Helena Ch 03 A Ride In The Mountains

Author's Note: Another section of my writing tribute to my friend and fellow Litster. There will be several segments of this, and they are written in chronological order, so it would be best to read them in order. I hope you enjoy it!

After FINALLY getting out of the cabin (It's your fault! You're just too sexy to take my hands off of!), I take you for a drive through the mountains, showing off our version of paradise. We drive through the loop in Cades Cove, where you get to see deer, turkeys, horses, a thoroughly disinterested coyote...and a black bear. Even from inside the Beast, you're a bit anxious, and your little mini-shriek when I try to call the bear closer is highly amusing to me. (They don't REALLY answer to "Yo! Bear! Come here!", and I'm pretty sure you know that, but...). Then we cruise down into Gatlinburg to have dinner. We take a little stroll along the main drag, in and out of the little shops, then slide into Crawdaddy's so I can introduce you to Cajun food (Well, it's not REAL Cajun, but it's pretty close for being several hundred miles from Louisiana.) It's not quite dark as we head back to Townsend, but then I know the roads ahead of us, so I want to get us home.

These roads, which cut back through the park, are beautiful during daylight, but even then, a driver has to keep his or her attention on the road. They aren't narrow, but occasionally a rock or a tree may fall and block part of the road until the Park Service gets out to clear it. They wind and climb and dip around the mountains, and streams often run along the side. At some points, the drop off is steep on one side, and on the other side, the mountains climb straight up, a stony face not a foot from the side of the road. At least it's not winter time, so there's no ice to contend with.

That means I don't get to put my hand over on your leg as much as I enjoyed doing all day, caressing your soft thigh, stroking a finger here and there...maybe wandering a bit higher on the straighter sections of road. I smile to myself, as the darkness grows, remembering your gasp as I slid my hand ALL the way up at one point, stroking over your panties for a few moments before that hand had to retreat to the steering wheel. I edged close a couple more times as we drove, but kept stopping just short of the treasure zone. I couldn't tell if you were relieved or frustrated; maybe both?

But now, winding our way back to Townsend, those moments are brought back to me. Mainly, because now I feel YOUR hand on MY thigh. I can only steal a moment's glance over at you, but that moment tells me in trouble, because that mischievous smile tells me trouble is afoot. Or should I say "aleg?"

I groan, because I know I am about to get a world-class teasing. And we still have a good half an hour to go, maybe a bit more.

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It doesn't take long to establish that this isn't just a comfortable placement of your hand. (As if I had any doubt) No, your fingers make innocent little circles, but each one gets a little farther up my leg. I don't know if it would be any better if I had pants on, but I can feel every inch of each slow circle, and although I can't look down, I am keenly aware the whole time of just how far your fingers are from my crotch.

Then I feel your hands move, and the next thing I feel is your hand, palming my bulging crotch, stroking gently over it, your thumb finding where the tip of that bulge is, and concentrating there. I can't help but look down.

"Eyes on the road, sir," you instruct me, that proper English accent doing absolutely nothing but making me harder. Your hand strokes over me a bit more, then to my dismay, leaving it, and traveling up a bit, searching for then finding the bottom of my T-shirt. I automatically tighten up as I feel your cool, smooth hand reach my abdomen, your fingertips trailing lazily up through my hair there. When your fingers reach my nipples, my breath catches. You have found one of my vulnerabilities. I can practically hear the smile form on your face as you realize you have discovered a way to thoroughly exploit me. 'I am in deep trouble here,' I think.

And I am right. It is fully confirmed when I feel your fingers close on my left nipple and squeeze. How on earth did you know this? But then, you're amazing.

You give a few more moments of delicious torture, then giggle as you sit back in your seat. I can only steal glimpses, but that's enough, because you're not subtle about what you do next. Pulling your dress up, and then your hand slides between your legs. I know you're looking at me even though my eyes are on the road; your stare is almost as tangible as the slick sounds I hear next. I can see motion out of the corner of my eyes. Then I see your hand coming near my face, and then I smell your scent. Your scent alone is enough to sway my judgement, but then you move your fingers to my mouth. I open and suck your fingers in, savoring your sweet taste. When I'm about to suck the skin off, you pull them from my mouth, making a wet popping sound as they escape.

"So, how much farther," you ask, in a teasing voice. I know what you're doing, you're taunting me. Will I pull over somewhere, perhaps at a parking area near a trailhead, and ravish you in the back seat of the Beast, one of your feet on the floorboard, the other over the back of the seat? Take you outside & bend you over, your hands on the bumper as I take you from behind? Or will I press on, another 20 minutes now, to take you in comfort and safety at the cabin?

I know you'd be happy with any of the above. Unfortunately, I know there's really only one choice.

I press the accelerator a bit harder, and I hear the V-8 growl a little later. It isn't enough, though, to drown out that rhythmic slick sound I hear starting up again.

Woman, you are in trouble when I get you home!