. I suppose you could say you were my muse.”
Quintin’s the star of many of the pages, even if it’s just a picture of a pair of blood-covered hands, eyes, or a heart. Not the typical ones that children draw, but a real one. Ones that rest inside our bodies. Some are red and dripping blood, as if they’ve been penetrated with a thin, long knife. Others are as black as night—the way I’ve always suspected mine looks like. Everything in this book is something that belongs to him or reminds me of him, and while he’s stopped many hearts, he’s captured mine, so it’s fitting to have it on these pages.
“Come here,” he commands.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide over. “Yes?” I tease.
“Take out your cock.”
My brows lift as I instantly go for my button and zipper. “You like my drawings that much?”
He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t expect him to. He doesn’t use his words like most people, but I’m okay with action. He bends at the waist and takes me into his mouth.
When he’s done, and while I’m trying to catch my breath, I say, “Definitely sketching that mouth next.”
Quin crooks his finger at me, and just as I’m inching closer, he lets some of my cum drip from his mouth. The liquid clings to the short beard on his chin as he swallows down the rest.
“Clean me up.”
I quickly grab his face between my hands and lick and suck every drop of my release from his skin. Once I’ve finished, he gives me a wink that sends warmth through my body.
As we’re getting back on the road, I sigh and look over at him. “What if we just got an RV and traveled all the time? Pick up and go when we feel like it? Do filthy things to each other as we’re parked in a lot or on the side of the road.”
He stares ahead, contemplating. “I think we need to have a home base. We need a new residency. New names.” He glances at me. “We can definitely find time to travel, though.”
I grin, knowing he’s right. We can’t be nomads forever. “Okay. What’re we thinking? Oklahoma?” He makes a face and I laugh. “What about Nevada?”
“I’m not a fan of the desert and dry heat.”
“Alaska then,” I say as a joke. He’s quiet. Contemplative. “No, I was kidding. I don’t want to live in a fucking igloo.”
He chuckles. “I think that’s a common misconception. Alaska has plenty to offer.”
“Like what?”
“Wilderness, seclusion. It’s vast. You know they say you can fit nineteen states inside of it?”
I bring out my new phone that we got somewhere back in Tennessee. “Let me look it up.” After reading for a little bit, I say, “It’s eighty-five percent land and the water coverage is the highest in the US.” I tilt my head, thinking. “Sounds like lots of hiding places if you ask me.”
He snorts. “No sign of igloos?”
“Funny,” I say. “Plenty of animals. Wildlife could take care of some evidence.” I keep reading. “Oh. You know it has one of the highest crime rates?”
“So we’d fit in,” he says.
“An above average amount of rapes and assaults.”
He looks at me. “So we bring down the number of rapists.”
“Heroes, I’d say,” I reply with a grin.
“So, Alaska?”
I nod. “Alaska.”
Jamison
