AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The second course was a kale salad with candied walnuts and a dressing she made herself. The third was the main meal. Chicken marsala and roasted potatoes. The dessert was lemon sorbet.
All of it was superb.
Brett had been right.
By the end of the night, as we sat under the stars, at a four-course meal that came from a gourmet chef, as the dancing crowd left, the music changed, slowing to indie folk songs, this was one of the best nights ever.
There was slow dancing.
Three seconds after we hit the floor, the space around us filled up with bikers also swaying in rhythm with the music, all pairing off.
I felt safe, and I felt safe in a way where Brett could relax and enjoy himself too. I think that was a big part of the reason we stayed as long as we did, but when it started getting dark, we said our goodbyes and our thank yous, and headed back to the car. Brett caught my hand, lacing our fingers, a tingle went through me.
Not a normal one, one that was sexual.
This one was special. Different.
It was unique, and it wound its way deep into me, giving me an extra buzz because tonight had been a dream. I felt like I’d spent the whole day basking in sunshine.
Like this whole date, these experiences, meeting those bikers, had been a part of a different reality. A break in our regularly scheduled programming. I didn’t know if we’d ever go back to Rinascita, but I would savor the memory at least.
When we got to Brett’s house, I didn’t want to keep going slow.
I wanted to let go.
I wanted to let the fast speed back in.
I wanted to have more nights like we just did.
Over another week and a half, we did.
There were dreamy moments.
I took Brett back to the farm and introduced him to the ladies.
Miss Sylvia Rivera stood on his knee and cocked her head back, as if inspecting him for a minute before she jumped down and darted over to me. Marsha P. Johnson was more welcoming, staying on Brett’s lap for ten minutes, her contented cluck almost purring out of her.
But none competed with Nellie Bly. She was a dark chestnut hen with a few black splotches at the top of her hind legs. Usually she’d keep to the back. Clucking to herself, but she took one look at Brett and off she went, running over to him.
Where he went, she followed.
He had no idea what to do. He began speaking to her as if she could understand. Sometimes, she rotated her head around and I wasn’t sure that she didn’t understand. When he tried to pet her before we left, she flapped her wings and took off.
My sides hurt from holding in my laughter. I couldn’t wait for his second visit.
When that happened, Nellie Bly was the first one running toward him. Once she got to him, she began poking at the ground around his feet. Eventually, she settled down, sitting a few feet away, but always near Brett.
It’d been three weeks of happiness. Three weeks of smiling. Laughing.
Holding hands.
Cuddling.
Three weeks where Brett made me pant for him, curse at him, and groan as he slid down my body, where his mouth showed me all the different ways he could suck on my clit, lick between my folds, sliding inside, tasting me, and making me scream for him more than once, always more than once, before he’d let me return the favor.
We were going slow, but we weren’t at the same time.
I usually railed at Brett as he pinned me down with either his hand between my legs or his mouth or both. But he was the one who always held back.
