Page 64 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“I’m going to fill this pussy up. All day, I have dreamed of seeing your pretty pussy full of my cum. Imagined you in my bed, pussy dripping and full.”

Well, damn. Now I like that, too. “Dripping and full on the table will have to do for round one,” I pant, ribs starting to ache from their ride against the table.

“Round two later?”

“Mmhmm. In your bed. One full, dripping girlfriend.”

“Is that... Is that a kinky thing? That I like seeing you full of my cum?”

How this man sounds so innocent, so sweet, and so filthy at once is a miracle, and it’s all mine. “It’s perfectly kinky, baby.”

“Good.” Gordon lets out a deep, roaring bellow that I’ve never heard, slams into my still-spasming pussy, and empties inside of me.

When I can breathe again and my ears stop ringing, I slowly straighten up. “Wow. What a welcome.”

“Yes.” Gordon nods proudly. “Welcome home. You did say yes when I asked you to live here with me, didn’t you?”

I think back. Since my brain has been short-circuited by my first-ever squirting orgasm and a primal side of my hot firefighter, I’m going to have to trust Gordon on this. “Uh. Yes. I think so.”

“When your lease on the apartment is up, maybe?”

“Well... That’s next month.”

Gordon’s eyes light up as he scoops me into his arms. “Perfect!”

I smile as he carries me to his rustic, old-fashioned bathroom. “Yeah. It is.”

The night is perfect. I teach Andrea to fish. She teaches me to sing an old song she learned in Girl Scouts, a camping song, she calls it. We fish, sing, and catch a brook trout that’s big enough for both of us, and we eat outside with fireflies and a roaring fire in the old rusty barrel that’s cut in half and serves as my brazier-firepit.

Fire doesn’t bring back bad memories for either of us, it seems. Not as we spread a blanket out and watch the flames get low. Not as Andrea shivers and snuggles closer. Before long, she climbs into my lap, now in comfy cotton shorts and a t-shirt that shows a globe with a music staff circling it. She’s wearing my earrings. She takes pictures of us together, faces lit by firelight, our smiles wide, and eyes bright.

“I look happy,” I whisper when she shows me the photos.

“Me, too. You know... You know, I don’t think I can leave Pien Ridge now. Not unless you were leaving, too.”

I swallow suddenly. “Do you want me to leave?” I ask. “To go back to your hometown with you?” I can’t imagine living in a busy, crowded city, even if falling in love with Andrea has changed so many things about my life in a short time.

“No. I mean, I’m staying. I’m living here, with you. Probably in this cabin.”

“I’m going to build onto it. And I’m going to build a swingset for the baby. And a big outdoor play area for the cats.”

“Baby? Cats?”

“Our son and daughter,” I confess with a yawn. “And Chopin, Beethoven, Brahms, and Liszt. We can call her Lizzy for short.”

“That’s actually longer.”

“I don’t care.”

“You planned out a whole future, huh?”

“Well,” I try to remember what I learned about dates. “A good boyfriend plans one night. A good man should plan many nights. But, as always, he should ask his girlfriend what she wants. Although, I suppose that would mean I was no longer a boyfriend. I would be a husband.”

Andrea goes still in my lap. Goes quiet.

That’s not good.

“Or not,” I whisper, pulling her hair back, tucking it over her ear. Her hair with its uneven pieces from burns. Her earrings with the tiny white gold notes. My beautiful, perfect Andrea, who is already bearing little marks of life with me.