by M. Leighton
“If you unzip one and lay it out flat, we can zip the other one on top of it and make it a double,” I propose.
“Oh, that’s smart,” she says, moving to do what I suggested. “That way we can share body heat.”
“Yeah, if you say so,” I murmur.
She looks at me over her shoulder and grins. “Among other things.”
“That’s more like it,” I say.
With the bags set up properly, she turns toward me. “Now what?”
I don’t think she’s trying to be provocative. With Laney, I don’t think she ever really tries. She just is. Everything she does is sexy as hell and makes my dick as hard as a chunk of granite. My . . . appetites have always been pretty voracious, but with Laney, they’re even worse. I just can’t seem to get enough of her.
“I can think of so many ways to answer that question, but I guess we’d better get down to the river.”
“Whatever you say, Davey Crockett,” she responds pluckily as she bends forward to crawl past me. This time, I have to grit my teeth as she passes me.
* * *
It’s dark. Laney and I are sitting in front of the fire. She’s between my legs, leaning back against my chest. We just finished our hot dogs. “Those were for an emergency, you know. Just in case we didn’t get much out of the river.”
Laney shrugs. “How was I supposed to know it would bother me so badly? I told you I’d never been fishing. It’s not like Daddy is exactly outdoorsy.”
“But Laney, God put fish here for us to eat. People would’ve starved to death in the old days if the women were like you.”
She tilts her head to one side and looks back at me. Her eyes are big, soulful drops of sky blue that glisten in the firelight.
“Maybe they didn’t go. Maybe their men just brought them back fish filets to throw in a skillet and cook.” She nods as if that explains it all.
I shake my head and sigh. “Maybe. All I can say is thank God for hot dogs.”
She grins and rests her head back against my shoulder. “Thank you for throwing the fish back.”
“I think it’s weird that you’d rather eat Porky Pig than a damn cold fish, but . . .”
“I didn’t have to catch and kill Porky Pig. That’s the difference.”
“You’re such a girl,” I say mildly.
“And you’re such a guy.”
“Damn straight.”
“But that’s the way it’s supposed to be. The men are the ones who are supposed to be okay with doing these heartless things. The women are the ones that stay back at camp to patch up skinned knees and dry tears.”
“I can see you doing that.”
“Can you really?” she asks, looking back at me again.
“Definitely. Sometimes I get the feeling you’re trying to do that to me.”
“Do what to you?”
“Patch me up.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“No. I just don’t want you wasting your time on a project like me. Some things can’t be fixed, Laney, no matter how much you wish they could.”
“Maybe you just need to let someone try.”
“You think?” I respond casually, looking away from her eyes.
“I do.”
“Well, if you wanna know what I think, it’s that we need some marshmallows. What say you?”
Her lips curve into a smile, but it’s a sad one.
“Marshmallows sound good.”
The mood is a little somber as we peel down the tips of the green sticks we used to roast our hot dogs to make way for marshmallows. Several times, I find myself glancing over at Laney, watching her fingers work, admiring how satiny her skin looks in the flickering light.
If I’m being honest, I know she’s developing feelings for me. I should’ve put a stop to this a couple weeks ago when I started suspecting. But the truth is, I didn’t want to. Still don’t. Why? Because I’m a selfish bastard.
It’s been so long since I’ve let anybody get close to me. And now that I have, I find myself wanting to enjoy it for a while, whether it hurts her or not.
But that’s not fair to her. It’s not her fault I’m this way. And, ultimately, she shouldn’t have to pay the price for it.
As Laney eases her stick into the fire, letting the marshmallows hover just above the flame, the metaphor is not lost on me—her getting too close to the flame, her in danger of getting burned. Badly. I know what she’s doing. And I know I should stop her. And I will.
Just not yet.
I reason that she’s not past the point of no return yet. I’ve still got a little time to enjoy what we have before I have to make my move.
And enjoy it I will.
One of Laney’s marshmallows catches fire and she jerks back her stick, blowing the flaming blob until the fire is doused. Gingerly, she picks off gooey globs of sticky sugar and plops them in her mouth.
“To never have been camping before, you sure have this part down pat,” I observe, smiling as she licks white cream from her fingers.
“Any kid who’s ever been near a fire of any kind has roasted marshmallows.”
“Ahhh, so you’re an old hand at it.” She nods and smiles. “Obviously you enjoy it.”
“They’re made of sugar. And they’re melty. What’s not to love?”
I stare at her beautiful face, the one that matches what seems to be a beautiful soul.
What’s not to love, indeed.
A big blob drops off Laney’s stick and hits the front of her shirt. “Awww,” she whines, picking at it to salvage what she can. “I hate to waste even one bite.”
Before I can even suggest it, as if reading my mind, Laney lays her empty stick to the side and slips her shirt over her head. Her bra is the color of the setting sun and, in the soft light, makes her skin look like it glows.
Within a fraction of a second, my body is as hot as the fire I’m sitting in front of.
A month ago, she would never have done something like that. Hell, a couple of weeks ago she wouldn’t have done something like that. She’s come a long way.
Where has the time gone? And how can I get some of it back?
When she’s finished picking marshmallow from her shirt, I catch her before she can put her shirt back on. “I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her. “I’ll share some of my marshmallows with you.” She’s paused with her arms half raised above her head and she’s peeking at me over her hands. “On one condition.”
One of Laney’s eyebrows rises, something she’s just started doing. Something that drives me wild. “What’s that?”
“I get to feed them to you. But I’m messy, so you’d better take the rest of your clothes off.”
Even in the low light, I see her pupils dilate. She doesn’t answer me. She just lowers her arms. Slowly.
At first it seems she isn’t going to answer me at all. But then, with her eyes locked on mine, she stands to her feet and reaches for the button on her shorts. She unbuttons then unzips them.
Very deliberately, very carefully, she wiggles her hips back and forth as she slides the khaki material down her long legs. When she straightens, I see that she’s not wearing any panties. She must not have put any back on after she changed out of her wet clothes earlier.
I get hard immediately.
“Where do you want me?” she asks, her expression the picture of innocence.
I pat the ground beside me. “Right here. You’ll stay warm near the flames.” Gracefully, Laney steps toward me then sinks down to the ground. “Lie back,” I tell her.
And she does.
I hold the stick of marshmallows over the flames for a few seconds to make sure they’re nice and hot before I dip my finger into one. The crispy outer shell gives way to a hot, sticky center that coats my finger. I trace it over Laney’s bottom lip. “Lick.” I watch the pink tip of her tongue sneak out to snatch the sugar from her lip. My mouth waters. “My turn,” I tell her.
I get some more marshmallow on my finger
and I drag it from her chin down to the valley between her breasts. I bend my head and use my lips and tongue to lick her skin clean.
“Mmm, delicious,” I say when I raise my head and meet her eyes. Laney says nothing, but I can hear her short, heavy breathing. She’s excited. And when she’s excited, I’m even more excited.
I scoop some more marshmallow onto my finger and hold it to Laney’s mouth. “Open,” I tell her. Wordlessly, she parts her lips. I slip my fingertip inside. It’s all I can do not to strip and dive right into her when I feel her suck on it and swirl her tongue around the tip.
With my eyes locked on Laney’s, I reheat the remaining marshmallows. After a few seconds, one catches fire. I hold the stick up to Laney’s lips. “Blow.”
Obediently, she puckers her lips and puffs out the flame.
“My turn again,” I state, leaning forward to hook my finger under the edge of her bra strap and tug it down. When one button-like nipple is exposed, I pierce the browned marshmallow and dip my finger inside, transferring the warm gooeyness onto Laney’s nipple. I hear her gasp at the heat of it. I look up at her face and see her eyes drift shut in ecstasy. “So sweet,” I whisper as I bend over her to suck away the sticky sugar.
When I straighten, Laney opens her eyes and looks at me. Her lips are parted, and I’d be willing to bet if she were wearing panties, they’d be soaked.
“Where else can I put some?” I ask.
I see her pearly teeth sink into her bottom lip and I suppress a growl. I tighten the hold on my libido. I want to draw this out a little longer. No matter how much it hurts me.
I smear a shiny, white streak down Laney’s stomach to her navel, where I deposit a blob of cream. Leaning forward, I lick the trail and then lap up every last bit of marshmallow from her belly button.
Her stomach trembles as I lick a little lower. My cock jumps in response. She knows where I’m headed next. She knows what I’m going to do. And she’s practically vibrating with anticipation.
Straightening, I put the stick in the fire once more. I heat the remaining marshmallow. When the outside starts to darken, I remove it. I blow on it until it cools enough that I can handle it. And then I stick my tongue right into the hot center. It burns, but not enough that I can’t tolerate it.
Bending over Laney, I nudge her legs farther apart with my elbow and run my sugar-coated tongue between her folds, leaving a hot, sticky sweet trail all the way down the crease to her opening. The noise she makes is somewhere between a gasp and a moan. To me, it just sounds like a plea for me to continue.
“That’s it, baby,” I say, moving my lips against her, “you know I wanna hear you.”
I lave her slick flesh with my tongue, enjoying the sweet taste of marshmallow mixed with the sweet taste of Laney. I suck her clit into my mouth. She digs her fingers into my hair and holds me to her, her hips moving against my face. I push one sticky finger inside her. She’s warm and tight and so, so wet. I move it slowly in and out of her, in a rhythm that matches my tongue. I hear her start to pant, so I slide another in beside it. More aggressively, I penetrate her with my fingers as I lick her into a frenzy.
Her hips move in time with me, and when I feel her muscles tense, I thrust another finger in alongside the first two and slam them into her until I hear her cry out.
Laney’s voice echoes through the ravine below, my name bouncing back around us. But I’m not done. And neither is she.
Sliding my tongue down, I thrust it inside her, licking her higher and higher into her orgasm. My need for her is building.
I smell her delicious body, more mouthwatering than the marshmallows. I taste her natural sweetness, pouring onto my tongue and mingling with the sugar. I feel her everywhere—her hands in my hair, her legs brushing my face, her body writhing against my chest.
“Jake, please,” she whimpers softly. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.”
I lift my head and look at her. Her eyes are heavy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her nipples are puckered. Her lips are trembling.
I strip off my shorts as fast as I can and position myself between her legs. For a second, I feel frantic, too, but I make myself slow down.
I lean back on my heels, poised between her spread thighs. I look down as I rub the glistening head of my cock over her swollen lips. I tease the entrance and I feel her slippery cave clutching at me. I bite back a groan.
I glance up at her. Her chest is heaving with every breath she takes. She’s right on the edge of another one. And if I wait just another second . . .
I put my palms on the insides of her thighs and I push them farther apart, easing an inch into her. “Lean up,” I tell her. “I want you to watch.”
Laney levers her body up onto her elbows. I withdraw fully so she can see the light flicker off the wetness covering me. “See that? That tastes like sugar. You taste like sugar,” I say, slowly slipping the head back into her and rocking it in and out. She’s sucking at me, begging me to fill her up. “You’re all over my tongue,” I say, thrusting a little farther in. “I can still taste you.”
I look up at Laney. She’s watching me tease her, her mouth a silent O of pleasure, her eyes little more than slits as she struggles to keep them open. I pull out and circle my fingertip over the head of my cock then reach up and drag it over Laney’s bottom lip. I feel like I might explode when her tongue sneaks out and licks it off.
“So good,” I whisper. “I want you to see how good we are together.” I moan, straining to keep my strokes short and shallow. “I want you to watch me come inside you. I want you to feel it. Filling you up.” My control is slipping. “Filling you up and running back out.” My heart is racing and I can’t hold off much longer. “I want you to see the mixture of us dripping from my cock. Us. Together.”
Her face looks pained, but I know what she’s feeling—desperation. She wants this every bit as badly as I do.
Pulling her hips in closer to mine, I angle my body and drive as hard and as deep into her as I can. She takes every inch of me and her cry tells me what I can already feel.
She’s coming again. That’s all it took for her. She came undone. And with every spasm of her body around mine, I know I’m not far behind.
I watch Laney watching us, watching my thick cock crash into her over and over again. And then I feel it. It steals over me like darkness. It robs me of sight and sound for a few seconds, and all I can sense is the tension in every muscle of my body.
And then I’m coming. I spew into her, knowing she’s watching, and I love it.
I’ve never come so hard before. For a few seconds, I lose touch with reality. Like an animal, I arch my back and throw back my head and growl. I growl as I spill everything I have deep inside Laney.
As she watches.
I can feel it oozing out of her, all around me. And when I pull out, I can see it dripping off me. And so can she.
NINETEEN: Laney
I hear Jake get up, but I don’t feel like moving yet. Every inch of skin, every fiber of muscle, and every last nerve is supremely satisfied. My stretch is languorous, making me feel like a cat.
I lean up on one elbow to watch Jake climb out of the tent. Even if I weren’t attracted to him—which I am, and which I fear is becoming very dangerous for me—I could appreciate his beauty. His legs are long and muscular. His butt is hard and round. His waist is narrow and trim. His back is V-shaped and his shoulders are wide. And everything is covered in flawless, golden skin.
When he turns to look back at me from just outside the entrance, I see him from the front. I feel my cheeks flush when I look at him. I still can’t believe it’s that big. And that it fits in me.
But it does. Oh, how it does!
Chills spread down my arms and chest, and I feel a gush of warmth. I look quickly back to Jake’s face. He’s grinning.
“You’re very much awake now, aren’t you?”
I nod slowly, grinning broadly.
“Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
/>
I lie back and snuggle down in the sleeping bag, smiling happily as I listen to the sounds of the forest waking up. In the distance, I can hear the babble of the river, which reminds me that I actually have to pee.
Dang it!
Throwing on Jake’s big T-shirt, I slip out of the tent and find a place in the nearby woods that has a marked lack of poison oak. I see a fallen tree and head for it. It’s always good to have something like that close at hand. That way, if I lose my balance, I can reach out and grab it rather than falling onto the ground while I’m trying to pee.
I turn my back to the log and lift Jake’s shirt. Before I can squat, a sharp pain tears through the back of my left knee. I yelp, partly out of surprise and partly due to the discomfort.
I whirl around toward the fallen tree, looking for what assaulted me. I feel the blood drain from my face when I spy the beautifully patterned, rust-colored snake coiled inconspicuously on the back side of the log. Its head is still lifted and it’s facing me as though ready to strike again. Pain is radiating down the back of my calf already and all I can think, in total Jake style, is oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
I know virtually nothing about snakes, so I don’t know whether I should move or not, or how much trouble I’m in. I do the only thing I can. I yell for Jake.
“Jake! Help!”
My pulse is pounding in my ears and my leg is on fire as I stand perfectly still and watch the snake. I’m relieved when I hear the crashing of Jake coming through the woods toward me.
As if sensing that danger is on the way, the snake slithers off its perch and sneaks into the bracken surrounding the fallen tree. Overwhelmed with relief and feeling a bit lightheaded from the pain in my leg, I sink to my knees just as Jake finds me.
“Laney, what’s wrong?” he asks. There’s panic in his voice, which actually makes me feel like smiling. But I don’t. The pain in my leg seems to be increasing by the second.
“A snake bit me,” I breathe.
“Where? And where is the snake?”
