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She shrugged. “Boots come almost all the way to my unmentionables. And the unmentionables are covered with shorts.”
“If you mention your unmentionables, they’re hardly unmentionable, no?”
“Good point.”
“Those are some hot boots,” I added. “Where’d this come from? It’s a beaut.” I strummed the guitar.
“Great Uncle Billy left it to me when he died. And it caused a stir, believe you me…”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yup. I mean… he said…” she put air quotes around said “it belonged to a roadie that used to travel with Janis Joplin. Dunno if it was true.” She held her hands over the fire to warm them. “Doubt it. Unc liked to tell skyscraper-sized tales, but he knew I loved this guitar, so regardless of where it came from, it meant a lot that he left it to me.”
“It’s worth some coin.”
“I would never part with it.” She shook her head. “My aunt tried to make me sell it once to make rent and I refused. She kicked me outta the house because of it.”
“What a bitch,” I muttered.
She shrugged. “I got that money was tight, but that guitar just meant so much to me. She said he didn’t leave it to me, but I found a note inside the case saying it was to go to me. I still have it. And I found out later she’d just had a big win at bingo and was hoarding the money. She made rent without me parting with it. Felt like it was a test to see if I’d agree. It was one of the few times in my life I actually stood my ground.” Her face changed then, so did her body language, as if she just revealed more than she meant to and caught herself.
“Raised by your aunt?” I asked, strumming it some more.
“No,” She stared into the flames. “She took me in a couple times in my teens. Kicked me out regularly though.”
“Parents gone?”
She shook her head. “Not gone. Just… lotsa baggage. Split. Both remarried and re-divorced.” She shrugged. “Long stories.”
“Ah.”
“How about you?” she asked. “Your mom’s great. You close with your dad?”
“No longer in the picture,” I said sourly.
“Oh, I won’t ask,” she replied, giving me a look of sympathy.
“Yeah,” I muttered and then I played Wonderwall by Oasis while she stared into the flames.
“Strum a little?” she scoffed. “I’d say you do more than strum. You’re good.”
“Wanted to play as a kid, so made friends with a neighbor that taught me the basics. Figured out when I was a teenager that I could kinda play by ear. You gonna sing if I play something?” I asked after playing the last note.
She wrinkled her nose.
I launched into Blackbird by The Beatles.
Our eyes met and she shook her head and wagged her finger at me like I’d done something unacceptable. Clearly, she couldn’t resist this song because she joined in to sing the lyrics. And she sounded incredible.
I whistled along, earning me a big smile from her.
And then I started playing Patience by Guns n’ Roses, doing the whistling, and on cue, she jumped in and sang the lyrics.
And I never would’ve thought the song would be that good sung by a female, but she did incredible.
“Wow, baby,” I gaped at her after it was over.
She yawned in response, covering her mouth.
“Wanna go to bed?” I asked.
She nodded, patting her mouth, then said, “Think so.”
“Go ahead, I’ll take care of the fire.”
“Goodnight,” she said.
“Here.” I tapped my mouth with my index finger. Her head tilted to the side and her brows knitted together.
“Kiss me, hostage,” I ordered.
A slow smile spread across her face before she leaned over and touched her mouth to mine.
I deepened the kiss, fingertips grazing her jaw. “You sang that beautiful, baby. I’ll be in, in a minute.”
She looked surprised.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothin’.”
“That cool with you? That I join you in bed? Here,” I passed the guitar.
“Sure,” she replied, taking it from me.
“Thank you for letting me play it.”
“Any time, Jesse,” she said softly, then carried it inside.
I dumped a bucket of water on the fire and locked up, then joined her in the dark in her bed.
“Hey,” I whispered, touching my lips to her collarbone, then pulling her closer.
“Hey,” she whispered back.
“It’s cool that I’m here?”
“Absolutely.”
I pulled her even closer, then rolled her to her back.
“I want you,” I told her. “That okay?”
“I’m here,” she replied, voice husky.
7
Thursday morning, I was woken by Gigi running her tongue along my cock. And if not, I’d have woken with a start because the curtains were closed.
I grabbed the length of her hair and wound it around my fist twice, letting out a groan.
“Good morning,” I rumbled.
“Mm, hi,” she greeted and then gave it another long lick.
After a few minutes of letting her work it, I didn’t want to wait any longer, so let go of her hair and as I grasped her hips, flipping her around so I could spear her sweet pussy with my tongue, so I could suck her clit until she came on my face. I demanded, “Gimme that pussy.”
