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With a quick glance out the window, I race to the ring display, grabbing one I pray is his size and paying for it and the two dream catchers before he comes through the door. We leave a few minutes later, clasping hands while Barrett carries the bag with the dream catchers and I harbor his ring in my pocket.
“So, Dove,” I say as we stroll along the sidewalk. “That’s his real name?”
He gives me a strange look. “Seth. Dove is his tribal name, I guess you’d call it.”
“That’s cool. Is he nice?”
“He is.” Bear’s hand catches mine, his gaze warm on my gaze as our fingers intertwine. “Lives out in bumfuck nowhere with his wife, a writer.”
“Ah, so, married. He’s retired like you?”
Bear nods. I sense a story there, and also catch a vibe that makes me feel as if he doesn’t want to tell it.
When I see, between two sandwich shops, a little white fence with a sign bearing an image of a stream, I stop in my tracks. “Ohhh, we can go down right here and see one of the streams. Want to?”
Gatlinburg’s downtown is striped with tiny streams that rush between motels and behind strip malls. You can hear the water rushing over rocks from where we stand on the street.
“Sure.” We pause and as we turn toward the gate, he rubs his cheek against my head again. He pulls away and smiles down at me, his eyes squinting sweetly. “You’re pretty,” he says in a low voice.
I’ve got my hair in a long side pony tail, and I have to say, I feel pretty.
I stroke his chest through his shirt, smiling up at him. “So’re you, mister.”
We make our way down a narrow set of stairs to a little stream that rushes between two balcony-dotted motels. As we veer off the little walkway and onto some boulders near the stream’s edge, I trip and shout, “Bear!”
He catches me around my waist, and when I latch onto his arms, I see he’s smiling.
“What?” I tease.
He shakes his head. His lips curl.
I arch my eyebrows.
“I like it when you call me Bear.”
“My favorite Bear.”
He puts an arm behind my back to keep me steady on the rocks and kisses me, cupping my jaw as his tongue strokes mine. I cling to his shoulders, and I want more.
“Take me home…”
The second we’re out of my car in the garage, I go for his pants. I have aspirations to make it into the laundry room, where the floor is softer, but we wind up on our hands and knees on the cold cement.
Barrett pulls my shoes and pants off, taking his time pulling my panties down before he runs a finger down my asscheek, parts my pussy lips, and fucks me hard and fast from behind. I love every dirty second of it.
It’s not until I lift myself up off the floor and notice all the leaves around me that I realize: we’re right by the gardenias. I turn to Barrett with wide eyes.
He winks and shifts back on his heels, giving me a gorgeous view of what’s rocking between his legs before he tugs his boxer-briefs and pants back up.
I hurry to dress myself as he watches with a small, smug smile that’s somehow also sweet and indulging.
When I’ve got my clothes on, he takes my hand, brushing his lips over my knuckles as I work the key into the laundry room door.
“You want a bath?” he murmurs in the dim light of the kitchen.
“How’d you know?”
I’m still hot and bothered from what just transpired, so just the graze of his big body against mine as we move through the den makes me feel sparkly and warm.
