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Hunter And The DancerChapter 10 free porn video
A WEAK LIGHT ANNOUNCED dawn. Three hours sleep wasn’t enough to recharge my batteries.
Callie was pressed against me. Facing each other, my arms held her, her knee resting between my legs. Her face was nestled into my neck, one arm over my waist. Her scent filled my lungs.
She was asleep.
For a few minutes I indulged myself. I didn’t get to hold a female very often and had forgotten how pleasant it was; another warm body close to mine.
Somehow, through the night, my mind must have been active. Callie, as their target, whoever they were, must know something and I needed to know what it was.
Callie stirred, her arm tightening around me. As she woke up, she eased her face away from my neck. Beautiful pale blue eyes opened, framed by sleep-mussed hair. She didn’t move, just studied me intently, her eyes moving to each of mine, then down to study my mouth.
Out of the blue, she kissed me, her lips warm and silky soft, a gentle, not-quite-chaste kiss that rocked me to my toes.
Extracting herself from my arms, she went to the bathroom, not one word spoken.
Was it transference that made her kiss me? Was it the emotional storm she was going through? Even more troubling was my reaction. Being kissed by a fifteen-year-old should have shocked me. It definitely shouldn’t have felt so good! But it did. Why?
Now restless, I rolled off the bed and paced, my mind racing. Passing the tiny bathroom, I heard sobbing. Without hesitating, I opened the door to find Callie sitting on the tiled floor, arms wrapped around her knees, her face hidden.
Something broke loose inside me; compassion, and surprising me, affection. The bathroom was very small. Nevertheless, I sat on the floor next to her and put an arm over her shoulders.
“You’re not alone, Callie. I’m here and I’m staying for as long as it takes.”
She melted, leaning against me. “It hurts so much,” she whispered. “Dad...” her voice hitched. She breathed deeply. “Dad was all I had in the world.”
I had no words.
Twenty minutes later we were back on the road. Callie sat silently watching the scenery pass; lush green fields broken by deep forests of oak and elm and birch. We passed through small villages, no more than a main street with two or three stores and a café. Miles drifted by in silence. We passed to the east of Bordeaux, still heading south.
I had no plan yet. I wanted distance from Paris. Being on the road may have been riskier than hiding namelessly in a city, but I found comfort in the constant movement, running - action being better than inaction when threatened.
Clouds gathered in the distance and rolled towards us. As a spring rain shower hit, I finally spoke.
“Did your father tell you he was in danger when he visited?”
Callie shook her head.
“Did he tell you anything? Give you instructions in case something happened?”
She shook her head again.
“When you were alone with him, what did you talk about?”
I thought she was going to ignore me, her pause so long. The car tires hummed on a rain-drenched road, puddles of standing water spraying out to the side. Hard-working wipers swished back and forth, the road ahead clear, then spotted, then distorted, then clear once again.
“We talked about school. Dad told me he was proud of my grades and asked about dance school. We talked about you. He told me he wouldn’t replace you so I’d better learn get along with you.”
“That’s all?” I asked.
“Before he left, he told me he trusted you and I should too. He asked, for his own peace of mind, for me to do what you asked.” She brushed tears from her cheek. “He told me he loved me more than ever,” she added in a whisper. Her hand closed around the small gold locket at her neck, as if she could hold onto her father through it.
Approaching noon, my stomach reminded me I needed fuel, growling loud enough even Callie heard. A roadside café offered simple but satisfying fare. Their potage du jour was a rich, thick, cream of mushroom soup served with slices of crusty oven-fresh baguette. Callie picked at her food. I’d ordered steak and frites as a main course. The steak was thin but serviceable, the fries shoestring thin and crispy hot.
Callie, twirling a fry in her fingers, looked at me. I noticed a new toughness in her, as if she’d already rebounded from her sorrow. She stared at me, her eyes as icy blue as I’d ever seen. “I want you to find who did this to Dad and punish them, Lightfoot. I want them to hurt.”
“That might be a problem,” I informed her.
“Why?”
“Apparently, I killed him.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open, her face shocked. Mouth closing, a dismissive expression emerged. “That’s just stupid. You were with me the whole time!”
I nodded.
“So find out who and punish them.”
I sipped coffee. “To know who, I need to know why, and I haven’t a clue.” Glancing at the proprietor, I motioned with one hand, rubbing a thumb and two fingers together. He nodded and prepared the bill.
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