Chapter 17
Seventeen
Jax meets me at my house Friday after her shift and we hit the road. It’s less than two hours to the Russian River, putting us there after dark, but my cousins will have the campground staked out with a fire going.
I head northeast, wading through congestion until we pass San Rafael.
Jacqui pulls my cassette case onto her lap and studies the selection.
She pushes one in the player and ZZ Top’s distinctive vocals and guitar riffs fill the Mustang.
She props her bare feet on the dash, hair blowing in the breeze, and undulates in her seat to “Tube Snake Boogie.” My smile widens at the carefree vision my baby presents.
And she’s wearing cutoffs, giving me a potent glimpse of her long, tanned legs.
We stop in Petaluma for a quick meal of tacos and burritos before resuming the drive.
“When’s your mom due back again?” she asks, rewinding the cassette film back into the reel after the tape deck eats it.
“Next week.”
“I’m psyched to meet her but…”
“You’re going to miss having the place to ourselves?” I shoot her a sideways glance. “Yeah, me too.”
She smiles in answer.
I pull her hand to my lips and plant a kiss on her smooth skin.
“What’s she like?”
“My mother? A badass. Loves her work and her playtime. Does a good job balancing life since being on her own.” I pause to light up a cigarette.
“She’s my role model. She infused me with a love of the outdoors.
One of the brighter spots of my childhood.
She took us camping and hiking and surfing—more once she left the old man, but even when she was still saddled with all that shit, she showed us how to camp in the backyard, teaching us to pitch a tent and build a fire. ”
“That’s incredible,” she says, then falls silent.
“She transcended,” I say with a wink. “Reclaimed her life, seized it by the horns, and went for it.”
“It’s inspiring. Tell me about your brothers. Wait!” She grabs my forearm. “Are they named after musicians too?”
“Sure are. Townshend and Graham.”
“Those names are rad. She officially wins The Coolest Mom title. Let me guess. Townshend…”
I wait for her to think about it, but it doesn’t take her long.
“That’s easy. Pete Townshend from The Who.”
“Good job, baby. Now Graham.”
A longer silence passes.
“I’m not a good test-taker. It’s why I suck at Trivial Pursuit.”
Smirking, I say, “I’ll throw you a bone. David Crosby.”
She claps her hands once and shimmies in her seat. “Graham Nash of Crosby, Stills and Nash!”
My lips quirk seeing how pleased she is with herself. She pleases me too. Immensely.
We arrive at the campground after dark and find our spot.
My cousins Kirk, Eric, and Wayne and I exchange some back slaps and shoulder claps, I meet Kirk’s girlfriend Dana and introduce Jacqui.
They resume sitting around the fire drinking beer and making s’mores while Jax and I unload our stuff and start setting up.
Their laughter filters in as a happy soundtrack, reminding me how stoked I am to see these knuckleheads, be here, and share this trip with my girl.
Once I pitch our tent and assemble our sleeping bags, I tug Jax down to where I’m kneeling. My mouth seeks hers with a need and hunger that continuously simmers, and I hold her tighter, molding our bodies together. She whimpers when our tongues dance, a sound that goes from my heart to my cock.
She probably doesn’t realize it, but she already owns both.
“Fucking heroin,” I mutter.
We join the others around the crackling campfire, and it’s a balm to my soul. The crisp night air. The star speckled sky. Unbridled nature. The woman at my side. My asshole cousins giving me shit and doing their level best to embarrass me. We stay up past midnight talking, drinking, and laughing.
Jax and I crawl into our tent, quickly disrobe, and bundle into the sleeping bags I zipped together.
My lips land possessively on hers while my hands stroke her curves, stoking our own fire.
Her leg hitches over my hip, her fingers sink into my hair, and her other hand wraps around my back. Everything she does draws me closer.
She’s making those passionate little sounds that drive me crazy as we consume one another, our mouths stretching wide as our tongues collide with want. Our breaths turn ragged as we grind our centers together.
Heaven. Fucking heaven.
My desperation to merge our bodies has plagued me for hours. I’m impatient—damn near fanatical—for it.
“Get on all fours, baby,” I murmur.
She smiles, barely visible in the darkness, and positions herself before where I kneel.
The warmth flowing from her internal furnace is a veritable invitation, one I accept.
I drive all the way in and suck in a breath, holding still for a few heartbeats while intense pleasure rolls through me and goosebumps ripple across my skin.
Holy fuck. The way her pussy takes me is utter perfection.
Mind-blowing. Mold-breaking. She’s what I need, what I crave, a thirst never quenched.
I finally breathe, steadying myself.
Pulling out a couple of inches, I thrust again, burying myself in this gorgeous woman until our centers are so flush, we’re closer than two human beings can get.
Jax moans and shoves her face into a pillow.
I know, baby. I know. Her pussy grips me tight, even wet, and goddamn, there is nothing better than this. Us.
I start to move, slowly. Deliberately. But the craving to impale her like some Neanderthal intensifies, and soon I’m ramming into her with firm, steady strokes.
I want you.
I need you.
Indefinitely.
Gritting my teeth, I stifle my grunts amidst her muffled cries. My hips drive faster, claiming her, forging us together, trying to outrun the inevitable.
Jax reaches between us, fondling my balls with a light touch.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe.
Game over.
Stars explode behind my eyelids as my orgasm rockets me into the stratosphere. The frenzy of unloading into her is so extreme, so encompassing, that I clench my jaw tighter to keep from releasing a string of expletives.
The next morning, Wayne and I position the vehicles. He parks the van at the point we’ll exit the river and then hops in my car. We stop and buy hoagies for our lunches, return to camp, and make sure our rental canoes are ready to go.
When our party’s assembled, we haul the boats to the water and don lifejackets. I give Jacqui a quick train-up, although she won’t have to do much. I’ll be in the rear steering and responsible for most of the work—if you can call it that. This is pure play.
Jax beams as I tighten the straps on her lifejacket, and my lips quirk.
Her and that damn irrepressible sunny disposition chases away all my clouds, not that I have any today.
I press a kiss to her forehead, finish strapping on my own preserver, and motion for her to get in the canoe.
It wobbles as she gets situated but she stabilizes.
My grin spans wide. Having her with me, embarking on one of my favorite activities, is a ten out of ten kind of day.
Under the sun’s golden rays, the river gleams a jewel-toned teal, dotted with billowy clouds reflecting from overhead.
Flanked by lush evergreens, the current carries us at a leisurely pace.
Paddling when needed, we easily keep our three boats close.
My girl takes it all in, tossing back smiles and marveling at the birds and turtles she spies as we float downstream.
There’s good-natured ribbing and bantering among our party. Jax fits right in like I knew she would. She’s easygoing, something I’ve appreciated about her since day one.
I flick my wet paddle her direction, dousing her with river water. She shrieks and flashes me a look that promises I’ll pay for that. My answering grin only garners me a playful scowl. Give me everything you got, baby.
The first bridge comes into view, and my cousins whoop as we steer our canoes to shore. Jumping from these metal bridges is always a total rush.
“What are we doing?” Jacqui asks.
“Jumping,” I say, waggling my brows.
She scans the structure, which shoots sixty or seventy feet high. “Are you nuts? That could kill you!”
“I’ll be fine.”
My cousins and I climb the hillside anchoring the bridge, reassembling at the top and determining the order in which we’ll jump. Kirk first, then me, followed by Wayne and Eric.
Once Kirk leaps and clears the water, I climb over the rail and press my back against it, steadying myself.
Cupping my hands over my junk—it only takes learning that the hard way to never make that mistake again—I step off the ledge and fall straight down, slicing through the water and plummeting under like a boulder.
Adrenaline soars through my veins, propelling me faster as I kick hard to reach the surface.
Hell yeah.
We jump again, my heart still hammering from the high when I swim over to our canoe.
I grin at a wide-eyed Jax. “All good. See?”
“You’re nuts,” she mutters.
“Maybe.” For you.
We continue downriver for a while, stopping at one of the beaches for lunch. I’m starving after not eating much for breakfast and dig into my hoagie.
Jax relaxes against my legs. When she tilts her head back and smiles at me upside-down, I lean forward and steal a kiss.
“Having fun?” I ask.
“This is totally killer.”
“Gorgeous out here, isn’t it?”
“Amazing. I don’t want it to end.”
Me neither, baby.
We spend the better part of the day on the river, arriving back at the campsite sunburned, buzzed from smoking weed and drinking beers, and hungry. We roast hot dogs over the fire and reminisce over the good stories we have from our younger days, times that didn’t involve my father or chaos.