Page 62 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“Yes. Come home with me,” I whisper. Come home, and a home it will be.

Chapter Thirteen: Home

Gordon’s cabin is something out of a 1950s advertisement for camping in style.

Timbered sections of wall, then fieldstone sections, and a big chimney. All one level. Woods sitting in a semi-circle surrounding the bright green lawn dotted with dandelions.

It’s not fancy, not at all. But it’s solid, and sturdy, and perfect. Like Gordon.

Gordon, who is pacing on the small wooden porch when I pull in. Then he’s at the side of the car, opening my door, and babbling. Legit nervous energy babbling.

Because he wants to impress me. Wants me to like this place.

Do I feel spoiled, special, and important?

Yes, and I could get used to it.

“Hi! Oh, good, you found it. This section of town is sort of... neglected. But I think it’s in for a revamping. No pun intended. No vampires here. That I know of. But... Uh. Yes. You wanted to camp, hike, and fish, right?”

“Riiiight,” I drag out the word suspiciously when Gordon leads me to the porch and points out two fishing poles and a small metal tackle box. “But that’s not going to happen tonight. Is it?”

“I don’t see why it couldn’t happen today and over the weekend. You bought your overnight bag?”

“I did. And Chopin has food and water in case I sleep over.” I’m so sleeping over.

“We can fish for supper, and then camp tonight. Come back tomorrow after work, and we can go on a sunset hike.”

“You’re planning dates. You realize that, right?” I slip my arm through Gordon’s with a smirk.

“That’s... Bad? Oh, because it sounds like I didn’t ask your opinion?” Gordon’s eyes narrow. “But you’re the one who said you wanted to do those things in the first place.”

“It’s not bad. The best boyfriends plan dates, and they plan them with the girl in mind.”

Gordon shuts the door behind us as we enter the cabin, and his body presses right to my back. His hands circle my waist, and he kisses my neck with a long, contented hum of happiness. “You are always on my mind, Andrea.”

Even though we only saw each other this morning, my body instantly craves his. This is that “honeymoon phase” that people talk about. I’ve experienced it before, but honestly, the sex and giddiness were nothing compared to this.

Probably because past lovers didn’t worship me the way Gordon does; they didn’t make it their mission in life to give me Os like we’re in an illicit tic-tac-toe game. “You were on my mind all day, too.” I wriggle my rear against his crotch and instantly feel the hard thickness of him indent my hip. His hands coast down my pink-and-yellow calico-print sundress, stopping at the hem, waiting for permission.

“Would you like... Would you like to see the bedroom?” Gordon asks, voice as stiff and thick as a certain other part.

I look around the room as I guide his hand between my thighs, bunching the skirt up so he can rub my needy pussy through the thin pink thong I’m wearing.

Faded green couch. Second-hand recliner (at least I think it is, based on the age and wear). A kitchen that flows into a dining area with a small round table, and not much else.

Gordon’s hand dips under the fabric, one wide finger finding my clit and then sliding it past it, lodging between my lips and slowly sliding inside the spot that’s permanently wet now, carrying hours of arousal and the remnants of Gordon’s cum.

“I think I want to see the table first,” I pant, pulling him with me until my hands slam down on the dark brown wood that’s polished to a gloss.

“Here?” Gordon’s voice pricks up with excitement.

“Here. In the bedroom. In any room.” I turn my head to capture his lips as his hips jam up against mine and my elbows give out, planting my torso and cheek against the table.

“Outside?” Gordon hisses. I hear his pants drop, and his strong hands part my cheeks.

“Kinky boy,” I tease. “Yes, outside. As long as we’re on a blanket. I don’t want bug bites in bad places,” I chuckle.

Gordon drops to his knees and buries his mouth between my spread legs, tongue teasing and swirling over my clit. “Kinky. What’s kinky to my Andrea? And does that mean not to do it?”