Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(41)
It sounds plausible enough—hell, I did the same, choosing a college only two hours away so I could be close to the farm while I got my degree in Ag Econ—but there’s something about the way she doesn’t look at us as she answers that makes me think there’s more to the story than she’s willing to share right now.
She’s saved from me pressing further by Ben’s stifled yawn, and we abandon our bourbon for a shower and sleep. Ben surprises me by climbing into bed with us, folding Ireland into his big arms, and reaching out with one foot to touch mine like we used to do when we were boys sharing a bed. But when I stir in the middle of the night, I find Ireland in my arms instead, my foot encountering nothing but cool sheets under her tucked-up legs.
He still doesn’t trust himself to sleep with us the whole night through.
“…haven’t talked to them yet at all. I wanted to ask you first, of course.”
Ireland’s voice filters through my groggy brain, and I roll over to see her perched on the edge of the bed, her legs curled up beside her, a phone to her ear. Like this, the mouthwatering angles of her hips and ass are perfectly delineated by the morning sunshine pouring in through the window. I move closer to her and start shamelessly squeezing her curves and stroking her stomach. She ineffectively bats at me as she keeps talking.
“I’m so glad you like them, and we’re going back today, so I’ll take more. I think this is a much stronger pitch in the long run, but I’ll need to come back a few more times. I want to capture all the rebuilding efforts and stuff like that.”
I hear Drew’s voice on the other end, but I ignore it, busy exploring Ireland’s body and teasing fingers over her hip to the soft vee of her pussy.
She gives a delicious shiver, and her voice when she answers her boss is a little strained. “Yes, let’s make sure to add this to the meeting tomorrow. I want everybody’s feedback.”
They exchange a few more words before she hangs up, and I curl my hand possessively over my new favorite toy.
“You’re going back to Kansas City,” I say. I knew she’d have to, but I can’t fight the irrational urge to truss her up to my bed and keep her here at the farm forever.
She sighs and parts her legs enough for me to pet her cunt properly. “I’ll leave tonight, since my meeting is first thing tomorrow. I’m going to see if we can pitch a different angle to the Tourism Board. Rather than ‘farmers at work’ for Real Kansas, I want to show Holm. The citizens working together after the storm, grieving together and helping each other.”
I think of her pictures last night, of the goose bumps they gave me, and make an approving noise. “I like that idea.”
“So does Drew, so it’s really down to convincing the client. At any rate,” Ireland says, her eyes shyly glancing away, “Drew thinks I should sell some of the pictures too. He’s reaching out to his friends at some local and national papers now.”
“That’s wonderful!” I slide my arms around her and tug her even closer so I can reward this good news with more caresses and strokes where she’s growing wet and needy. “Your pictures should be in every paper, in every magazine.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to have sex with me again,” she mutters, but she blushes.
“No, I’m saying that and I want to have sex with you again. Now, I’m going to holler for Ben, and when he gets in here, I suggest you be ready.”
Watching Ireland leave is painful, even with as tired as Ben and I are from working in town all day. We each kiss her senseless before she climbs into the car, crowding her against the car door and taking turns with her lush mouth until we’re all breathless and she can barely stand.
“Come back to us,” I plead against her lips.
“You’re ours,” Ben says simply, and then he leans down and bites at her neck. She shudders against us.
“Yours.” She smiles. “I’m yours.”
She calls us every night, and for once, the internet connection at the farmhouse is strong enough for the three of us to use video chat for its best purpose—so she can see Ben and me stroke off for her while she leisurely fingerfucks herself. From her calls, we also learn the Tourism Board is thrilled about the new pitch and that the Kansas City Star has been running her pictures with the promise to buy more.
She awkwardly, adorably, asks if she can come visit this weekend.
“How about you move in,” Ben says.
She laughs, but I know he’s not joking. The time away from her has done nothing to dull our certainty that she’s our girl, the missing piece to our hearts, and every moment she’s away from us is painful. After she offhandedly mentions being able to work remotely, it makes it impossible not to dream and hope of a time when she can stay here always. But Ben and I agree not to push her too fast. We’ve had years and years to adjust to the way we like our love and our sex, but Ireland’s only had a week.
We can be patient. Maybe.
When she returns on Friday afternoon in her gravel-dusted Prius and with a fresh coat of lavender lipstick on that irresistible mouth, Ben and I are waiting.
She parks in the driveway and climbs out of the car, looking a bit shy, like she’s not sure what it will be like to be with us in person again. She’s wearing another pencil skirt, this time with heels and a clingy cardigan thing that shows off all my favorite parts of her breasts and stomach and waist. The pencil skirt hugs her tightly enough that I can easily perceive the inverted triangle of her crotch, and even though I was already hard with anticipation simply knowing she was on the way, seeing her in the flesh is like a kick of heat right to my dick. My balls tighten and my shaft swells even more, needing to be buried inside her at the first opportunity.