Chapter 72: Chapter 72

The air smells clean and sharp like minerals, tastes like new snow eaten from a mitten. I can hear cars

up on the road above the river, but we are alone down here in the alders and scrub. Wet ferns are brushing my fingertips. I touch them back, wanting. Always wanting. My breath is coming out in little puffs while he fingers my zipper and reaches down the back of my jeans to squeeze my ass. The breeze is cool, but the sun is warm on my face and heats a little triangle on my chest that is exposed when my boy pulls off my jacket and reaches up inside my silk thermal shirt to pinch a hard nipple. The moss is bright green. The leaves are gold, bronze and yellow. A little snow has dusted the distant hills. It could be autumn, or maybe it’s winter or early spring. I don’t care. It’s not raining. I am outside and the river is

singing as it curls around the bend and froths and pools against basalt boulders.

We were driving along scouting for wild mushrooms, singing along to the radio, drinking whiskey and eating pork rinds when he suddenly pulled over and said simply, “Here.” Of course, I knew exactly what he meant by this and followed him greedily into the ravine.

There is a shotgun blast in the distance. It excites me for some reason. Bear season? Deer season? I imagine myself playing a game where I am running naked through the woods. Running away from hunters. Playing hide-and-seek for real, following the deer trails high into the mountains, bleeding a little onto the snow to throw them off.

“You are an animal,” my boy says, licking at my earlobe and unzipping my jeans, his warm fingers probing deep inside. “A very, very good, naughty animal.” I hear a fish jump in one of the slack pools nearby. I can see the ring of ripples out of the corner of my mind and their glossy, smooth humps excite me. “What kind?” I ask, taking his balls in my hand through his faded denim and holding them tight in my fist. “What kind of animal am I?” He bites at my neck. “A fucking beast of an animal,” he says, “A horny little fucking beast. An excitable little fainting goat.”

The word goat—fuck! That makes me horny. Like the sound of a fish jumping and the smell of snow-chilled air and yellow leaves and river currents. Like everything makes me horny. My pants are now around my ankles

186 SuDDEN SEX

and my silk thermal leggings are halfway down my ass. A sunbeam is warming the edge of my thigh, but my nipples are as hard as rock hammers. He is kissing me gently while talking dirty about excitable, fainting, fucking beastly, horny goats and rubbing my clit. Steam is puffing from my mouth. I hear another car winding around the curve slowly, then stopping, tires crunching. A cold breeze flutters the leaves and ruffles the water. A second shotgun blast echoes through the trees and a couple of ducks take off from the shore of the river. His face is between my legs. I am arched against the base of an ancient moss-covered oak. There are oak galls scattered everywhere. He fingers my quivering insides while sucking on my clit, sucking hard, finding the place that makes me melt, makes me scream. Head back, legs spread, I come hard, screaming like a talon-gutted rabbit, thighs quivering. My boy lifts his face from my wet crotch, his lips and the tip of his nose shiny with my juice. “You are a very good animal,” he says again. “Good for eating.” Then he chops me up and makes a stew out of me right there against that tree.

He pulls my face down by my ponytail, pushing my

hungry lips over his bone, then spins me around and takes me from behind. His cock is wet from my mouth, slippery with my juice, hot and hungry and hard. My face is pressed against the damp moss of the tree trunk. A squirrel crouches on a fir branch and chatters. My boy’s strong hands are gripping my hips while he pumps wildly into me. In my mind, I am running naked through

the woods. I am a very good animal. I am a very bad animal. In my mind, we are crashing through the trees, scratched and bleeding from the branches and thorns, daring to be chased, wanting to be caught until we end up here, against this old oak. He is moaning as he pumps me fiercely. Little bits of moss are clinging to my lips and it turns me on. His hands, his hot cock, the river, the sunbeam on my neck, the smell of his skin, it all turns me on. He convulses hard with orgasm, pulsing against me, groaning low and soft like water on spawning gravel. The poor oak shudders and a couple of galls fall to the ground. This makes me want it all over again, of course, the galls falling like that.

We rearrange our fabric and head up the hill. My crotch is sloshing with every step. From the road, I look down toward the river and spot the tall oak. I can see a patch of matted ferns where we were very bad animals. Somebody had a nice view. This, of course, makes me wet all over again. I look over at him and boy is he grinning, having just realized the same thing. The sun angling through branches makes me want to spin. What time of year is it, anyway?