One Weekend Stand Ch. 08

He thought he knew how to handle her. Though handle was probably not the best word. Better to say that he knew how much she valued her freedom, and how much he could enjoy watching her enjoy her freedom. Not that he wanted to marry her. She had her share of foibles and flaws that drove him crazy. More than a few were deal breakers on the marriage front. Still, it would be fun to live with her for a few months. In a perfect world, they could shack up for a year. Then, when she was driving him crazy, they'd head back to their respective lives. In a perfect world. No chance of that happening anytime in say, the next 3,000 years.

Memories of this weekend would have to do. Better still, he was the kind of person who could take those memories and extrapolate them into whole stories. To vividly imagine a year spent together, free from worry, want and responsibilities. With nothing to do but learn more about each other. And explore their sexual horizons.

He pulled her to him and kissed her, moaning deep in his throat when he found her lips to be soft and pliant and accepting. When he broke off she kissed him back, with as much emotion and urgency as he'd shared with her. They held each other close, her legs wrapped around his, their bodies pressed tight, so tight against each other. As they kissed a passionate energy swelled from one to the other, back and forth, like a wave impossibly surging higher and higher as it reached one shore and reflected back to the other.

He'd closed his eyes and his only awareness was focused on her. He felt aware of every particle of her, every molecule of her body. He could hear nothing but her ragged breathing and the occasional gasp emanating from deep within her core. He smelled nothing but the scent of her. Tasted nothing but the sweetness of her. Saw nothing but the memory of her, naked and welcoming of him during their brief but explosive time together. They kissed like there was no tomorrow. Because there wasn't. And that was something that neither wanted to face.

She sat in the Jeep, quiet, alone with her thoughts. His hand rested on her thigh, nonchalantly, just like it had on the ride up. Her last view of the cabin came in the side view mirror as he maneuvered the Jeep back onto the dirt track. "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear," the etching read. If only that was true. If only.

The end.



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