I give my aunt a tight-lipped smile and stand from my seat, leaning forward to check the level of her coffee. I rinse my mug out and leave it on the counter, then grab the pot and top her off, kissing the top of her head while she gives my arm a squeeze.
I put the pot back and grab my keys from the counter, grabbing the hoodie I left hanging on the hook by the door.
“I got a corner to get to,” I say over my shoulder. My aunt raises her cup and I smile. I text Hollis that I’m on my way to her house, and I tell her to bundle up. We’ve got some ziplines to explore.
20
Hollis
This abandoned park is definitely a different experience during the day. Unlike our trips across the canyon at dawn, this afternoon adventure offers clear views of exactly how far the drop is. I never thought I was afraid of heights, but maybe I just needed to meet the right circumstances.
I cling to Cannon for the first trip across, and barely loosen my grip on the way back. But now, on our fifth ride, I’m able to scope out everything below, including the icy stream that trickles across some gnarly logs and rocks.
“What’s on this side?” I ask while Cannon unhooks us in preparation for our climb up the eastern pedestal.
He squints from the bright sun and clouds, scanning the thick woods, then shrugs.
“Don’t know. Zack and I didn’t explore this stuff.”
“We should check it out.” I clutch the front of his hoodie with my hand. I wore my knit gloves with the fingers cut out so I could grip better when I climbed.
The trip here was easier in Cannon’s truck, and I haven’t seen or heard a single vehicle in the area all morning, and we’ve been here an hour. While the young adventurer in my heart does like the idea of wandering around the woods to explore, the seventeen-year-old who has been holding on to Cannon’s tight arms and broad chest wants to explore other things, maybe under a little extra cover of some wintered branches.
Cannon helps me out of my harness before kicking the straps away from his own legs. We climb down from the middle platform, jumping the last few feet onto the hard ground still dotted with blotches of ice and snow.
I can see my breath, but at this very moment, I am not cold. Not in the least.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing his hand in mine and heading straight ahead through the thickest cluster of trees.
“Are you trying to get us lost?”
“Yes!” I reply.
He laughs as he tags along behind me, my pace rushed because all I can think about is how I’m going to feel when his hands are on me. I keep glancing backward, testing to see whether I can still spot the poles, the lines over the gulch, and Cannon’s truck. I decide we’re far enough when we get a quarter mile out and I spin on my heels, letting my body collide with his.
“Whoa!” He laughs, the fog from his mouth intermingling with mine.
I practically climb onto him, holding his sweatshirt in clutched fists while pulling him tight against me. Every first move is mine, the kiss hard and swift. My hands cover his and guide them under my three layers of shirts, up my sides and against my bare skin, letting go just below my breasts. My own hands roam across the ripples and valleys of his chest and sides, teasing the V that travels from his stomach into his joggers. Emboldened and heated to my core, I dip my hands lower, finding him hard and eager for my touch.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes out the moment my hand wraps fully around his erection.
I smile against his lips, loving the way I make them quiver. I love being in charge. I also am ready for him to take over.
“Just exploring the woods, huh?” Devilish laughter gurgles from his lips as he dips his chin and holds my gaze. His eyes are as hard as he is. His hood has slid from his head, and his mussy hair is soft and calling to me. I stroke him to encourage him and let him know I want this. I do it again, and he reacts, his fingers digging in more against my back, dropping lower until they slide under my waistband and grip my ass.
I let go of him and move my arms over his shoulders, my hands sliding into his thick hair just as he lifts me up; I wrap my legs around his body. In three steps, he has my back against a tree, and we are kissing so hard my lips feel raw from the friction and the cold. I don’t care if I can’t speak for a week. I need this, need him.
Now.
I tug at the bottom of his sweatshirt. In one fluid movement, I drop back to my feet and he lets go to free his arms and toss his shirts to the ground. His hard chest is smooth like a marble sculpture under my touch, his skin hot.
His eyes meet mine as his hands gather my sweatshirt and the two long-sleeved tees I have layered underneath. I nod and lift my chin, giving permission, and he pulls the clothing up and over my head, taking my knit
