“While I’d like to be a pompous ass and say, ‘no, you wouldn’t be able to survive without me,’ I don’t doubt you’d be fine.” I take a swallow of the white wine myself before continuing. “You have a quick mind. You’d get a job delivering again. You’d get a roommate. You’d…” The words stick in my throat. The idea that she could meet and fall in love with someone else is not something I wish to contemplate or give voice to. “You’d have made it.”
We finish the rest of the picnic, and Tiny insists on packing everything away carefully when she sees that I intended to pick up the four corners of the blanket and dump the contents into the basket. “You might break the glasses,” she protests as I gather up one side and then another.
“I doubt they cost more than a dollar to make,” I note wryly.
“Still, we might want to use them again.”
Standing back, I take the opportunity to watch her ass sway as she bends over to pick up one dish and then another. The shorts are riding high, and I can see not only her lower cheeks but the lace edges of her panties. When she reaches into the basket, the delicate crease where her inner leg joins her body winks in and then out of view. I can’t resist any longer and kneel down behind her, sliding one large hand over the curve of her succulent ass and dipping in between her legs. The denim is so short and frayed, it’s easy to slip two fingers underneath the fabric to rub against her honeyed warmth.
Her body stills under mine, and then I feel the slight press of her pu**y against my hand. Without any word of acknowledgment, she continues to pack the items away. The glass plates and silverware are followed by empty jars of jam and wrappers of cheese. I hold my hand rigidly in place, and the movement of her body as she packs and rearranges creates enough friction that she’s soon lightly panting.
“Quite the workout,” I observe mildly, all the while enjoying how my fingers are getting damper by the minute.
“Yes,” she says, a tiny bit breathless. “All this cleanup is really taxing.”
Her ass moves more forcefully, and in response to her silent demand, I slide one and then another finger inside her. She pushes back as far as the constraints of the denim and lace allow. Leaning forward, I brush the hair away from her neck and place a small bite against her shoulder. She shudders. “Can you come like this?” I pump slowly, only able to reach up to the second knuckle.
“Maybe,” she moans and jerks against me.
“How about now?” I dip my other hand down the front of her shorts to press my fingers against her clit. The position draws the denim tight against my hand, as if we are bound together. “I can’t wait to lick your honey off my fingers after you come.”
She whimpers and while I can barely move either hand, she is able to work her hips and ass in minute movements, the tautness of the fabric and the steely restraint of my hands providing just enough sensation to bring her off.
The climax is small but powerful as she tenses beneath me and then throws her head back, releasing a small keening sound. Her nectar floods my palm, and I cup it to gather as much as I can. The suck of her channel against my fingers makes me groan in anticipation. Once we’re in the house, I’m going to slake every ounce of passion she’s roused in me on her tender body.
I ease out of her shorts, and she collapses on the blanket, her sides heaving lightly as she tries to catch her breath. “I hope you’re in good shape,” I gently tease, “because I’m going to be f**king you on every acre of land and in every room this weekend.”
“You’re going to have to have a lot more in your picnic basket than cheese and wine then,” she says, eyes closed.
I lick her juice off the palm of my hand. “I have plenty in my basket for you.”
She chortles softly. “I can’t tell if that’s an innuendo or not, because right now everything sounds extremely dirty.”
I manage to keep my hands off her long enough for us to make it back to the house. Dropping the basket off at the car, I tug her hand to lead her into the garage. Entering the code to raise the door, I watch her face as the bikes come into view.
“Oh my Lord,” she breathes. “Is that a Vanmoof and a Cervelo?”
“The day I saw you in SoHo there were two bikes in the window. I couldn’t figure out which one you wanted, so I bought both.”
She ducks under the garage door before it’s fully raised to see the bicycles up close. I can’t tell the difference between them. The Cervelo is lighter and, per the salesperson, corners better because it has a stiffer suspension. The Vanmoof is more elegant and more technologically advanced, with its integrated battery providing extra power via a tiny motor attached to the front wheel.
Whatever delight Tiny had shown for the car has nothing on the pure joy she is exhibiting now. Clearly her love of bikes overcomes her dislike of me spending money on her. She claps her hands to her cheeks and then runs over to jump into my arms. “Oh shit, Ian. I can’t even pretend to be mad about this. I love those freaking bikes. Thank you!” A hundred kisses are pressed all over my face. “Can we go for a ride?”
“Sure.”
We strap on helmets, and Tiny and I explore historic Southport on our new bicycles. Tiny had to raise the seat for me, and even that small task made her smile broadly. Being self-sufficient is important to her. I need to remember that and respect it.
Our weekend is idyllic. After biking, we return home to find a meal waiting for us. The house came with a caretaker’s lodge, along with an actual caretaker. I’ve continued to pay the salaries of Bruce and his daughter Venita for them to air out the house and carry out a few tasks like coordinating delivery of the bikes and bed and making sure the kitchen was stocked with food. They’d done well so far.
Tiny and I try out the new bed, christening it with her being tied to the four posters while I spend a long time testing the limits of her ability to orgasm. After three, she cries for me to bury my c**k inside her, and after the fourth she starts cursing me.
I smile the whole drive home. It was a damned good time.
SEVENTEEN
“THE REPORTS YOU REQUESTED FROM Jake are on your desk. Are they related to the SunCorp acquisition?” Louis is like an excited puppy as he hovers close to the sealed envelope that contains an encrypted USB drive hand-delivered by one of Jake’s employees. Each of Jake’s clients receives his reports in this fashion. No over-the-air transmissions that could be intercepted. No printed photos or reports that could be pilfered from an envelope.