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My cheek was still throbbing from where she’d just smacked me. I took up a leisurely pace behind her, about ten feet back, trying to regain my composure. She didn’t need to see that she’d had me on my heels when she’d slapped me.
That wasn’t going to be near enough to stop what I had planned though.
I couldn’t help but stare at her round ass as she walked along the trail, the hunter green shorts she’d picked clinging so tightly to her buttocks that they looked almost painted on. This, along with the scrunched-up wool socks at the top of her stylish dark brown hiking boots formed a pleasing contrast to the deep tan of her long, smooth legs. I wasn’t sure if she’d oiled them—or whatever else women did to make their legs look so shiny and smooth—but it was definitely working, whatever it was. Her top had her tits practically falling out, and if anything, that was even more of a surprise than when she’d smacked my face.
What is she up to?
This was a woman who, up until I’d seen her when I had driven into the park, was someone I feared was probably going to call off this entire thing.
But in that moment, I knew for certain that she was only digging in her heels. It intrigued me, and it also made me wonder if there was something about what was going on that I wasn’t quite seeing yet. I didn’t like unknowns. I didn’t like anything deviating from the plan. Of course, she had no idea I had aplanat all, but that was beside the point.
My goal had been to keep her onherheels—not the other way around.
The trail took us immediately into the depths of the woods, that strange but comforting preternatural calm, the subtle attenuation of sound that was so distinctive about walking through a deep forest landscape. The trail rounded a low rise, the trees on either side growing thicker, taller, blocking out the day’s illumination almost entirely. Here and there, breaks in the canopy would allow shafts of bright light to angle down like God’s Eyes upon the soft loam of the trail. As we walked, gnarled roots could be seen now and then in the dirt, meandering their way along the trail, or crossing it like subtle speed bumps, warnings, a hint of dangers yet unseen.
She had her hair pulled back in a pretty ponytail. I had always loved when she did that, the feel of it, the weight of the locks, how they caressed my hand as I made a fist in it, controlling her every movement. I had more than one impure thought about what else I could do with that hair.
Soon enough, Nick. Soon enough.
The light filtering in through the canopy above us painted a pattern of dazzling illumination across her head then down her back, tracing the round broadness of her upper hips. Occasionally, as we walked, she looked back at me, as if to ascertain if I still had anything else in mind other than merely following her. It was far from the first time we’d been on this trail, but it was just as beautiful as it was that early July day I’d first brought her out here so many years ago.
“You gonna sayanything?” The direction of her voice, and the strange muffling provided by the forest landscape was slightly disorienting, and at first, I wasn’t sure she was even speaking to me. “Nick. Earth to Nick.”
“Just walk, Eva. We’ll talk soon enough.” I loved the way she scowled then, gazing back at me over her shoulder for a moment longer, perhaps deciding whether or not she wanted to protest my unwillingness to engage in conversation.
I wasn’t going to give her what she wanted.
She didn’t reallywantme to give her what she wanted. Even if she didn’t understand that yet. But she would, in time.
The trail came upon the most dramatic feature of the route, beginning down into a precipitous ravine. Trees, ferns, and bushes crowded along the top of each side, while the slopes themselves were covered in little more than moss, and the odd shrub here and there. At the bottom of the ravine, the trail was partly washed out, the brook traversing it now in the late spring little more than a trickle, while in the fall months it would be a swollen creek several feet wide.
Eva’s bottom bounced fetchingly as she leaped over the brook, her movement agile, surefooted, belying the fact she’d been on this trail many times before. I watched, relishing the sight of the muscles of her legs bunching pleasingly, her stride slowing as she began the long march up the incline. The opposite side of the ravine rose even higher than the downhill section, the forest the thickest yet, crowding over the top of the trail such that it almost felt like an alpine tunnel.
The air was particularly cool there. Occasionally, she would slip just a little, the dirt on the trail loose, especially at that angle. I kept perfect time with her though, measuring my pace so that I didn’t overtake her, but far enough away that she felt, more or less, alone.
I wanted her to calm down a bit from our encounter at the trailhead. To get her thinking, to get that clever mind turning in upon itself, and most of all, ratcheting up her uncertainty about what it was I had planned next. As we reached the top on the other side of the ravine the trees and brush thinned dramatically, the clearing in the forest ahead well in sight now. If I was to have guessed, I would have said it was a remnant of a clear-cut decades old, the meadow so stark and so large, the depths of the forest so dense, twisted, and gnarled all around it that it seemed unlikely an open space of any appreciable size could ever have formed there naturally.
Off to the left, the trees fell off, the slope dropping precipitously down into a rocky canyon, the bubbling murmur of Diamond creek somewhere far below, the far side of the canyon a rocky cliff, a tiny, twisted evergreen tree just hanging on by a desperate toe hold at a few places along the face of precipice.
In the center of the clearing was a set of concrete benches atop a small pad of well-worn, moss-encrusted cobblestones. Embedded in the ground just off the edge of the pad was a heavy slab of weathered marble that served as a placard, the writing engraved in the stone noting the viewpoint, that it had been installed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, and that the dramatic view across the vista afforded one the best look at Diamond Ridge Gorge.
Eva, standing at the edge of the clearing just beyond the drop-off, her hands on her broad hips, her back to me, looked out upon the stunning panorama, the outer curve of one of her breasts just visible from that angle, rising and falling with her breathing.
“Come on, over here.” I beckoned Eva to follow me to the benches. She strolled over, a bemused, unreadable expression curving her lips, her eyes sparkling in the bright sunshine.
“What are we doing out here, Nick? Really?”
I sat down, patting the concrete to my left. “Have a seat.”
She titled her head, not moving.
“That’s an order,” I said, giving her an exaggerated sigh, even though inside I thrilled at her continued petty recalcitrance. It would only make this more interesting.
Rolling her eyes, she sat, crossing her legs, leaning back, her hands propped upon the bench to either side of her. It was an unexpectedly casual pose, one that I knew instinctively was forced. She wanted me to think she was at ease, in control, ready for anything.
I knew she was anything but.
Seated close to me, the enticing scent of her subtle perfume mixed with the pleasing note of cedar on the air.
