I giggled, the excitement tickling between my thighs and up my back where he was touching me. I said, "Let's go back to the cabin … for a few minutes or so. Then we'll go into town."
He flicked the back of my earlobe with his tongue. "Why don't you just turn around? We can do it right here, on the bike."
I considered turning around, but I'd just done my hair and my makeup, and Smith would only mess it all up. Sex could wait. I was looking adorable in one of my new dresses and a pair of strappy sandals, and as much as I wanted Smith inside me, I was also keen to get away from the cabin.
"Or just lean forward more," he said, his hands off my br**sts and scooping under my bu**ocks. "So I can get it in your ass."
"Yeah, that settles it," I said, turning the key to start the ignition.
The ATV trembled to life, vibrating deliciously between my legs. The feeling wasn't as strong as a vibrator, but coupled with Smith's hands on my body and mouth on my ear, the sensation was not entirely unpleasant.
He showed me how to work the brake and the throttle, and we were off, bouncing down the trail.
Driving that thing made me feel like a little kid on her first bicycle. I had an enormous grin on my face for most of the drive, and when we arrived in the little town, I was disappointed the journey was already over.
We parked the quad behind a gas station, in front of a fence with a metal sign reading Reserved for SW.
"You're quite the VIP," I said, whipping out my compact so I could check my lipstick and hair.
Smith stood quietly by for a moment, then said, "You look radiant. That dress, that shade of blue that's nearly purple-it brings out your eyes in the most remarkable way."
I squirmed from the flattery. "So, where is this shindig happening?"
He cocked his head and pointed one finger in the air.
There was music, and it wasn't coming from the speakers mounted to the gas station.
"That's the band," he said.
"And they are … that way?" I pointed in what seemed to be the direction the music was coming from.
"M'lady," he said, offering me his elbow.
We started walking, and it was the right direction after all, because the music kept getting louder.
"So, what's the cover story?" I asked. "Am I your niece who doesn't speak English? Or are we sticking closer to the truth? They say the best lies are ninety-nine percent truth."
"Good idea. Let's tell people you're my girlfriend."
"And that we met while donating kidneys to orphans in need?"
He laughed. "We met at an art class, and you were the nude model."
"That's weird. You know, I actually did model for some drawing classes."
He didn't say anything, just smiled.
I pulled my hand off his arm. "Wait. Are you playing me for a reaction again? Did you actually know about my nude modeling?"
"Maybe."
"But it wasn't on my resume, and I certainly didn't tell the employment agency."
We rounded the corner, and two steps later, we were in the midst of a crowd of people gathering in the park. The scent of hot dogs grilling and sweet cotton candy hung in the air. Children squealed and ran everywhere, and someone handed us a sheet of temporary tattoos.
I stopped walking and grabbed Smith's hand. "Seriously. About the art modeling. Are you playing me?"
"I'm a lucky guesser," he said.
"What about my hair, then? You didn't answer my question before. How did you know I've never worn my hair short?"
He stepped in close, moving his hands up to my cheeks. He kissed me. Amidst a park full of kids and clowns and ponies and face-painting, Smith Wittingham kissed me.
He pulled away and gathered my hair in one hand, pulling it in front of one shoulder. Stroking my hair, he said, "Your freckles. You have them everywhere the sun shines down on you. Like here." He touched my forehead above my eyebrows. "Here." He touched the tip of my nose, the edge of my upper lip, my shoulders, and my clavicle. "You have some freckles on your back, but very few right here." He palmed the back of my neck and then my upper back. "Because this area's always been covered by your long, beautiful, red hair."
"Oh." I frowned. "Seems obvious now that you explain it."
"Most things do."
"Do you have a redhead fetish?"
He wrapped his arms around my back and pulled me in tight. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, "I have a Tori fetish, but I confess I do love that the carpet matches the drapes."
I giggled and tried to pull away. "Why are men always so obsessed with redheads and the color of their carpet?"
He gripped me tighter and kissed my neck. "Because it looks like a heart. Like a special valentine, just for your lover. A welcome mat."