The Hunt

Information

In the Ford Explorer's nocturnal journey, a trail of dust lingered behind us, obscuring the road as Raven and I traveled from Chattanooga to Nashville. Amidst the dim glow of the dashboard, the silence was finally broken by Raven's inquisitive voice.

"So, who are we looking for?" she queried, cutting through the tranquility.

My response lingered, a weighty pause preceding my words. "We're not looking for anyone right now; we're just here to ask questions at this university," I stated, wrestling with the secrecy surrounding the chief's missing daughter.

Raven pressed on, seeking clarity. "Okay, what kind of questions are we supposed to ask?"

Annoyance seeped into my voice as I grappled with the constraints of confidential information. "When you decided to come with me, you realize I can't tell you everything. Some questions you're asking, I can't answer truthfully."

An upset Raven retorted, "I'm your wife; you can tell me everything; since when do we keep secrets?" The weight of unspoken tension settled in the car.

Silence enveloped us, prompting me to seek a diversion. Turning on the radio, Morgan Wallen's "Whiskey Glasses" reverberated through the vehicle. The timing felt either coincidental or deliberately chosen, judging by the irritation on Raven's face as she opted for earphones to drown out any semblance of negligence.

As Raven succumbed to sleep, the landscape outside morphed. Passing an old restaurant, memories flooded my mind—recollections of moments shared during courtship. I revisited it, opting for a more comfortable hotel stay than my usual choice, considering Raven's comfort. Arriving at a charming hotel, the receptionist efficiently handled our check-in. Carrying our luggage to the room, I absorbed Raven's amazement, tinged with a hint of cockiness.

Amidst our charged exchange, Raven remarked, "And you said it wasn't a vacation."

I assured her, "It's not. I'd rather my beautiful wife not be in the conditions I'm used to, so I got us a better suite."

Raven, with a playful glint in her eyes, teased, "Don't sweet talk me into getting some play tonight," biting her lip, delighted by my consideration and fostering a glimmer of hope.

Reading her cues, I suggested, "I'm sure you're hungry. I saw a Stokes down the road from here." Her eyes lit up, nostalgia flooding back from our youthful love days.

"We haven't been there in forever," Raven admitted, "but I would rather have something else for dinner."

Approaching me, she grabbed my neck, locking lips with me. Our hungry kiss conveyed a sense of starvation for each other's touch. With purpose and delicacy, I lifted her, placing her on the bed, our tongues dancing in an unending rhythm.

She reaches for my shirt, signaling that it needs to come off, craving the skin touch of my body. I take it off for her; she removes her own leaving her slight nipple slip and escaping the bra giving me access to grab it out of her bra and suck it. Earning her sweet sounds of pleasure, begging for me to take it off of her, she unfastened the barrier, gave more accessibility to her treasures, and leaned back comfortably on the bed. She was allowing me to give each breast the dying attention that they were deprived of for so long, licking maliciously around each nipple and sucking to make it ever so sensitive. I slithered my hand into her shorts and rubbed my finger around her clitoris while massaging her breast with the other hand and sucking on her neck. More sounds of her arousal made me grow stiff, feeling my print on her stomach; I put a finger inside of her to test the moisture she was dripping in her own excitement. I added another finger, taking a break from her breast and watching her squirm with pleasure, taking a kiss from her; proceeding to investigate what I created in her moist flower. I removed her shorts and feasted on her as if I had starved, licking her so delicately but beastly; at the same time, the words didn't stop escaping her lips, and she climaxed early with no hesitation. I feel her juices dripping from my face tiringly. I lay on the bed and hinted at my pleased request for the same action; she unzipped my pants and uncovered my dick, seeing me held up so tall. She spitted on it and began massaging my shaft; it was a relief, but I hoped she would extinguish the flames of desire with her throat, but she hopped on top of me and let her pussy do all the communication required. I pant continuously, grabbing her hips and moving them to the rhythm she sings, bringing me to an intense climax; she jumps off before they end up parents of two.

In the serene aftermath of our shared intimacy, Raven and I opted for the warmth of our bed, gently surrounded by the tranquility of the room, the air carrying the lingering echoes of our connection. The following morning, infused with energy, I rose early, welcoming the dawn by drawing back the curtains, allowing the soft glow of sunlight to permeate the room and gently awaken Raven from her slumber.

"Rise and shine, gorgeous," I urged, the early morning light casting a gentle aura around us.

Raven, still yearning for more sleep, responded with a soft murmur, "Close the curtain."

Deterred, fueled by the determination for an early start, I pressed on, "We have to get an early start; the university is beginning morning classes."

Protesting the abrupt wake-up call, Raven muttered, "We don't have to get up this early."

Reminding her of our purpose, I insisted, "You wanted to come with me and help. Now wake up."

Reluctantly, Raven got up, her annoyance palpable. While content about our intimate moment, the anticipation of the tasks ahead cast a subtle shadow over her morning mood.

As we embarked on our journey towards the university, the landscape outside the window transformed—the morning sun casting a golden hue upon the surroundings, awakening the small town with a quiet vibrancy. Ascending the grand staircase of the university, we entered an enclave of academia, greeted warmly by the principal at the entrance, the architecture reflecting the institution's rich history.

"Good morning; how may I help you two?" The principal's inquiry resonated with the wisdom of the institution.

Crafting a tale of interest to conceal our true motives, I falsely claimed a desire to attend, while Raven's facial expressions betrayed the fabrication. Discerning the unspoken truth, the principal, with a gracious demeanor, directed us to the school's website, as tours were currently unavailable.

Exiting the bastion of knowledge, our path intersected with Lisa, an older woman enjoying a cigarette outside. The subtle aroma of coffee and distant sounds of students filled the air as I, exuding confidence, approached her, and Raven joined the encounter. "Excuse me, do you know anything about a kid named Greyson Matthews?" I inquired, the surroundings echoing with the ambient sounds of academia. Lisa, skeptical, exhaled smoke, prompting a query about our intentions.

"Are you talking about Amelia?" Lisa inquired, her gaze shrouded in skepticism. I confirmed, and Lisa, while continuing to smoke, hinted at surprises about their relationship. The backdrop of the university campus, with its historic buildings and bustling students, provided a unique setting for the unfolding revelations.

Sensing intrigue, I questioned if they had broken up. "I'm surprised they are still together," Lisa remarked, her words echoing against the architectural backdrop. Probing further, I asked if they had indeed parted ways.

Lisa, glancing around cautiously, unveiled a tale of the Valedictorian's temperament and his relationship with Amelia. "The Valedictorian boy was a hothead, especially with Amelia. Greyson Matthews was one you didn't want on your bad side," she explained, the ambient sounds of the campus serving as a backdrop to the revelations.

As Lisa extinguished her cigarette, casting a glance signaling the end of our conversation, the background noise seamlessly merged with our contemplations, leaving Raven and me to ponder the complexities of Greyson Matthews and his ties to the university amidst the academic backdrop of history and ambition.