Blues

Chapter Sixteen

"What are you worried about?" she asks, as though it isn't obvious.

"Don't you think someone will see?"

"Shh," she says, toying with the waist of my thick, boyish cargo pants. "We're wearing camouflage."

I giggle like a teenager, then remember I am one and try to be less conspicuous about it, given my company. The last thing I want to do is give her a reason to change her mind about me by showing that I'm not mature enough to keep up with her, or intellectual enough to excite her.

"Not that I'm indulging that logic," I say, trying to sound just a little more like someone I can actually imagine her wanting to spend time with. "But what good will camouflage do if you're trying to undress me?"

"Who in God's name said a thing about undressing you, Savannah?" she asks, as though she's appalled, despite her icy right hand's slow ascent up the undershirt that had previously been keeping me warm. 

I allow my back to rest against the tree behind me, trying to pass off the worry that I'll faint as confidence and nonchalance. "I just thought you might want to," I admit.

"I do want to," she agrees. "But I don't need to."

"What are you waiting for?" I say as a knee-jerk reaction, a bit more offended by the comment than I would've expected myself to be.

She laughs at the outburst, which I realize has come off more as impatience than anything else. "I mean that I don't need to undress you to have what I want from you."

True to this word, she reaches easily into the pants I'm wearing that probably belong to Nas and nearly hang off my body as it is. Although her teasing eyes don't leave mine, I feel her fingertips brush the inside of my thigh, gently but deliberately, like she's striking consecutive keys on a piano.

Deeper inside me than I'm able to locate, Adaline's touch, and sometimes just her attention, ignite this twisting warmth that I'm becoming increasingly used to. It's always accompanied by the familiar slickness that I'm sure she can feel right now, collecting on my skin and clothes, showing all my cards, giving my poorly acted performance of indifference away. All I'm sure of is that no other person, boy, girl, man or woman, has had the same effect on me.

She seems sure of it, too. 

"Well," she observes with a quiet laugh. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I make sure to stare her back, confident that I have the right answer. "Please?"

She looks at me like I've amused her, shakes her head and even smiles. She makes no sound, but moves her lips and tongue. "Filthy," she mouths.

She slides into me just as wordlessly, and I immediately break the silence she's created. I sound like I've been wounded, I know, but really I'm just taken by surprise and I've never had such an experience. Being touched in a way I'm not used to being touched. She seems charmed by my reaction, but presses two fingers firmly to my lips, as she does. "Shh," she whispers again.

Her moving hand is slow and calm, and I inhale with great focus, adjusting to the sensation. I don't dare look away from her, and in a way she never has been before, she is absolutely fixated on me. Whatever pleasure she can read in my face, it translates twofold across her own. 

"Good girl," she lauds, while my body begins to match her rhythm and my own pleading eyes. She's praising me, but I know she's thinking she's outdone herself.

Out of the blue, Whiskey begins to go crazy. He seems to be barking at me, at Adaline, and at someone far away all at once.

"What the--"