more used to a handful of trail mix as I break camp for the day. My offer to do the dishes is politely declined, something about guests not doing the dishes. I always thought the opposite was true, guests should clear the table and clean up.
Not that I’ve ever done that in my life.
My life is—or was—a life of excess. We had cooks and maids who did all that stuff for us. It didn’t matter if we were the hosts or the guests, I never once lifted a finger to help out.
I’m not proud of that.
With nothing to do, I head outside to take in a gorgeous morning. There’s a slight chill in the air which will be gone as soon as the sun climbs a little higher in the sky. A gentle wind stirs the dust on the ground and birds flit from bush to bush. I watch a squirrel get into a fight with the birds, chattering angrily back at them as it races around the bushes. They bring a smile to my heart.
The coffee in my hands is getting cold. A year ago, I would’ve turned my nose up at it for not being of high enough quality. My tastes changed, however, on the trail.
One of the creature comforts I brought backpacking is—was—a small percolator. The coffee was rough, unfinished, but some of the best coffee I ever drank.
There’s something about doing things for yourself, a sense of accomplishment, which makes the foulest coffee turn into the best in the world. I miss my morning trail-coffee, even the tiny grounds which slipped through the filter and always seemed to get caught in my teeth.
I’m reminded of my complete lack of earthly possessions. All I have is my robe, which is now in the trash. Asher gave me one of his La Rouge tee-shirts and I’ve already decided I’m never taking it off. His mother returned sometime during the night and dropped off a pair of her jeans, socks, and shoes. I’m a size smaller than her, but with Asher’s belt the jeans stay in place.
There’s another shopping adventure in my near future, but this time, I’m not going to let Gracie steer me toward clothes I no longer wear. I don’t need name brand. Functional is my brand of choice and I’m going to re-kit myself out for the trail.
A restlessness grows within me to head back into the wilderness. Not sure how long it’ll take me to hike the John Muir trail, I anticipate a couple weeks at least, but it’s exactly what I need to clear my head.
The door behind me opens and Asher comes outside. He sits beside me.
“How’re you holding up?”
I place the lukewarm coffee down on the side table and smile at him. “It’s beautiful.”
He glances out from the house and takes in the deep blue of a nearly cloudless sky. We’re smack dab in the middle of paradise.
“You think you’re up for a ride?” Asher asks.
“I’d love a ride.” My gaze shifts down to his crotch and the corner of my mouth curves into a smile. He’s asking about riding horses. I’m thinking about riding him.
He follows the direction of my gaze and gives a low laugh. “Dirty girl, what am I going to do with you?” Generous to a fault, Asher is an amazing lover. We’ve officially broken in every surface in his bedroom, and are working on the walls.
I’m new to wall sex. Raw and brutal, there’s nothing soft about getting fucked against a wall. Asher has more than enough strength for it, and stamina. The man is a glorious fucking machine. In his arms, I feel light as a feather. There’s a small bruise forming at the base of my spine, the aftereffects of Asher unglued. I love the way he unleashes his inner beast as I wrap my legs around him and simply hold on for the ride.
Squeezing my legs together, I bite my lower lip. Thoughts of sex with Asher turn me into a needy, horny, ravenous bitch.
“I enjoyed it very much.” I’m thinking about the one thing we haven’t really done, or rather what I haven’t done. Asher’s tasted me, but I’ve yet to return the favor. I lick my lips in anticipation of bringing him to his knees.
Well aware that Brody and Cage are inside, my attention shifts toward the horse barn. There’s one other thing we’ve yet to do. Something else I’ve never done before, and I’m excited to explore it with Asher.
I’m