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In my forty-three years on this earth, I’ve never felt a rush quite like this. For the rest of my life, I’m going to remember how my stomach flipped when I saw her: the most stunning woman I’ve ever known, standing there in one of my sweaters and a hiking jacket, hair messy from the long trek. There’s mud on her boots and dew from the mist in her blond hair, but she’s perfect.
Her lips are frantic. She kisses me over and over again and her kisses don’t grow deeper. They just continue to multiply like she wants to touch as much of my skin as possible to ensure I’m real. I let her kiss me, and in the fleeting moments when her lips land on mine, I kiss her back.
My hands rival the urgency of her mouth while I fumble to undo her jacket. Sweater next. When I pull it off, she’s left wearing only a tank top with her breasts pushing against the thin fabric—exposed to the elements.
“Shit. Sorry,” I murmur before I hoist her off the ground and head to the tent where I wrestle with its zipper one-handed.
We both tumble into the tent and tug off our boots in synchronization, but it’s still not fast enough. Fuck bootlaces and our cold fingertips. We’re racing. Julia wins—of course. She finishes first and then stands to remove the rest of her clothes.
I lose track of what I’m doing when her bare breasts come into view. Jeans and socks go next. Her underwear. She’s stark naked, standing in my tent, and staring at me like I’m the dumbest man on the planet.
“Why have you stopped?” she demands.
Shit—I am the dumbest man on the planet. “Hurrying,” I assure her, and I practically tear my boot off my foot and stand to join her.
When I’m shirtless, her hands go to my body. Her fingers, typically perfectly manicured, look a little worse for wear like she chipped her polish on her way out here. They still look sinful. She drags her fingertips along my bare chest, breathing heavily while she watches me strip.
When I’m down to my boxer briefs, she wraps her hand around my cock, cupping it over the cloth.
“Julia,” I groan when she tightens her grip, the warmth of her hand making me even harder.
“If you ever,” she says slowly, dragging her lips along my neck. “If you ever deprive me of this cock again, I will make your life a living hell.”
“Do your worst,” I challenge before I lower her onto the sleeping bag.
Julia tries to wrestle out of my grip, twisting to get her hands on me. I pin her, holding her arms above her head. Her expression tightens, clearly displeased with this turn of events.
“What’s wrong? Thought you’d roll up to Montana, go on a few hikes like a little ranger, and take over?”
“Let me touch you.”
“I don’t think I will,” I respond before I capture her exasperated groan with my kiss. Our tongues twine together, seeking and desperate as the kiss deepens.
I reach over and blindly pat the space next to the sleeping bag until I produce what I want: the cord that usually keeps the tent bundled together. It’s a black nylon cord, rougher than I would have picked for the occasion—but fuck it. Julia prefers it this way.
Her eyes widen briefly when I break the kiss and she sees what I‘m holding.
“Safe word?” I ask before I sit back, still kneeling over her, to straighten the cord.
“Paris,” she answers, staring at the cord in my hands. “Although, I want to change it.”
I nod once, as if to say Go on. You know you can have anything you want.
“I’m thinking of using ‘Montana.’” There’s a wry smile on her face, and a surge of pride swells through me.
“Montana then. Use it if you need to.” I take her face in my hand, pinch her cheeks in my grip, and kiss her soundly. When she’s undulating, practically mewing for it, I take her wrists and stack them.
She knows exactly what happens next. Placidly, she watches me bind her hands together with the cord and then position her hands over her head.
I can’t resist kissing her, and I hold back a smile. I’ll be able to kiss her every day if I want. And I will want to, I know, because she makes me so happy. My girlfriend. My wife, one day. My fucking queen.
Unable to hold back, I trail down her body, scattering kisses as I go, until I reach her pussy. Tasting her never gets old, but I want her to see me on my knees for her. Bending, I give her a generous lick from her entrance to her clit.
The sound she releases above me sounds remarkably like a purr. Our eyes meet, and I find her staring at me, plump lips parted, and basking in her nakedness while her man eats her out. She looks amazing—exactly how a powerful, brilliant woman should look when she’s being fucked properly.
I would beg her if I had to. I’d plead and debase myself to enjoy this body. I’m lucky she lets me enjoy her for free.
“Please,” she mouths.
