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As the canopy of branches overhead thickened, the underbrush thinned to ferns and carpets of needles over bared roots. The heavy branches dimmed the light. There was a silence that wasn’t quite silent, making her nerves flutter all the more.
“This should do.” He set the pack on a fallen log, then turned to sit where a split in the trunk was thick with bright green moss, forming a cushion. “C’mere.”
He drew her between his splayed knees and ran his hands up and down her sides.
She nervously set her forearms on his shoulders and encircled his neck, playing with his hair as she dipped her head and kissed him. Sweet lightning seemed to shoot through her, searing away any doubts. He tasted so good! Tangy and hot and she was immediately falling into that bottomless well again, the one that made her feel safe even as she thought she might be drowning.
When he lifted his arms, she dragged at his shirt, not wanting to stop kissing him, but she wanted to feel his skin.
Oh sweet Lord, the man felt like polished mahogany. Smooth and warm from his traps to his delts to his pecs. She squeezed and cupped the back of his head and sighed when his hands dove beneath her own shirt to seek out her breasts.
“Can we get rid of this?” His voice was raspy and sexy as hell. He drew back to look at her shirt bunched across his wrists. Her bralette had his hands trapped against her breasts and he was slowly massaging in firm circles, creating thick waves of yearning that rolled deep into her belly.
She pulled both shirt and bralette away, then suffered a stab of shy uncertainty. Her breasts were a modest B cup. Ivan had been very vocal about wanting her to have more up top, so she waited with dread for Trystan’s verdict.
He seemed arrested as he ran tickling fingers over the swells.
“So fucking pretty,” he whispered.
Her nipples were already hard, stimulated by the air and his grazing touch and the naughtiness of fooling around in public. But when he cupped one breast and leaned forward to lick her nipple, then blew softly across it, the sting was acute and otherworldly. She made a noise that was a sob of both agony and ecstasy.
He was even more blatant with the other one, circling his tongue around it, warming it and playing and capturing it in the heat of his mouth to suck until her stomach clenched.
Longing began to pulse between her thighs. She cradled his head, stroked his skin, bit back her gasps of near suffering even as she twisted, encouraging him to be as deliciously cruel to her other breast.
He wasn’t holding back his own gratified noises. Nor was he shy about letting his hands roam her back or ass. His long fingers went up the legs of her shorts, cupping the backs of her thighs while his fingertips stretched to tease against underwear he must feel was already damp.
“Take ’em off?” he tipped his head back to ask. His eyelids were heavy with arousal, his voice sounding as though it resonated from the depths of his chest.
She nodded and he unbuttoned and unzipped, skimming them off her hips with her underwear.
She had never been naked outside. Topless at a pool, yes, but never fully nude so she could feel a cool breeze graze her exposed lips and damp curls. Oh God. She hadn’t shaved or waxed in months.
He didn’t seem to care. He ate up her whole figure from navel to the feet she stepped out of her shorts, then slowly his gaze climbed up her legs, hips, bush, belly, breasts, collarbone. Then he looked deep into her eyes. The lust in his gaze was so undisguised, her pussy clenched with need.
“Okay?” He had one hand on her hip. The other splayed inward so his thumb could trace the crease at the edge of her mound.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He shifted his touch to part her folds. When the pad of his thumb grazed her clit, she jolted.
“Tell me it’s okay, Clo.”
“It is,” she moaned, eyelids fluttering closed. She could practically feel the whorls of his thumbprint, her clit was so swollen and sensitive.
“Would you rather have my tongue?”
Her strangled response must have conveyed a yes because he wrapped his arm around her hips, dipped his head at an angle and began the most sinful assault against her.
This was… He was… She couldn’t form thoughts. Each lick was like a shot of brandy that seared into her blood, leaving fingers of tingling pleasure radiating outward.
He drew back long enough to guide her foot to a spot beside his hip on the log, spreading her open to him and nature and the world. He stuck his finger in his mouth, wetting it, then probed gently. He sought her soaked channel and penetrated deep. They both moaned.
“Fuck, you’re hot.”
She didn’t know if he meant that literally or figuratively, but he was licking at her again, fucking her with his finger, and she had never been so aroused without coming in her life.
“Trys. I think—” She didn’t want him to stop, but she really wanted his cock inside her. “I’m really close,” she moaned. “I want you to fuck me.”
