67. Oil Wrestling an Eel
OIL WRESTLING AN EEL
ELIAS
“I’m not crying.”
“I’m looking at you, Brighton.”
“You’re mistaken. It must be the shower.” She’s lying through her teeth and staring me in the face as she does it.
There’s lots about Brighton Ranger that turns me on. There’s a lot that pisses me off, too, but this is quickly topping the list. I reach over her shoulder and turn the water off before doing the same with those behind me.
“Talk to me, darlin’.”
“Darlin’?” She makes to climb off of me but I carry her, my dick still deep inside her, to her room and fold over her on her bed. The air is cold after the heat of the shower and goosebumps rise on her flesh.
I grind into her slow and deep, forcing her to look me in the face until I see it. Her bottom lip quivers. Brighton doesn’t quiver. Brighton is an out loud, in your face, take hers and give-as-good-as-she-gets girl. Nothing about this woman quivers.
“Did I hurt you?”
She turns to scramble, and I grab her waist, then her shoulders as she slips from around my dick. I might as well be oil wrestling an eel for as crafty and quick as she is. No, this isn’t speed.
Her escape is desperation.
I climb over her fully naked, defending my manhood from her flailing limbs, as we perform an almost comical dance. I finally pin her to the bed facedown, caging her in with my knees at her thighs.
Prone over her body, I whisper at her shoulder, “What am I missing, baby?”
She lifts her ass, pushing up into me as if searching for my dick.
“Seriously? Your mood swings are giving me whiplash. You want me then ghost me. You swallow my cock, then run away as if I hurt you. Now you’re trying to escape and seek me out all at the same time?”
“Woman’s prerogative.”
“No.” I slide my hot length along her ass crack, seeing the head play peek-a-boo with her firm globes. “It seems, darlin’, that the only time you’re honest with me is when we’re like this.”
“Need you inside me, Eli.”
“Are you going to be truthful with me if I give you that?” I lift her onto her knees, still folded over her back, still whispering.
Silence. But she rocks her hips as if she can’t control her body, as if she’s a magnet being drawn to me and can’t help but seek out my dick.
I give her ass a quick spank. That’s not my thing, but the moan that pulls from her throat is music to my ears and makes it impossible for me to think. I position at her entrance and tease her with my head.
“Eli.” She barks out my name while seeking my cock, trying to lift onto all fours.
“Brighton.” I toss the same tone right back and slam inside her, pushing her down between her shoulder blades until her chest is pressed into the mattress.
Two deep, fast strokes and pull back, hovering on the edge of her body. “Why were you crying?”
“You always talk this much during sex, Elias? Do you call all your women baby and darlin’? It’s okay, I guess, but I’m good with less chit chat and more fucking.”
Her words are a mental and physical ice bath. I pull out entirely, roll to my back, and throw a hand over my forehead. “For someone who makes me hard just thinking about them, you sure can kill a mood.”
And before my eyes, ass still lifted in the air, the woman reaches between her legs and fingers her clit. She’s facing away from me. I can’t see her features but I can imagine them. I know that look. And when I hear her moan, my eyes go hard.
Fucking Brighton is magnificent.
Fighting Brighton is brutal.
And she’s just used me like a prop to get herself off.
She slips off the bed, walks back to the bathroom, and closes the door.
I jump up and push into the bathroom to see her wrapped in a towel, angrily pulling a brush through her long, wet hair, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“What the fuck, Bright?”
She looks away, focuses on her hair, and turns her back to me.
“No. Damn it. Talk to me.” I spin her around and hold her shoulders, dipping my six one frame more than six inches to meet her eye to eye. “Baby, did I hurt you?”
She swallows and nods once, closing her eyes and turning her head.
“Fuck me. I’m sorry.” I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her, hoping my warmth pushes into her body as part of my apology. “I’m sorry, Bright. I’d never hurt you intentionally. I hate myself for it.”
I stroke her hair and feel her give up the fight. “I didn’t know I was that rough, baby. It won’t happen again. Promise.”
She sucks in a breath, pulls back to meet my eyes, and sets her shoulders. “No, you’re right. It won’t happen again.”
And I watch as the shutters drop, and she disappears behind the cold veneer I’ve come to know.
My Bright is nowhere to be seen.
March certainly comes in like a lion, but leaves like a lamb.
And, in my case, a lamb to slaughter.
April and May are no better.
She doesn’t answer my calls. In fact, they no longer ring. I dial and it goes straight to voicemail.
Not one text gets answered.
I might as well be invisible to her in group chats.
I drop by her house to locked doors and never-answered knocks. When I try, she turns Johnny Cash—always fucking Johnny Cash—to a deafening volume, drowning out anything I could say or shout through the door.
When I show up at the ranch, she busies herself with work, but always with people around. She’s never alone. Never. She’s polite… well, polite enough. She won’t look at me, won’t engage.
I don’t exist.
She’s dead behind her eyes.
By June, I’m angry. And insulted. Not only about her, but about Jon’s client and the potential infringement on the Ranger’s ranch.
I want to tell her first. Before Braxton. Before anyone.
It’s almost a compulsion. It has to be her first.
I meant to share it when I showed at her house all those months ago when Willa and Exton were going through their drama. But the shower and the shower sex and then the fight pushed all of that from my brain.
I can admit I was thinking with my dick.
And, now, I’m the dick for thinking about it for months without telling her.
For not telling them. I’ve worked, behind the scenes, without anyone knowing, for hours each day to learn everything I can about environmental preserves and land trusts.
I’ve researched how the state accounts for that land and how the federal government could become involved.
Jon has fed me just enough to keep pushing the research. He’s being paid handsomely, but his heart isn’t in it.
I’m pissed and becoming desperate. And desperation makes for terrible decisions.
Like the one I’m about to make.