Chapter 7

 

Whitney

 

I realize I’m probably just another adventure for him. Maybe he’s only that for me, too. I’ll go home and get on with life and have a good story to tell.

That’s what I’m telling myself anyway, because I don’t want to lose my head about this. I need to be smart. I’m going to just enjoy it, for as long as it lasts.

And enjoying Connor is so easy to do.

We’re currently walking a beautiful, gently curving path, talking easily. He’s back to wearing his navy shirt, and using his walking stick, which I’ve learned is named Gandolf. Our conversation has flowed effortlessly from one topic to another. I’ve heard more about his travels, and his stories are so interesting that I have to be boring in comparison. Yet, he doesn’t make me feel boring. He continues to ask questions about me and listens and laughs and it’s all just so easy.

We’re only about five and a half miles from Santiago when we finally get to the medieval bridge I’d read about in my guidebook. It’s a “wee” thing, as Maggie would’ve said. An arched, stone footbridge that takes maybe twenty steps to cross, but it’s survived centuries, which gives it a neat atmosphere.

When Connor and I get to the top, I stop and look below. Maybe it used to cross a stream, or a creek, but the only thing beneath it now is tall grass and a few flowering bushes.

Connor crosses to the other side, then turns back and waits for me. When I reach him, he smiles and takes my hand. He leads us off the stone slab path and down into the grassy ravine. I grin at him. He has a go-with-the-flow, impulsive streak I find both invigorating and calming.

We go down the slope and to the arch of the bridge. He rests his stick against the side, then we slip underneath the arch. The bridge isn’t very wide, so it’s still sunlit under here, but we’re in the light shadow, running our free hands along the rough stone above us.

“Someone made these stones,” Connor says. “A long time ago, with their own hands.”

I try to imagine who those people might have been. What their lives were like. “Think of all the times and people this bridge has seen since then.” I glance at Connor’s profile, my heart skipping a bit.

“Pretty amazing.” He’s not feeling the stones anymore, but he’s still looking up at them.

“I wonder how many people have kissed under this bridge.” A shameless hint.

He grins and looks at me. “I don’t know.” He pulls me closer, making me tingle all over. My chest comes lightly against his and he wraps one arm around me, still holding on to my hand. “But this’ll be the only one that counts.”

He dips down and I raise up slightly to meet him. His kiss is soft and lingering, then slowly opens to more. When our tongues softly brush against each other, my core starts to simmer. I release his hand and we sink into a firm embrace. He kisses me slowly and masterfully, and when he pulls away I’m wishing we were still back at the hotel.

“We’ll never get there if we keep this up,” I say.

I’ve already told him how much I want to walk to Finisterre. It just seems like the perfect end to my Camino journey. But it was tempting, oh so tempting, to spend my remaining days rolling around with him in a Santiago hotel room instead.

“Then you’d better stop asking for kisses, greedy little miss.” He grins and places another kiss on my lips.

“All right, we’ll go. After the next one.”

The heat factor of this kiss is several notches above the last. Oh yeah, we need to get going, or I’m going to be too turned on to walk. I’ll throw him down under this bridge and have my way with him and his magnificent cock and not care at all how many pilgrims come by and watch me do it.

“Okay,” he says thickly, pulling away with heat in his eyes. He gently grabs me by the shoulders and turns me determinedly. “Back you go, missy, or we’ll be losing some serious time.”

I duck out from under the bridge obediently. He’s behind me, but hangs back a bit. When I glance over my shoulder I spy him subtly adjusting himself. I face forward again and grin, already feeling quite accomplished today.

 

 

We reach our day’s destination well into the evening and forgo the larger hostel option, wanting more privacy than that. There aren’t hotels in this town, so we go for a small, private hostel, which is basically a bed and breakfast. It’s a charming, restored stone house with a red terra cotta tile roof, sculpted rough iron door handles, and potted flowers lining the walkway.

As we’re checking in, Connor refuses to let me help pay.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I protest. “You don’t need to pay my way.”

“You could contribute some other way,” he says off-handedly as he determinedly leads me away from the check-in desk. The host is taking our packs and his walking stick to our room for us, but we’re heading out for dinner. We’re both starving, otherwise we’d be checking out the room and the bed first.

“Like buying dinner?” I suggest. We’ve been buying our individual meals thus far.

“Uh, no. How about this?” We go out the front door and onto the street. “I get the room and you agree to explore the city with me.”

“That’s the deal you want to make?” I think I’d be getting the better end of things there, but I’m already giving in. I see he has his mind made up.

“Well, I don’t know how you feel about more walking.”

“With you?” I give him a grin. “I’m game for anything.”

He smiles. “Good. It’s a deal.”

We duck into the first restaurant we find and finally get some dinner. We still pay separately, which I’m glad about. The hotel was one thing, I suppose, but this can’t start feeling like we’re dating, or it’s going to make things that much more difficult.

We’re just having fun. That’s what I keep chanting to myself. We’re having fun. That’s it. And it’s great and I should enjoy it.

After dinner, we start wandering. We leave the restaurant in the opposite direction than the one we came in. The first time we come to a small intersection, Connor stops and grins at it.

“Ah,” he says, his voice pulling slow and sweet like caramel. “A fork in the road.” He has a glint in his eye I haven’t seen before. “Which way shall we go, Whitney?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not one whit,” he says, like that’s the best thing about it. He looks at me expectantly. “You get to choose.”

Grinning at him, I point down the street to the left. “Good choice.” He squeezes my hand and turns in that direction with a little spring in his step.

“What if I’d picked the other one?” I ask, amused.

“That would’ve been an excellent choice, too.”

I laugh. He makes me feel light, without a care in the world. “Is this how you travel? You get to a crossroads and randomly pick a direction?”

“Pretty much. Some things I plan, but damn,” he says, getting that sweet pull in his voice again, “there’s nothing like a fork in the road.”

It’s not long before I see what he means. On my entire journey, up until I met Connor, I’ve pretty much been doing the pilgrim thing. I’ve seen a lot of things and met a lot of people. And it’s been incredible. But I’ve stayed in the hostels where the pilgrims stay and eaten in the restaurants the pilgrims frequent and have more or less stayed on the path.

But in this little town with Connor by my side? It’s one impromptu turn after another, and I like it. Still though, we’ve gone so far off the path, I have to ask, “Do you know how to get back to our room?”

“Sure.” He squeezes my hand. “Don’t you?”

“With all the turns we’ve taken? We could be going in circles for all I know. It doesn’t help the way the roads are laid out here.” Unlike the grid system I’m used to, these older towns have streets that go at strange angles willy nilly, their direction dictated by some long-forgotten need.

“I have a good sense of direction,” he says reassuringly.

“I guess you’d have to, or you’d get lost too often.”

“I didn’t say I don’t get lost. But being lost is a frame of mind anyway. What’s that saying? Wherever you go, there you are?”

“Wait. You do know how to get back, don’t you?”

He laughs. “Yes. But even when I get lost, if there’s somewhere specific I’m trying to go, I figure it out eventually. Okay…” He nods toward the junction we’re approaching. There’s that glint in his eye again. Every time.

I feel like I’m watching a wild animal in its natural habitat. I’m starting to see that whatever it is that drives Connor to wander, it’s stitched deep inside his soul. It makes me wonder. “You know, I hope I’m not keeping you from, you know, doing your thing.”

“Doing my thing?” He looks at me.

“Yeah. I mean, how many forks in the road have you passed by today because you were walking with me instead?”

“Ah,” he says, eyebrows lifting and coming to a stop. Grinning, he pulls me in close to him. “Well, it’s not like I’m completely incapable of staying on a path. I’ve spent the last several weeks walking the Camino, as planned.”

“That’s true,” I say, enjoying being in his arms. No matter the reason for it.

“Besides,” he leans in close. He has that glint in his eye I saw before. “You were the fork in the road.”

He cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine so slowly, I feel the spark before we actually touch. When we do touch, it lifts me up right off my feet. My face still in his hands, I wrap my arms around his waist and press myself softly against him.

He pauses, looks me in the eye, then kisses me again, this time bringing one hand into my hair and the other slowly down my side, one thumb running over my breast and edging close to my nipple.

We sink deeper into it, tongues gently swirling together. He takes a handful of hair at the base of my neck, gripping it gently and sending prickles of pleasure down my spine. I grip him tighter, press myself against him more firmly, and feel his hardness growing against me. Our kiss grows more heated and he cups my ass, squeezing hard.

I pull back, breathing hard. “Take me back,” I whisper.

He gently sucks on my bottom lip, making my knees go weak. “I don’t know the way,” he whispers.

“What?” I straighten and look at him in alarm.

He grins a devilish grin. “Just kidding.”

“Oh, you are going to pay for that one.”

He leads us back down the street, his arm firmly around my waist. “One can only hope.”

 

 

After we break open the new package of condoms he purchased earlier today, and manage not to make the old bed in our room squeak too much putting that condom to good use, Connor draws a warm bath and leads me to it.

I’m starting to feel a little raw from so much sex, but it feels good and I’m hoping we’re not done for the night. Judging by the way he looks at me as we settle into the tub, I don’t think we are.

I’m sitting between his legs, with my knees pulled up and my back toward him. Using a cup, he’s slowly pouring warm water over my hair, prepping it for a wash. Each time he pours the water, he gently runs his hand down my hair, from scalp to ends. It’s so gentle and tender and erotic. By the time he’s applied shampoo and is slowly massaging my scalp, my eyes are closed and I’m a helpless little puddle right there in the tub. The warm water is just covering my breasts. I’m wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and sensation.

“No one’s ever done this for me before,” I say, eyes still closed, arms wrapped around my knees.

“Really? Never?”

I shake my head lazily.

“Well I’m glad I get to be your first.” He plants a soft kiss on my shoulder.

I shudder and sigh. “We could do this all night.”

He brings his mouth close to my ear. “I have other plans for you tonight.”

I shudder again.

With hands covered in bubbles from my hair, he runs his hands over my shoulders and down my arms.

“Mmmmm.”

“Feel good?” He brings his hands back up my arms and over my shoulders to my back.

“Uh-huh.”

He caresses the length of my back, going under the water now. Still under the water, he curls around to my stomach before coming up and over my breasts.

I let out a slow exhalation. He slowly returns to my hair, gently rinsing the shampoo out. I drop my arms so I can put my hands on his calves. They’re soft and warm under the water, and I rub my hands up and down them as he rinses.

I rub his knees and up higher now to his inner thigh. He rinses and runs his hand down the length of my hair, setting the cup aside.

He wraps one arm in front of me, across my collar bone, and cups my shoulder gently. His lips are on my shoulder again. My hands rub his inner thigh and calves. His hardness bobs against my lower back. His other arm comes around my side and to my breast, as his lips move to my neck. I tilt my head to give him room. He sucks gently and my lips part in a sigh.

He gently pulls me back against his warm chest. The water curls around my breasts, my nipples popping above the water line and back down again. He runs his fingers down my chest and to my nipple, giving it a gentle pinch. Meanwhile, his other hand slides lower down my stomach, down to my mound.

I part my knees slightly, leaning my head back against his shoulder. His fingers gently separate my folds and the warm water rushes onto my clit. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers hotly in my ear as his fingers gently brush over my bud, the nerve endings sensitive from the orgasms I’ve already had tonight.

His hard cock is pinned against my back. Thinking about it inside me only gets me more aroused.

“I want you to fuck me,” I say, as he circles my bud, making me open more, pressing my thighs harder against his.

“I know you do.”

He pinches my nipple again, then squeezes me, all while gently brushing his lips along the sensitive skin on my neck.

“You will, right?” I ask weakly, angling my hips up slightly. His fingers curl down until they find my entrance and he presses two inside me. I let out a gasp.

“Oh, yes. But not till I’ve had my way with you here first.”

I move my hand higher up his thigh, wanting to reach behind me for him, but the angle prevents it. His hard shaft is digging into my lower back and I can only press against him more as I open as much as I can. He slides his fingers deep into me. My silky moisture is protected inside, making it easy for him.

I hook my arm around his neck, turning my head so we can kiss. His warm tongue slides over mine as his fingers slip out and return to my throbbing clit. He delves into me with his tongue, caressing my breasts and rubbing my clit in fast, tight, hard circles. I moan into his mouth, my tongue warring with his.

He continues on like this. Caressing and playing me, he knows just how to touch me so it’s the right amount of friction, making the most of the water.

Soon I’m gripping his knees, my head is thrown back on his shoulder, and I’m panting helplessly.

“That’a girl,” he whispers in my ear as the flush in my chest, climbs and climbs. The water is hitting the side of the tub in an agitated way as I buck my hips in small movements. He squeezes me and pinches my nipples, as the flat of his fingers strum perfectly over my clit.

I let out a whimpering cry, my desperation growing with the climbing pleasure. I cry out again.

“There you go,” he whispers behind me, the full length of his shaft digging into my back.

His fingers flying, I’m pressing hard against his thighs, needing so badly to open myself and yet feeling what the restraint is doing to me. It’s made the climb so slow, but so, so delicious.

“Connor,” I breathe, arching my back so my breasts come out of the water. The cool air rushes over my nipples.

“Yes,” he says tightly, his fingers moving faster, harder.

“Connor,” I bite out.

“Whitney.”

Oh, fuck.

My climax peaks, tearing me in two, stealing my breath. I whimper again and again, and Connor sucks on my neck, my earlobe, my shoulder and his fingers don’t slow.

My head flies forward and I tuck my chin hard against my chest as I ride it out. When I’m released and collapsing back against him, his hand cups my mound firmly and I pulse against the firm pressure of his fingers.

He lets me lie against him for a minute, head heavy on his shoulder and the sound of my panting filling the little room. His rod is rock hard against my back.

“My turn,” he whispers hotly in my ear, and I throb in anticipation.

 

 

We exit the tub and hastily dry off, just enough not to freeze. He throws his towel on the floor, then takes mine out of my hands and tosses it down too. When he takes me in a hot, hard kiss right there in the bathroom, there are still some droplets on our skin.

Now that I can reach it, I grab his cock greedily. I squeeze him in the center, again closer to the top, again cupping the tip. He moans in my mouth, grabbing my upper arms. I want to taste him, and am about to slide down so I can, but I don’t get a chance. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom.

I’m still flushed and throbbing from my orgasm, but I’m getting more wet at the thought of that cock inside me. He lays me on the bed, then goes for the box on the nightstand. As he rips the package and rolls it on, I lift one knee and lower my hand to my clit.

“Holy fuck,” he says, watching my fingers rub in circles. “Flip over.” He climbs onto the bed on his knees.

I do as he says and get on all fours, looking over my shoulder to watch him get into position. He grabs his shaft, and I feel it at my wet opening. He starts to come inside me and I drop my head in relief. It’s like I can’t get enough of this.

He slides in deeper, the different angle stretching me hard in completely new ways. I gasp and he freezes.

“Am I hurting you?”

I urgently shake my head no, scooting my hips back, asking for more. He slides the rest of the way in. I widen my knees slightly. He firmly grabs my hips and gets us going in a rhythm that makes my nerve endings hum all over. I’m rocking back to meet each thrust, wanting it deeper. Wanting it harder.

I bite my lip and glance over my shoulder. His chest and ab muscles are hard and defined. The view of his body down to his pelvis are such a turn on from this angle, I don’t want to stop looking. I’m bracing my arms hard against the mattress, trying to give as much resistance as I can to his movements.

“You like it hard?” he asks. I nod urgently.

Grabbing my hips more firmly, he yanks me back against him and thrusts into me so hard that I drop my head to the mattress and desperately grip the sheets in my hands. “Yes,” I choke out, but I don’t know if I said it loudly enough for him to hear. I can barely breathe. Every thrust causes a pulse of pleasure to radiate out from my center. His stiff cock is stretching me almost more than I can handle and hurts so good.

I exhale in hard, sharp gasps as he pounds a mind-splitting climax right out of me. I’m crying out, my open mouth pressed into the mattress, and arching back on him. As my orgasm rips through me, he comes, pulsing inside me. His groans and sporadic thrusts only make me come harder.

It lasts so long, I’m left gasping for air when it’s done. My blood is pounding in my ears and my heart is trying to break out of my chest. I sink heavily onto the mattress and he sinks heavily onto me, cock still wedged firmly inside.

“Oh my god,” I say, as he kisses my shoulder in between pants.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Not,” I protest, slowly catching my breath. The pulses in my body are morphing into a sweet, throbbing afterglow. “I’m good for at least ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”