I head back to the other room, locking it behind me. For the first time in I don't know how long, I feel safe to set my firearms aside and remove my boots—I have had them on for nearly a week, at this point, I believe, though the days and nights of endless travel have warped my perception of the passage of time.
My socks smell abysmal, as do the boots, so I leave them by the door. I curl my toes into the thick pile of the rug under the couch and sigh at the glorious sensation of simply not wearing boots and socks.
I flop onto the couch, groaning—now that I have a moment to tune into myself, I realize I am exhausted beyond all comprehension, and the various injuries I’ve sustained in the course of this mad, wild adventure ache something fierce.
I stretch my legs out, let my head sink back into the couch, close my eyes…
It'sa scent that wakes me. Shampoo, soap, wet hair, and lotion; the unmistakable, indelible scent of a freshly showered woman. I open my eyes to see her perched on the edge of the couch beside me, a thick, fluffy white towel wrapped around her torso. Her hair is loose and wet, slicked back over her scalp to hang down her neck, sticking to her shoulders. The towel hem is hitched up and bunched beneath her buttocks, leaving the curveof one leg bare from toe to hip, an alluring expanse of flesh. She has a complimentary bottle of lotion balanced on the arm of the couch beside her and she's rubbing it onto her leg. I watch for a few moments.
She doesn't look up from what she's doing when she speaks to me. "I used all the hot water, I believe. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. How are you feeling?" I ask, unable to tear my gaze away from the lovely view of her long, bare leg.
"Better," she says, still not looking at me. "Being clean is a wonderful luxury."
I lift one foot and wiggle my toes. "That's how I felt when I took off my boots and socks."
She wrinkles her nose. "Is that what I'm smelling?"
I laugh. "Could just be me."
Her skin beckons me. Smooth, caramel, and olive, warm. I swallow hard as a visceral memory of the first time I saw her naked sledgehammers through my brain.
I was on guard duty outside her quarters—it's how we met. She passed me every day, and I thought she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen, and could never stop myself from staring at her whenever I saw her. Well, one day she didn't pass by. She stopped and struck up a conversation with me. It was innocent enough, just idle chit-chat, but it felt like a gift from heaven to be close to her, to speak to her. We shared more conversations, after that, and eventually it became a daily habit. And then we began meeting in secret, late at night after the compound was asleep—except for her father's guards. Those late-night meetings were the highlight of every day. I spent those conversations staring at her lips, of course, wishing I was brave enough to kiss her.
She kissed me first.
Eventually, it was clear we both wanted to be somewhere more private than a shadowy corner of the compound where we could be together.
The day in question, I was on duty outside her father's cash room—a bank vault built within a bombproof chamber below his bedroom. She waited until I was off duty, arranged to make sure we passed each other, and secreted a note into my hand:stables at midnight,it said.
I found her hiding in the back corner of the hayloft, sitting cross-legged on a quilt, wearing a pretty white sundress adorned with pink flowers. Her hair was down and loose in a wild black cloud.
My heart had pounded in my throat at the sight of her sitting there waiting for me, as visibly nervous as I felt.
We'd kissed awkwardly for a while, and then less awkwardly as passion and lust and hormones took over. I had stolen a condom from one of the other guards, and I remember distinctly the way it felt in my back pocket—as if it weighed a thousand pounds, searing a circle in the back of my leg.
We’d stood up together, and I had peeled my shirt off, shucked my jeans. I’ll never forget the moment she shrugged her dress off, letting it pool at her feet; I'll never forget the way my dick had hardened at the sight of her, standing there in the harsh light of the electric lantern she had brought. She wore a matching bra and panties set—scarlet lace and silk that hid and accentuated her curves at the same time.
She held my eyes as she reached behind her back and unhooked the bra, drew it off, and revealed her breasts for me. Shimmied out of her panties. Stood utterly naked for me, bold and unafraid, eyes hungrily raking over my body, and the obvious evidence of my arousal.
I knew then, as I took in the lush wonder of her beautiful body, her bright eyes, her smooth skin, that I would never want anyone else but her.
"Why are you looking at me like that, Ren?" she asks, bringing me back to the present.
I shrug one shoulder. "Just…looking at you," I say. "You're beautiful."
She smiles at the compliment, a shy curve of her lips that brightens and livens her features. "Ren," whispers. "Stop."
“Never. I will be telling you how beautiful you are when we are both old and as wrinkled as raisins."
Her dark eyes search mine. "That isn't what you were thinking."
"It is," I counter. “It's just notallI was thinking."
She closes the lotion cap with a click. "Tell me. Please."
"I was remembering the first time I got to see you naked," I answer. "That night in the hayloft. The white dress with pink flowers. Red underwear and bra. You were so fucking beautiful I couldn't think straight."
