by Penny Wylder
I let her stroke me until I can’t stand it anymore, until I can’t wait any longer to finish what we’ve started. Then I catch her wrists, pin them once more, and position myself between her thighs, kneeling over her.
“Do you like it rough, Jenna?” I ask her, gaze steady as I watch her reaction.
She smiles, expression all challenge. “Fuck me as hard as you can, bad boy.”
I smirk, and reach for her hips with both hands now. “I hope you didn’t plan on walking straight tomorrow,” I say, and with that, I position my tip at her entrance. There’s a bead of precum on the tip, and she’s already soaked again, wet all over once more with desire. I press the tip of my cock against her entrance, and slowly, slowly, I ease into her.
She lets out a long, low moan, as I slide my cock inside her wet pussy, inch by inch. Her walls swell to accommodate my shaft, her muscles clamping tight around me as they adjust to my girth. I’m careful to take it slow, not thrust in all at once, not yet. I rock my hips forward in a gentle glide, deeper and deeper into her, as Jenna twists across my bed sheets.
Finally, I push the rest of the way in, fully inside her, and lean down along her for a moment, just buried there, as I kiss her neck, her jawline, her full, luscious mouth. Those lips of hers part for me, and it feels so impossibly fucking good to hold myself like that a moment, her pussy clamped around my dick and her mouth working against mine.
Then I draw back from the kiss, and start to rock my hips backward. “Rough, you say,” I murmur.
“Hard as you can,” she corrects, one eyebrow raised.
I pull all the way back out, and thrust inside her again, faster this time. She gasps and arches, but wraps her arms around my shoulders too, hard nails digging into my back, hard. She’s gonna leave marks. I don’t care. I fucking love when a girl isn’t afraid to make her presence known.
I find a rhythm, start to fuck her faster now, our hips smacking together with each thrust, my balls slapping against her pussy lips. She moves with me, thrusts her hips up into mine, arches them back to let me slide deeper into her pussy, until I almost feel the tip of my cock brush against her end with each drive.
Then, without warning, I grab her ass and lift her in my arms, off the bed. She cries out and wraps her legs around my waist, hands tightening on my shoulders.
“What the…” she starts, but doesn’t finish.
I spin to push her up against the wall, and fuck her like that, standing, driving my cock up inside her as her shoulders dig into the wall, and her spine arches toward me, to give me the right angle. I keep one hand gripping her ass, the other planted against the wall beside her ribcage for purchase, as I thrust into her again and again.
Her pussy feels so fucking tight around me, like a glove, the perfect fucking fit. I lose track of time, of the world around us.
There’s only Jenna. Only tonight, only this fuck. And goddamn, it’s the best I’ve had in a long fucking time.
Maybe ever.
I don’t think about that now. I just focus on her, on the little cries of pleasure she’s emitting, and the tightening at the base of my cock that tells me I’m getting close.
“Come for me, Jenna,” I tell her. “I want you to come one last time.”
Her face strains, as she arches her body backward, her hips forward.
I arc too, making sure my cock drags down her inner front wall, over that bumpy little G-spot I found earlier with my fingers. I fuck her harder, then, right across that, driving fully into her each time, until we’re both breathing hard, and every other breath I let out a growl of desire.
She screams again, mouth open, eyes half-closed, lost in the orgasm that’s hitting her. The moment her pussy starts to clench around me, convulsing with the force of her pleasure, I lose it to.
I thrust into her one last time, completely inside, and I come with another growl. I keep my hips moving, keep pumping into her, stream after stream of hot cum, until my dick starts to soften just a little. Only then do I step back from the wall, and Jenna lets her legs uncurl from my waist.
I set her on the floor, both of us sticky and coated with sweat. Her juices, mingled with my cum, run down the inside of her thighs, and her hair is a wild mess above her head, her face still red and flushed, eyes glazed over, as she recovers her breathing.
She’s never been hotter than she is right now. Freshly fucked and hot for me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and tug her onto my lap. She straddles me, so I can feel the wetness at her pussy too, dripping down onto my cock as it softens. But then she catches my face between her hands, pulls my lips to hers to start kissing me again, and I know my cock isn’t going to stay soft for long…
5
Jenna
I lose track of how many times I come somewhere around six or seven. When I wake up the next morning, in an unfamiliar, messy as hell bed, with an arm flung around my waist, it takes me a split second to remember where I am.
Only a second.
Then it all comes flooding back. Gil’s smile by the fire, his scent driving me wild. Us dancing, my ass against his hips. Then him carrying me back here, and the wild fucking night that ensued. We fucked three times, each longer than the last it felt. That last time… My cheeks go hot, recalling how he bent me over in the shower. My ass against his hips again, but way more intimate than the dance floor.
I steal a peek over my shoulder to find him still asleep. With his eyes shut, and his whole face relaxed, he looks vulnerable. Something he definitely didn’t seem last night, tossing me around his room with ease as we fucked. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love it rough, and he gave me all that and more. But I didn’t expect to see him like this in the morning. In my mind he was all muscle and brawn and badassery. Now, I’m catching a glimpse of another side. A softer side.
I don’t hate that either.
I watch him sleep for as long as I can plausibly get away with before I start to worry it might be creepy. Then, with difficulty, I raise the arm he had draped over me, and slip out from beneath it. It gives me a pang of regret to leave the warm bed, a bed that still smells like him, like sex, like everything we put the poor box springs through last night.
Then I pad out to the kitchen and peer blearily at the clock.
Shit.
11:15am. I knew we were sleeping in—by the time we finally collapsed last night, I heard birds chirping outside, and caught glimpses of dawn light against the curtains. But I thought I’d hear my alarm before now, since I had it set for 9am. My phone must have run out of power.
Sure enough, after some digging, I find it in my jeans pocket, totally dead.
It’s not the end of the world—I got a lot of good shots yesterday from the festival. But there were morning events today my boss specifically asked for photos of. Some sort of tradition with a May pole dance—not the sexy type of pole dancing, the kind with old-fashioned dancers who weave streamers around a big pole. Though the streamers and the big pole are still symbols of a fertility ritual, so, make of that what you will.
Then there was a big breakfast buffet with champagne and strawberries, and something about an apple-bobbing competition for children, which I thought would’ve been cute to get pictures of.
So much for all that.
I rub sleep from my eyes and dress back in the same clothes I wore last night. Last night they looked cute and casual. Today they look rumpled and walk-of-shame worthy.
Dressed again, I take one more look at sleeping Gil, and I set about making breakfast. Least I could do, after all his hospitality.
Most of that hospitality involved making me come, but still. Counts.
The fridge looks even more bachelor-esque than most of Gil’s pad. All I find inside are some eggs, bacon, plain white bread, and what looks like a day old cup of coffee. I throw out the latter, and start frying the bacon, planning to cook some eggs afterward in the grease.
While that’s cooking, I dig out the coffee pot and start that as well. It’s bubbling
away happily by the time I finally catch sounds stirring from the other room. A few minutes later, Gil shuffles to the door, yawning and stretching his arms out wide. He’s dressed only in boxers, and my eyes linger on his chest and his abs, tracing every line of his body, memorizing him, until he lowers his arms to take me in.
Then I look away fast, pretending I wasn’t just mesmerized. It’s good not to show too much interest right off the bat, after all. “Morning, sleepyhead,” I say.
“Bacon and eggs?” he asks, sniffing the air.
“It looked like just about the only food in the house,” I reply, with a smirk. “Aside from all the steaks in the freezer, that is. How do you take your coffee, by the way?”
“Black,” he says, with a glance at the coffee pot, his eyebrows rising farther. “Hope you don’t mind that either; you won’t find any sugar or milk in here.”
“Fine by me.” I smile over my shoulder at him. “Have a seat,” I add. “I’ve got this.”
He still hesitates in the doorway, looking at me like he can’t quite understand where I’ve appeared from. “I’m used to making my own breakfast,” he finally says, though he does listen and cross over to the table to sit.
“I can tell. When was the last time you had actual food in here?” I tease.
“It’s spring,” he says, as though that explains everything. I stare at him like a crazy person. “The garden hasn’t picked up yet,” he explains. “Normally I’ve got fresh tomatoes, cucumber, eggplant, zucchini, about a million different herbs and spices…” He goes on listing vegetables, and I laugh and shake my head.
“All right, so sometimes you do eat,” I admit. “But you should shop for regular groceries in the winter you know.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “The venison suits me fine.”
“That’s venison steak?” I practically squeal.
He laughs in response. “City girl. What, you’ve never caught your own dinner?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “You’re a regular mountain man, congratulations.” I finish frying the first round of bacon, quickly fry an egg, then spoon the whole lot onto his plate. “Here, eat up, before you go out to kill your next meal.”
“Hey, better that than buying a ton of food I don’t need, with no idea where it came from, and letting things go to waste. Living off the land is more sustainable.”
“So did you actually hunt the deer in your fridge yourself.”
“Well, it was a team effort. Me and a few of my local buddies go hunting a couple times a year. Stock up our deep freezers. That’s dinner for most of the winter months.”
“Isn’t it creepy though? Killing an animal?” I tilt my head as I set more bacon into the pan.
“Are you a vegetarian?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Well, no, but…”
“Then you kill animals too,” he points out. “You just don’t actually see them die.”
I glance back at the bacon frying in the pan, suddenly a little less excited about eating it. But I get what he means.
Again, this man is surprising me.
When my own breakfast is ready, I slide it onto my plate and step over to the table. Only then do I realize Gil has been waiting for me this whole time, to start eating. “Eat already,” I scold. “You’ll let it get cold.”
He laughs, but digs in when I say, and for a while, we eat together in companionable silence.
Eventually, I take a sip of coffee and steal a glance at him from over the rim. “So, you’re the eternal bachelor type, hmm?” I guess.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
I snort. “I mean living off venison, in a tiny hand-built cabin in the woods, no feminine influence for miles around. You just, seem like you’re the single type. You know. Like you’re not into the whole wife and family life.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Not really. Kids are too much work. But there have been plenty of women passing through here. Just, I never ask them to stay long enough to make a difference to the atmosphere.” He waves a hand vaguely. “I guess that’s why it’s not very feminine in here.”
My heart sinks in my chest.
That surprises me. Last night, I’d been all about the fucking, to be honest. From the moment I saw Gil, I wanted him to ride me. He did, all that and then some. It was fantastic, really, probably one of the best hookups of my life. Maybe the best. But it was just about sex.
Wasn’t it?
I study him now, chowing down on the food I cooked. “Did you ever want a woman to stay longer?” I ask, not even sure why I’m pressing this with a random hookup, a guy I’ve known for one night. “Or do you prefer casual flings?” I add, so as not to sound like a total crazy woman. Barging in here, fucking him, then grilling him on whether he wants a wife and kids.
He shrugs again. “Yeah, casual is my speed.”
“Cool,” I say. My cheeks flush. “Uh, mine too, I mean. You know, city girl, I love a hookup!” My voice sounds funny, even to my ears. I clear my throat and hope he didn’t notice the way he’s getting me flustered. “Anyway, um, I have to take some more photographs in town.” My ears feel hot, like they’re turning red. “I’m here until tomorrow, though, so…”
He looks up at me, expectant.
I clear my throat again. “Well, if you wanted a casual repeat, I wouldn’t… I mean, I had fun last night…”
“Me too, Jenna,” he replies, earnest. “A hell of a lot of fun.” For a moment, gazing into those icy blue eyes of his, I’m sure I haven’t misjudged him. There’s more to Gil than meets the eye. More than just a hot fuck, too—though he is that, for sure.
Then he breaks eye contact and picks up his now-empty plate, heading for the sink. “I have to work most of the day, though,” he says, without looking at me. “And after that, unfortunately, I’ve got client meetings all evening. I build custom furniture, so, the festival is pretty much the busiest weekend I ever have.” He starts to say something else, but I cut across him, taking the hint all too easily.
“Of course. I can only imagine how busy it must get, yeah.” I laugh, and cringe inwardly. I push back my chair, even though there are still a few eggs on my plate cooling. “Speaking of busy, though, I have to work the rest of the weekend too, schedule’s pretty full, and I’m late anyway, so I should run. I’ll see you around, huh Gil?” With that, I snatch up my phone and head for the door.
“Wait, Jenna—” he starts, but I’m already wrenching open the door and stepping out into the friendly warmth of the midday spring.
I pause on the threshold to look back at him. My heart skips all over again, remembering last night, and my belly tightens. I fucked him. He was inside me. It’s difficult to believe it now, looking at his perfect body, his sculpted arms and sharp-boned, broad face. He’s out of my league, I’m sure of it. “Yes?” I ask.
He hesitates. Smiles, though it looks a little pained. “Hope you enjoy the rest of the festival,” he says.
“You too,” I tell him.
“I’m pretty sure nothing will top last night,” he replies.
Then, not sure how to respond to that, I force another awkward smile. “Same.” With that, I shut the door between us and sever any little connection that might have been starting to form.
For a second outside, I squeeze my eyes shut and bend at the waist, frustrated with myself, though I don’t let myself groan aloud like I normally would. Dammit Jenna! He was hot as fuck.
But I said I was here until tomorrow, and he said he’d be busy all weekend. I asked if he wanted a casual repeat, he changed the topic. I can’t moon around after the poor guy.
I didn’t come here to fall head over heels. I came for some fun, and I definitely got that, in spades. It has to be enough.
With that thought in my head, I force myself to walk away, back down the main road toward town.
The day at the festival passes in a blur. I catch a couple glimpses of Gil, once while I’m taking photos of a pie-baking award ceremony, and again when I, much to my sha
me, purposefully walk past the sellers’ tents and spy on him from behind a clothing reseller.
“Can I help you?” the surly woman running the resale shop asks, squinting at me with suspicion, her voice deep and gravelly.
“Oh, just browsing,” I say, even though I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror and peeking around the sides of the mirror at a tent on the far side of the sales row.
The woman’s eyes narrow. “Browsing what, yourself?”
My cheeks flush. “Can I take a photo of your booth?” I ask quickly, to forestall any more awkward interactions. “I’m here taking photographs of the festival for the Philadelphia Gazette.” At the sound of my newspaper’s name, the woman’s expression clears, and her scowl lessens.
“Well, certainly, if it’s for the papers.” She proceeds to pose dramatically in several different locations throughout her little tent booth, and even recruits a few passing teenage girls to come model some jackets before the mirror while I snap photos.
At the end of that, I shake hands with her and head out, though not before stealing one last glance in Gil’s direction. When I look over, he’s looking my way too, and waves. I duck my head even farther, embarrassed to be caught staring, and beeline it away from the sales tents and back over to the area where the festival activities and traditions are taking place.
That night I go to bed early. Not just because I’m nervous about seeing Gil at the fire, or even worse, seeing him flirting with some other city girl, maybe his next hookup. But I also need the extra sleep because I’m plain exhausted. Staying up all night last night, not to mention all the physical activity, took its toll on me.
Gil was true to his word. Walking is difficult today.
I limp past the front desk of the hotel and catch my favorite receptionist on duty. He gives me a cheery wave from behind the desk. “How’s it going, Ms. Walker?”
“Great, great.”
“You enjoying the festival?”
