by Tia Siren
He kisses up my neck, and I touch him at every possible point of contact, fingers in his hair, even bending my goddamn throat toward his lips when they brush nearby. Every skin cell reaches for his. Our tongues get together again, and I murmur, “Oh yeah,” into his mouth, though it sounds like, “Mm, mm.” When we separate, mutually gasping for breath, our haggard wetness brings me to suddenly laugh. “It’s like we’re out in that storm again,” I tell him.
“Feels more like a shipwreck to me,” Kai growls, kissing down my torso and sinking his teeth into my rib, my oblique, then my hip. “Going down together.”
It’s so hot and wet in this sleeping bag. As the fire slowly dies beside us, blanketing us progressively in darkness, Kai’s head emerges from the sleeping bag to examine me. I notice how lush and pink his lips are, swollen from that expert face he just gave. Damn, he’s gorgeous, this cut body spread on top of me. His cock still dribbles pre-cum and nudges at my lips. Fuuuck yeah.
“I want you inside me,” I whisper up to him, feeling crazy. We can’t do this. We just met. I expect him to remind me of all these things, since he’s clearly more logical and clear-headed, on a day-to-day basis, than I am. Hell, I write romance novels for a living. What do I know about stability or safety or rational decisions? “I know it’s crazy. Tell me it’s crazy.”
“What about…” He kisses right behind my ear, and gooseflesh pimples down my entire side. “…just the tip…”
“Ahh,” I groan. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this, Kai. Come on.”
Kai grins and grinds against me in response. My hands run down his back, fingers pressing over his perfectly round, muscular ass.
“I know we can’t,” he tells me, light kisses fluttering on my earlobe and my neck. Every erogenous zone tingles and burns if he touches one. “And I’ll pull out. Just feel you for one second.”
“Oh,” I whimper, loving the idea. I could just get that thick mushroom head of his inside me… That’s the best part, anyway. Just once. Then we’ll stop. No one has ever gotten pregnant over one tip. My brain is so sex-addled, it’s practically percolating. I see no flaw in Kai’s plan. It’s foolproof. He’s a genius. Just the tip!
His manhood parts my pussy lips and breaks through my quivering entrance, and we both go rigid, absolutely vibrating with sensation. God, if his head feels this big and hard, I can only imagine how the rest of him will slide into me… My muscles clench and grind for his full length, betraying our plot immediately.
“Oh, my god,” Kai breathes, unmoving, still only an inch or two deep. “It feels like you’re fucking milking me right now.”
“Oh, pull out, pull out,” I tell him, my eyeballs so deep in my head, I can’t see a damn thing. It’s got to be he who stops. I don’t have the strength. He’s going to get me pregnant. I just know it. But it feels so good that I don’t even really care. I could be a great mom.
His tip pulls free and it feels like a glorious part of my body is ripped away, leaving a vacuum in its wake. My eyes flick to him immediately, unable to control my bitterness.
We’re both basically silhouettes in the failing firelight now, and he looks even bigger somehow when I can’t see his face.
Panting, I prop myself up on both elbows, and he leans back on his haunches, also panting. I don’t think we know what to do with each other.
Except that.
“I have to get out of here,” Kai blurts. “If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to fuck your brains out.”
“Don’t go,” I plead, and he growls and literally pounces on me again. His tongue is in my mouth instantly and I suck it for all I’m worth. We’re no better than any other animal in the woods right now. My thighs come up around his hips and hug tight. He must know what I want. My body language says it loud and clear. I want him. Every inch of him.
His cock suddenly straightens with intent, and I know that he must be grasping the base, guiding it.
His plush head presses at my entrance, and my walls squeeze in anticipation.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” My voice doesn’t even sound like my voice anymore, so raw and throaty, so wild.
He stretches me open and comes grinding halfway into me, but then retracts again. I whimper and he does it again and again, preparing me for his full length. I think that I can take it, but when he finally sinks to the hilt—when our hips press flush against each other—it’s almost too sweet and intense to bear. I yelp like I’m in pain but I’m not. I’m really, really not. I might cry, though. I wiggle on his shaft to force some friction while he tries to be gentlemanly and let me adjust. I don’t care. It doesn’t hurt enough to think about stopping.
Kai’s mouth is all over me, trailing from my lips to my chin to my neck to my nipples, then back again, all over me, every exposed inch. He slams our pelvises together for the first time, a real thrust, and it sends hard bolts of pleasure through my whole body. I see stars and curl against him, holding on for dear life. I feel him in such vivid detail; I don’t know if he’s really big or I’m really tight, but his swift strokes only manage because of how drenched we both are. He moves in and out, in and out, and I just writhe and stammer nonsense like some drugged-up priestess having a vision. That’s what it feels like. I’m seeing God right now.
Kai pulls my legs wider and twists me onto my stomach, surprising me with deeper plunges into my center. I claw at the sleeping bag and my cheek grinds against the nylon. My sensitive nipples grate against the cave floor through the sleeping bag and it drives me out of my mind. Back and forth, back and forth, wave after wave, and I tremble, coming again for him.
Kai moans loudly at the feeling of my walls tightening and twisting on him, slobbering everywhere.
Then he slows down. He pushes into me with measured, purposeful thrusts. His arms come down around my arms, and he bows over me, huffing into my ear, “Holy fuck, this is amazing, Morgan.”
When he suddenly pulls out of me, my pussy puckers and sucks at him, like it’s not going to let him go. I twist to look at him, heartbroken and betrayed, but he’s just a shadow now. He’s just heat and skin and the smell of sweat and sex and I can’t tell what he’s feeling. I just hear his breath echoing through the entire cave.
“I want to come inside you so… so bad,” he confesses roughly.
“Me, too,” I breathe, so thankful we’re on the same dumb, terrible page.
“Do you mean that?” he pants in the darkness. His cock dips slowly into and out of me again, just the tip, and each new half-thrust makes electricity zap. “Because I’m about to explode.”
“Do it,” I beg him, not only allowing it, but anticipating it, craving it. My chest heaves and my teeth sink into my lower lip and my eyelashes flutter. He rocks me hard, reaching a new depth, and his head, impossibly, grows inside me. God, it feels so good. I sob the word yes as he pushes deeply again, watching me contort in bliss. His tip feels like a fucking fist…
“Oh, god, I’m going to come, too,” I announce shakily as a deep, hot wave of pleasure rolls through my body. My thighs seize and juice pours from between my legs.
When it’s over, the sleeping bag is soaked. I can feel all my bruises and scrapes, but they feel fantastic. Kai transmuted my pain into pleasure, and every wound seems to shimmer on my skin.
Kai leans back and pumps into me savagely, from a distance, like he might hurt me if he gets any closer. Then he drowns the cave in a roar of triumph and comes so hard I feel it rush into my pussy, like a water balloon full of hot water just popped inside me.
God, I want his body, even still, even now, with his dick planted in me already, spurting a load of cum deep. And I want him more.
He collapses, panting, and weaves his arms tightly around me. I do the same with my legs and he stays buried in me until long after we both fall asleep, which is nearly immediately. I’m so glad for his naked body entwined with mine. The heat locked in the sleeping bag keeps us warm throughout the autumn night and
I submerge in the deepest, most satisfying sleep I’ve had in ages.
4
Kai
The optimistic twitter of birdsong pierces my dreams, shattering my vision of Morgan riding me, her hands planted on either side of my head, breasts bouncing wildly. The first sense of which I’m aware—after the stupid tweeting of some birds—is my throbbing erection. Next, I grumble and glare against the piercing morning light pouring from the cave mouth in a white beam. We must have slept in. That’s the kind of light you only see after ten.
Oh, well. We deserve to sleep in. We worked ourselves to the bone last night.
I try to roll back into Morgan’s embrace… but only crush against empty sleeping bag when I turn.
I sit up with a frown and glare around the cave.
Morgan is gone.
Shit! My heart lurches in my chest and I come to a hunched stand, aching from the cave floor, eyes still puffy and half-closed with slumber. I hunt for any sign that she might still be here, her clothes, her shoes, a note, anything, but there’s nothing here. Her clothes are gone. Even my backpack is gone. Now I’m naked in a sleeping bag, eight miles away from civilization.
I open the sleeping bag and glare down at my treacherous dick.
“Good going,” I sneer, but I’m half-serious.
Honestly, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
I crawl from the narrow cave mouth and stand, wrapping the red nylon sleeping bag tighter around my waist. The sun is high and bright outside. The world looks beautiful again. Green and shiny. Almost dry.
A swollen creek rages nearby, and Morgan perches on an outcropping, still wearing my “jammies.” Both our old clothes, ruined, are stretched on the rock with her, drying in the sun. It looks like she beat or washed some of the mud off, so although they are fantastically dirty, they’re not caked and flaking anymore. My backpack rests next to her. She has what’s left of her little black notepad open on her knees and scribbles busily onto water-damaged paper.
“Hey,” I greet her, certain that I sound and look surly right now. “What are you doing?”
“Got inspired,” she answers vaguely, barely looking at me. It’s pretty hot. “Sleep well?”
“You know it. Thanks for doing all this while I slept in.”
“I couldn’t bear to wake you.” For the first time since my arrival outside, her pen goes idle and her topaz eyes flash to me. A slow, appreciative smile spreads across her pretty face. “While we’re on the subject of thanks… last night,” she purrs.
My heart pounds a little harder just mentioning it. “Yeah,” I agree emphatically. “Last night was…” A long, low whistle soars from Morgan’s puckered lips and I laugh. “Yeah.” A surprising hint of blush rises in my cheeks, and I try to focus. We can’t just live in this cave, with one pair of clothes apiece, and fuck until we starve. “So, we still have eight miles to cover,” I remind her, changing the pitch of my voice to a less intimate tone. We need to focus. “Are you ready to go?”
Morgan’s eyes sparkle up at me. “I think so,” she says, hopping down from the outcropping. “Would you like a turn in the clean clothes?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, scooping up my dirty clothes and letting the sleeping bag fall. Morgan’s shameless eyes track right to my dick and I smirk at her. “Predictable.”
“So sue me!” she cries, pivoting and jamming the little notepad into my backpack, along with her dirty, dry clothes. She slides her Timberland boots back on and picks her way across the creek to the other side. I follow behind her in a matter of seconds, backpack on my shoulders. When she reaches the bank, she looks at me from over her shoulder and flashes a dazzling smile.
I skip onto dry land and grin back at her, feeling… something. I don’t need to think about it right now. We take off on the trail.
“Are you meeting anyone at the lake?” I wonder. It was the site of my bear attack those years ago. Groups tend to convene there.
“No,” Morgan answers. “Just me. This was a soul quest, more than anything.”
“Did you learn something of value?”
Her eyes are sly and she smirks. “I don’t know.” Coy.
We walk for miles, filling the time with brainteasers and corny puns and stories. She tells me about her horses and her chickens. She has a ranch in Oregon, just two hours from my shitty urban apartment, and we share a silly, toothy grin, as if we think last night could happen again. Could it? I tell her about my work for the military, which led to my current career as a director of security. “Ooh, a strategist,” she muses, eyes on me. “We’re a lot alike, then.”
“I don’t know if I’d call myself a strategist,” I correct her. “I just know how to keep things safe and private. I’m very watchful of all the elements. That’s all. I’m just smart.” I can’t help but laugh a little at her self-proclaimed strategism. “So, when you were about to fall into that ravine, was that all just… strategy?”
“That was a surprise,” she allows. “But I am a strategist, in my own way! I’m a people-person, and I’m good with understanding emotions, putting things the right way so that certain other things can happen. That’s what fiction is. That’s my job.”
“Hmm, sounds manipulative,” I say, and she nods her head from side to side in partial agreement. “What kind of books do you write?”
“Erm,” she says, gazing heavenward. “You know. Women’s fiction. Just… pressing issues for the modern bookish babe.”
“So, you write about feminist hiking brigades and stuff.”
“And stuff,” she echoes vaguely.
We walk until we reach Diamond Lake, a wide, diamond-shaped lake that absolutely sparkles in the setting sun. Campers here have to make reservations for their spot on the lake, and I’m sure she made her own reservation, and so did I. Well, I didn’t, but Mike did. Mike is the one whose daughter has the flu right now. For the first time since yesterday, I’m able to get a signal on my phone, and Morgan—whose phone is somewhere in a backpack on the bank of a creek—borrows it so she can call her assistant and confirm the campsite plot she reserved.
The sun is setting as I tread toward my own plot, moving slowly. This strange, cold sense of dread creeps and wraps around my heart, almost strangling me from inside. What is wrong with me? The hike is over. I’m at the site now. It’s the same one I always rent: the site of the bear attack. I’ll never forget it. It was the most riveting, significant moment of my life—until possibly last night, anyway.
My eyes scan the orange lake, reflecting the searing sunset on the horizon, and lock on Morgan in the distance, talking on my phone, wearing my ridiculously oversized long johns and her muddy Tims. She doesn’t see me looking. She pushes the baggy sleeves up her elbows, grins, and chats with her assistant, gazing across the lake as she idly meanders on the shoreline. I imagine her at her ranch in Oregon, flicking chickenfeed into a coop, tapping on a keyboard in her office. I imagine her sipping coffee late at night and early in the morning. Imagine her pinned beneath me in a real bed. Imagine holding her and kissing her without all the frantic passion… the way a man holds and kisses his everyday old girlfriend. He barely even thinks about it, he gets to do it so much.
Her eyes find mine across the water and she makes a little face, surprised, then waves to me.
I wave back and turn away.
Well, she still doesn’t have a tent, I tell myself in a moment of childish hope. Maybe she’ll come sleep in mine tonight.
You’re grasping at straws.
She really doesn’t have a tent.
No, but she does have a personal assistant on the phone right now, and there is a town nearby. She could be in an Uber heading to an outfitter in a matter of minutes.
Damn.
Exactly.
I remember suddenly that this is just a vacation. I need to get my head on straight again. That’s the only reason why Morgan seems perfect—because I don’t really know her. That’s why the sex last night was explosive and desperate—because we
were squeezing all our chemistry into one single act. I’m chasing a sheer fantasy when I dream up some sort of future between us. It’s like the fuzzy falling-in-love montage from a movie. It never really happens that way. Her yard probably stinks of chicken poop. She probably abandons mugs of half-full cold coffee all over her house. How do I even know that I’d be able to stand her, if you took away the breathtaking lakeshore and fresh mountain air? The excitement of a landslide and a hailstorm? This is all smoke and mirrors. A summer fling.
I march toward my own site, determined to set up my tent and wish her farewell and thank her for… everything, when my feet stop dead in their tracks. I gape in disbelief.
There’s already a tent set up on my plot, and as I’m staring at it, the flap unzips and two kids bolt out. A couple, slightly older than Morgan and I—not that I equate us with “a couple” in any way—emerge next.
“Excuse me,” I call to them. I try not to sound too harsh, since I’m not sure what’s going on right now. “Did you all reserve this plot for tonight?”
“Oh, yeah,” the man says, looping his arm around his wife’s shoulders and grinning at me. “Two weeks ago. Why? Are you trying to find somebody?”
I grimace. “No, but thanks.” I turn on my heel and head toward Morgan. I’m going to need my phone back so I can call Mike and chew him out. He was supposed to reserve this plot two weeks ago, too. He told me last week that his kid was sick but he never told me that he didn’t bother to reserve the plot!
I hunt Morgan down and find her sitting on a log at her own plot, though she has no tent to pitch anymore.
It is kind of oddly perfect.
“So, my dumbass best friend, who was supposed to call and reserve our spot, never did,” I inform her testily, as if this might actually be her fault somehow.
