Chapter 19

Chapter 19

We found some temporary storage for some of his stuff, put some of it in my room, some in an outdoor shed; stacked some boxes in the living-room behind the couch and against the wall.

Then we went to town to get supplies at the building and hardware store. We could use the dirt on my land, and just add straw and water and an emulsion to it for the adobe bricks. Then we needed some tools, and some lumber for making molds and framing windows and doors.

We decided to make it freestanding, out near the garden. The fall weather was perfect for working outside, and we had lots of pleasant hours in the day to dig dirt, mix it with the other stuff, and pour the bricks.

Day after day, we poured, emptied, and laid the bricks out to dry in the clear desert sun. We were getting quite a collection of them--it looked like a red mud cemetery, all those blocks laid out in orderly fashion, row upon row.

When they were dry, we mixed up a mud mortar and began stacking them in the framework we had made. I loved the feel of the mud on my hands, pressing each block into its place, squishing mortar out around it, trimming it, forming and sculpting the room little by little.

I smiled at Jonah, working next to me. "It's going to be so beautiful," I predicted.

In the evening, we sat on the steps resting our arms on our knees, surveying our handiwork. We were beat, but it felt so good. I looked at Jonah, and he leaned in to kiss me. His mouth was warm in the cool evening air. We were grubby and dusty, but his lips were succulent and probing, and he explored the contours of my lips.

His dirty hands tugged at the buttons of my shirt, making little smudge marks on the material. Then he put his hands over my collarbone on either side, and I knew I would have matching paw prints on the shoulders, but I didn't care.

His tongue moved inside my mouth and his hands pulled me toward him, opening my shirt and crushing my breasts against his bare chest. His hand circled my neck, kneading it, moving up into my hair and massaging down the tight muscles there. With every stroke, he pressed me closer, his muscles strong and compelling.

I felt him pulling me in, like Alice, trying to go into the world on the other side of the looking glass.

We stopped kissing for a moment, and I looked around.

"Maybe we should move this to the bedroom," I suggested.

He shook his head. "Unh-unh."

He grabbed some empty bags, scattered them on the ground, took off his shorts and sat down. Then he motioned for me. I pulled off my shorts and sat in his lap, his erect rod resting against my belly.

We hugged and started kissing again, his hands moving restlessly over my back and pressing my breasts against him. Then he moved down, clasping my curvaceous rear, lifting it toward him. I moved my hips, sliding up and down his popsicle with my lower lips, pressing my feet against the ground and lifting up until I was poised over the tip.

I wiggled across it a few times, teasing, then sank down and sheathed him. He supported my buttocks so I could move up and down, pumping, drawing up to the head and plunging down again. He moaned, holding me tight, squeezing his eyes shut and frowning with the exertion. I moved faster as the sensations increased and the ratchet got slick and oiled.

I was bouncing really fast, laughing, pumping my quads as fast as they would go. My muscles were starting to burn, and I poured it on, like the end of the race, getting a second wind and fixed on the finish line.

The burning was in my center too. It flamed upward and spread outward, spilling through my groin as I squeezed and pushed, capturing it, fanning it out and pulling it in, until it reached the flashpoint. My pelvis jerked forward and my head flew back, and I clamped Jonah inside me, shuddering and convulsing. He gripped me, his fingers tight with involuntary tension, his body shaking with its own conflagration.

Then we panted until we were spent, and extinguished.

We dragged our sorry asses to bed, dog-tired after that. But after a welcome night's sleep, we were ready to lay more bricks. We built the walls up, framing the doors and windows in the right places. When the walls started getting high, I loved to sit in the room and look up at the sky. The sun beamed in during the day, and the moon made eerie shadows in it at night, and it felt like a kiva when I gazed up at the stars on moonless nights. I prayed to the gods to bless our home, our land, our love.

One night, we built a fire right in the middle of the room, in a little pit Jonah dug in the dirt. We lay on sleeping bags next to it, watching the flames eat up the gnarled wood and listening to the coyotes singing their wild, high-pitched songs in the grassy foothills at the edge of the valley.

Jonah nibbled my neck and sucked my cheeks, squeezing his fingers up the flesh of my back to the juncture between my shoulder and neck that always sent shivers down my back. I wriggled and squealed, the tingles snaking down my back, through my buttocks, all the way to my feet. I don't know why, but I had always had this pathway that connected my neck to the soles of my feet, as if I was some sort of puppet with a string stuck on both ends.

I laughed and squirmed, part of me wanting to get away, and the other part wanting more of this exquisite torture. Jonah had me captive, caught between the agony and the pleasure of his relentless fingers, sending their jolts up into my head and down the length of my body.

With one hand, he worked my neck, and with the other he reached between my legs, plunging his fingers in, bringing the tingles into the flesh there and sending them through my belly. That made me want his cock, which he was happy to oblige. He entered me, continuing to squeeze my neck and shoulder, making me writhe and lurch against him. I gasped and shrieked, ready to cry uncle. The intensity built until I was thrusting as hard as he was, and I grabbed the frenzy with throbbing contractions, pulling it in and in and in, until it swelled and broke, shattering into shards that slashed through all my innards.

Pretty soon, it was time to buy roofing materials. Tin made the most sense, though I knew it would be noisy when it rained. We went to the local building supply store, and picked out some nice tin painted a clay red color. That was going to look really pretty. We also got some lumber for the top of the wall and the beams where the tin would be attached.

It was really exciting nailing the roof on. But then, when I went inside the room, I missed the sun shining directly on me. It suddenly seemed so dark and closed in. "Oh well," I told myself. It couldn't stay open forever.

We put sleeping bags in it that night, and slept in the new workroom. I liked it so much in there--every inch had been built with love, and it was so cozy and nice surrounded with earthen walls--that I decided we should furnish it with a bed so that we would always have one available there, for sleep--or whatever.