38. Hugo
Chapter 38
Hugo
"I have a confession to make," Mallory says out of nowhere.
We're lounging on the porch bed, letting the afternoon sun warm our toes. She's tucked under my arm, head heavy on my chest. Mallory loves it out here, staring out at the cloudless sky, and I love anything that makes her happy.
"Lay it on me." My fingers graze her arm, bringing chill bumps to her skin.
"Your fencing costume was...sexy."
I look down at the top of her head. Take a moment to compose myself. "Because the mask covered my ugly mug?"
Mallory shifts, pushes up on her elbow so she can look at me. "You looked hot, Hugo."
I do my best not to laugh. She's being open and honest with me right now. "I have to say, nobody has ever called me hot wearing breeches. "
"Not to your face."
"Or at all."
She grins. "Bull riding has buckle bunnies. What does fencing have?"
"Trails of dust from women running the other direction."
Mallory slaps my chest. "Stop. I said what I said. Hot."
I palm her lovely cheek, stroking her soft skin with my thumb. "You're just saying that because you found out I'm good at making you come."
" Great at making me come," she clarifies, and my chest puffs with pride. "But no. I'm not. You looked powerful. Strong. In control. Not to mention how muscled your thighs look in those white pants."
"Don't even think of asking me to wear that outfit for you."
She giggles. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd give me a beginner's lesson."
"I take umbrage with thrusting sharp objects at you."
She gives me a look.
I sigh. "I heard it."
She laughs. "Come on. I looked it up. Fencing swords have blunt edges."
"They can still hurt you. That's why fencers wear protective gear."
Mallory pouts. "Can you give me a little show, then?"
"No costume."
"No costume," she agrees.
We're standing in the living room. I've pushed the coffee table out of the way to give us more space.
"These," I start, pointing at the weapons above the fireplace, "are the swords. They are the foil, épée, and saber." I point at each in turn. Mallory nods studiously. I bet she was a star pupil in every class.
"What is the name of that one?" she asks, nodding her chin at the fourth sword, closest to the fireplace mantle.
"That's a sword."
"Yes, but what is it called in fencing?"
"That is not a fencing weapon. In fencing, there are only three." Gingerly, and with great caution, I lift the sword off its hooks. "This is a real sword. I purchased it when I was in Bern, Switzerland, and I walked into a knife shop. There was a secret room at the back with swords and other weaponry, and a knight's armor. I'd been fencing with blunt edge weapons for so long, I decided to spring for the real thing." I direct the tip at the ground, and Mallory looks over the intricate handle. "It's unbelievably sharp. In case you're wondering, I have cut myself on it. Not badly, but still." I replace the sword on its hooks.
"Here's what I know about fencing," Mallory says, taking a step back with one foot. She lifts a hand, raising a pretend sword. "On guard. "
She looks so cute, so playful. First she let me nerd out over olives, and now this? It doesn't get better than this woman.
"That's your starting position," I indulge her, mirroring her body posture. "You could retreat to create space or dodge an attack." I demonstrate a simple step back. "Or lunge, to step forward and reach your opponent." I do this as well, arm extended.
Mallory presses a hand to her arm. "You got me."
"Good," I tell her, advancing. She lets me wrap her up in my arms. "Not letting you go, either."
"I have another confession to make." She bites the side of her lower lip, eyes lively.
"And that would be?"
"Jolene made a joke about me wearing your gold medal and riding you."
That has never been a fantasy of mine...until now.
I let her go, taking her hand, leading her down the hall.
"Where are we going?"
"To my closet to get my gold medal."
An excited giggle behind me. The cutest sound.
Hand in hand, I take her to my closet, to the small fireproof safe where I keep both medals. When I have it in hand, I turn to Mallory. "Strip," I tell her. Eyes locked on me, she listens. When she's naked, all womanly curves and soft skin, I place the medal over her head. Settle it between her full breasts.
She looks down, admires it. "It's not as heavy as I thought it would be. But it is cold. "
I can't focus on the weight of the medal, or the temperature. A goddess, a siren, an American wet dream stands before me.
"This image will live on in my mind. In infamy."
Mallory smiles in this sexy, coquettish way. "I should be wearing spike heels. Then it would be perfect."
I'm shaking my head before she can finish her sentence. "It's perfect because it's on you." I point at my bed. "That's where we're headed." I make short work of my clothes. For a fantasy I've never had, I'm pretty damn excited about this.
Clothing shucked, I climb on the bed. Mallory hoists one leg over me, bracketing my body with her thighs. The medal lies against her creamy skin, looking one thousand times better on her than it does on me.
Her hand wraps around me, pumping, like she's getting me ready for her ride. And as much as I love it, I have a different ride in mind for her first.
"Up here." I nudge, lightly smacking her behind.
"What?" she asks, confused.
"My face. That's your ride."
"Hugo, I"—her head shakes—"I've never done that before."
Something possessive in my chest unfurls. We're at ages where we can't give each other many firsts, but I love knowing this isn't a road she's traveled with anybody else.
I wink at her. "Guess I'll have to break you in."
With my hands I encourage her to move up my body. She rises up on her knees, makes her way up me with my assistance .
"I feel shy," she admits, sitting down on my chest.
"Don't be. You're going on two rides today, this is the first. Now, listen. I'm hungry, so get yourself up here and let me have my fill. "
She's not convinced. "Promise me you won't let me suffocate you?"
"I can think of far worse ways to go."
"That's not funny."
I can't help my smile at the stern look on her face. She's gloriously naked, sitting on my chest, and wearing my gold medal. Not sure life gets better than this.
But then she relents, comes up over me, and settles in.
I take back what I said. Life does get better.
"Grab the headboard," I instruct, getting to work. I can't see much because of her belly, but that's ok. My imagination does the job.
Before long she's gripping the headboard and tipping her head back, crying out. It takes her a moment to come down, but when she does she's scrambling down my body, leaving a wet trail.
"Need you so bad right now," she groans. She leans down, gives me a few quick bobs of her head, and positions me in place. I hold onto her hips and watch her slowly impaled by me.
"Yes," she hisses, head tipping up.
I give her my hands, let her use them as leverage. She grips me tightly, lifts herself up and down. Faster now, she picks up the tempo. Her breasts sway, my medal along with them. Her body undulates, taking what she needs, hitting the perfect spot for her.
Heat licks up the base of my spine, my orgasm not far off.
Mallory looks at me with a heavy-lidded gaze, slides down until she's fully seated. "Do you like the way I look wearing your gold medal?"
"Core memory," I answer. "It'll be hard for me to close my eyes and not see this." My words send Mallory over the edge, and then I follow her down, into that carnal place.
She collapses on the bed beside me.
I lean over, kiss her forehead. "That was..." There are no words.
"I know," she says.
We lie that way for a while. I bring her a warm rag and clean her up. We dress, and end up in the kitchen where I make her an early dinner while she sits at the island and peppers me with questions about the inner workings of an olive mill. Like last night, I hold her hand and take her back to my bed for sleep. A fog of bliss covers us, that heady feeling that harkens to big things to come, but there's a softness to the peak. Something slow, steady, and stable. Me, Mallory, and Peanut.
Living just like this, in our perfect, little life.