by Melinda Minx
Her body leaves me, but the scent of her lingers. It gets up into my head, and my cock stiffens. Fuck, I want her bad.
But wanting someone? That’s a weakness. I should just let this be: her on the couch, me on the bed.
If my dick is still hard tomorrow, I’ll go into town and get someone easy. Someone simple. Not Andrea. I get the feeling that if I did it with her, she wouldn’t just slide out of my memory like all the other women.
“Alright,” I say, spitting the water out of my mouth. “I’m going to bed. Good night. Enjoy the fireplace.”
I shut the door on her, but I can still smell her. “Harden the fuck up, Coal.”
I take my clothes off, and collapse into bed. My dick is still hard as I fall asleep.
And it’s still hard when I wake up.
But it’s still dark out. I often wake up in the middle of the night. Before I had to fight Taliban insurgents in the hellhole caves of Afghanistan, I used to sleep like a baby. Now I usually wake up a few times every night, my body is always ready to fight at a moment’s notice, even after two years in isolation.
I turn and see her--Andrea--in my bed.
That jolts me fully awake.
I poke her, my finger hitting bare skin. My dick stiffens.
“I got cold,” she says. “The fire died out.”
“Fires tend to do that.”
“You raised a big stink about not asking to swap if I changed my mind,” she says.
Her back is facing me. She’s not turning toward me to speak.
“Are you still cold?” I ask.
“Go back to sleep, Coal.”
“I’m going to warm you up,” I whisper. “If you don’t want me to, just say so.”
Silence.
I wrap my arms around her bare shoulders, her breasts press into my forearms. She says nothing.
I hold my breath, and then she scoots her entire body into me. My rock-hard cock presses into her ass. I cup her breasts.
Neither of us speaks, but I can feel her breathing heavy against me.
Finally I whisper, “You took your clothes off before crawling under the blankets with me. Don’t tell me you didn’t--”
She turns around to face me, it’s dark, but I can see the glassy whites of her eyes.
We lock eyes, and it’s like the still silence before a storm. Adrenaline floods into my blood, and my cock twitches at the memory of her soft curves. My throat goes dry in anticipation of her.
I press forward, and my lips crush against hers. Her scent overtakes me, and then her taste fills my mouth. Our tongues meet, and I wrap my arms around her once again, pulling her warm body against mine. Her hands grab hold of me, running up and down my hard body.
Her hands run along the hard planes of my body, and across my scarred skin as we kiss. My cock twitches impatiently as I drink her in.
We kiss long and breathlessly, until finally she pulls away. “Do they hurt?”
“Do what hurt?”
“The scars.”
“They hurt when I got them,” I say. “But not now.”
Her hand runs up to the knife wound on my back, and she runs her fingers gently up and down it.
“Got stabbed,” I say.
Her fingers run down to another scar.
“Shot.”
“Jesus,” she says. “Is that why you’re so done with the SEALs?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say.
These scars are nothing. It’s wrong that I came out of that shithole in one piece. Gomez, Murphy, and Ramsey--those three should have come out with a few scars. My body should be rotting in a cave somewhere.
I reach up and cup Andrea’s breast, I squeeze gently as the warmth fills my hand. I press my face against the soft, supple skin of her neck, and I breath in deeply. I let her feminine scent wash away the dust and memory of Afghanistan and the ghosts of those who didn’t make it out.
She moans as I touch her, I move my lips up her neck, toward her eat. I gently run my tongue along her earlobe as I move my fingers closer and closer to her nipple.
Her moans are all I need right now, but I want them to be louder. I want to hear her scream my name.
I bite her ear and run my finger in gentle circles around the outermost edges of her nipple. I imagine just how hard it must be, but I want to tease her. I want to make her want it bad before I give it to her.
“Coal,” she says in a pleading whine.
“Andrea.”
“Please,” she says.
Yes. Beg for it.
I run my finger just a millimeter closer, not giving her what she wants. I whisper into her ear. “What do you want?”
“Please,” she says. “You know.”
“Say it.”
“Touch my nipple,” she says in a frustrated gasp.
“It must be hard,” I say. “When I first found you, I tried not to look, but your nipples were so hard...my eyes just locked onto them. Are they just as hard now?”
“Fucking touch them and find out!” She says, grabbing hold of my ass and squeezing.
I laugh. I’m only teasing myself at this point, I want to feel them.
I run my fingers up, feeling the texture change as my fingers slide over top her nipple. She moans louder as I touch her, and my finger goes up the steep mountain that is her hard, pointing nipple.
“Fuck,” I say. “Harder than before.”
I squeeze, and she gasps. She turns her back toward me, pressing her ass against my rock-hard cock. I feel a warm wetness slide onto her ass, my precum.
Her body squirms, and she reaches back, her nails digging into me. The pain feels fucking good, so I squeeze her harder. I reach a hand under her and suddenly grab hold of her other breast. I press my fingers down onto her nipples, and I vary the pressure and intensity, listening to her moans to guide me.
She squirms and writhes against me as I explore her body. I reach down her hips and waist, I squeeze and explore the incredible curves of her ass.
“You’re so hard,” she says.
I wonder how wet she must be. There’s no way she’s not just soaking wet. My cock is already so close to her tight hole, but it would be a shame to skip straight to the final act. I want to drink her up first.
I slide down her body, and she tries to grab me, holding me there with her. I’m stronger than her and escape her grasp. Soon she’ll see why I’ve left her side, and she’ll have nothing to complain about.
I pull her leg up and slide between her legs, my face is close enough to her to smell her wetness now. I inhale deeply and lick my lips. Soon I’ll lick her. But not yet.
I squeeze her thighs and run my hands slowly up. Very, very slowly.
“You’re going to make me say it again,” she says. “I’ll just say it, please, touch me.”
“Touch you where?”
“My pussy.”
“I can smell how wet you are.”
“Feel how wet I am,” she says. All shyness suddenly gone from her voice. She’s finally admitted to what she wants. It’s a good look for her. Something I could get used to.
No, just this once. I just need to be sure I fuck her really good to get it out of my system. No attachments.
My fingers finally find her soft mound. It’s soaking wet, and I can’t resist going straight for her with my tongue. I press my lips against her wetness, and I run my tongue up and down her outer lips. Her legs press against me, locking my head in place. Heh, as if I’d ever willingly pull away at this point.
My tongue finds her swollen clit, and her breath gets heavy, punctuated by loud moans and breathy gasps.
She puts her hand on my head, pressing me harder against her. I lick up her juices, and I tongue her clit, feeling her body press and rock against me.
I grab hold of her thighs to steady myself, and I increase the pressure as she gets louder. She grabs the pillow and stifles her moan.
“There’s no one for miles,” I say. “Scream your lungs out. I want to hear you come.”
&nb
sp; I press my tongue against her clit, wrap my lips around, and I suck gently. She throws the pillow down and cries--screams--out. Her hips buck up against me, and I don’t let up.
“I’m going to come,” she says.
You sure as fuck are, that’s what happens when you let go, and let me give you what you need.
A whine escapes her, and then she draws in a breath. Her hips shoot up, and her legs wrap around my head. She gushes wet against me, and I drink up as much of her feminine juices as I can while still furiously worshipping her clit with my lips and tongue.
She collapses down, and I reluctantly pull away. I look down at her body in awe, and then I fall down onto the bed beside her. She wraps her arms around me and buries her face into my wide chest.
She doesn’t speak; there’s nothing she needs to say. She said it all with her moans and whines.
My cock is rock-hard against her belly, and I want to get it inside her while she’s still soaking wet from cumming so hard.
“I bet your favorite position is doggy style,” I whisper.
“We’re not playing that game anymore.”
I laugh, and I plant my knees on either side of her legs. I look down at her body and run my hands slowly down from her shoulders. When I reach her ass, I squeeze, and then I grab her by the hips and pull them up.
She doesn’t resist at all, and her hips are high up while she’s still face down on the bed. Just how I like it.
My dick is sprung and pointing skyward, but I force it down and press it beneath her, so that it rests against her warm stomach. I want her to feel my warmth from the outside before I plunge it deep into her.
“Stop teasing me,” she says.
“I’ll tease you all I want, now let’s see if this is your favorite position.”
“How will you know if we only do it in one position?” I ask.
I squeeze her ass hard enough that she yelps. “We won’t just do it in one position. We’ve got all night.”
I pull my hips back, and my hard dick runs across her skin, until finally it dips into the outer boundaries of her wetness. My eyes roll back into my head in anticipation as I press my swollen head against her warm opening.
I press in, and her body squeezes me tight--way tighter than I expected, I guess it really has been more than six months for her--and I stop after just an inch.
She whines and writhes against me, wanting me to go deeper in.
“Not yet, Andrea,” I say, “I’m going to work my way in slowly.”
True to my promise, I press in another half inch, and then I start to pull all the way out. I feel her juices soaking the tip of my cock as I move slowly in and out.
Each time I press back in, I go a fraction of an inch deeper.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“No, you’re going too slow--”
“Do you want it to hurt?”
“Just a little,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.
“Alright, you asked for it.”
I pull all the way out again, take in a deep breath, and then I ram my huge cock all the way into her. My balls slap against her belly, and her tight fucking pussy squeezes me for all I’m worth.
She lets out a gasp, and I leave my cock balls deep inside her, not moving.
“Fuck!” she shouts. “That hurts so good.”
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I pull out and plunge right back in. I feel torrents of wetness wash across my dick as I ram her hard, in and out.
I go so fast that my balls are slapping nonstop against her. As I fuck her without mercy, she presses her ass higher up. She moans and screams at the top of her lungs; she knows that we’re the only two people for miles around. We’re cut off from everything by the heavy snowfall and the galing winds. It’s just me and Andrea, and nothing else.
I pull out, grab her by the hips, and shoulder, and flip her over onto her back. She looks at me for a surprised moment, but when she sees my twitching cock covered in her wetness, she simply spreads her legs for me.
I dip back into her, and her legs wrap tightly around me. From this position she bucks her hips against me as I fuck her raw, and her fingernails dig into my muscular back.
“Yeah, scratch me all you want, you can’t hurt me.”
Her nails dig deeper in--deep enough to draw blood. Being a SEAL changed my relationship to pain. What would be intolerable to a normal man barely registers to me. Any pain that doesn’t hurt me just feels good, especially when I’m fucking.
“Are you going to scratch me or not?” I grunt, each word punctuated by me ramming my cock into her.
With her nails deep into my skin, she pulls them down across my back. The pain lances through me as the skin breaks and bleeds. It finally starts to hurt--just a little--but it’s enough. The hint of pain sets me off, and my balls tighten up.
“Fuck yeah,” I grunt, and I speed up.
I fuck her as hard and as fast as the fresh adrenaline surging through me will allow, and soon I feel her tight walls tremble against my cock. It’s like her body wants it so bad that it’s trying to milk the cum right out of me.
It’s working.
She moans loud as she cums all over my thick cock. It’s too much for me now. Her nails are still deep in my back, and the sound and smell and squeeze of her has overwhelmed me.
My chest tightens as my heart blasts against it, and a thick load of cum explodes out of me and into her. Warm chills surge through my head, mind-blowing release rocks through my body and mind, and my cock explodes over and over deep within her.
Only after I’ve spent every last drop to I pull out. I fall down beside her. We’re both panting and out of breath.
“Is your back okay?” She asks. “Sorry, I--”
“I’m fine,” I say. “It felt good. You’ve got some fight in you.”
I can still feel traces of pain on my back. The scratches will give me something to remember her by. She’ll be gone in the morning, but it’s like I said, I have her all night.
“You want to try a cider?” I ask.
“I’m warm and toasty in bed,” she says. “I’m not getting up.”
“Well, I’m going to get get a cider. I can bring you one if you want.”
“That sounds great.”
“You gotta save your energy,” I say, grinning, “That was only two.”
“Two what?” She asks.
“Two positions. We’ve gotta try them all.”
5
Andrea
I’m woken up by the sound of wood being chopped. I look out the frost-fogged window and see Coal outside swinging an axe.
He’s already fully dressed, and the brutal snowstorm of last night has transformed the forest into a winter wonderland straight out of a fairytale.
I stumble through the cabin and get my clothes, which are now dry. I get everything on and go outside. The wind is gone. It’s still cold, but the air is fresh and crisp. It smells like evergreens and fresh snow--it smells like Christmas. Though that’s still two months away.
Maybe the afterglow from our all-night fuckfest has altered my perception of reality, but everything just feels right in the world.
Coal swings the axe into the big tree stump, wipes his hands, and looks up at me. He’s wearing a beanie, and his dirty smirk says everything he’s thinking as he looks down at me.
“I thought you’d still be tired after last night,” he says.
I yawn. “I am, but I’m even more hungry.”
He points to the pile of chopped wood on the ground. “Fuel for the stove. I was going to make bacon and eggs.”
“You know you could just use propane?” I ask.
He laughs. “Or I could just live in town and use electricity. No reason to live off the land if you’re going to half-ass it with propane.”
“Live off the land,” I say. “Is that all you do?”
He laughs. “You asking if I have any real job, or any income? Don’t sweat it, Andrea, this was a one-time thing, an
d we both know it. You don’t have to stress about whether I’m financially stable.”
Did I know it? Was I actually planning to see this guy again? I certainly wasn’t before last night, and just because me makes me cum like no man ever has, is that enough to be worth living in a cabin with some weird--but extremely hot--PTSD case?
Probably not, no. He’s also kind of a jerk.
“Alright,” I say. “Let me help you get the stove going then.”
I try to offer to cook, but Coal insists. He says he likes to cook in the morning.
“It’s all part of the process--the routine. I chop the wood, then I start the stove, then I crack the eggs.”
I look at the bacon wrapped in butcher paper. “Does living off the land involve making your own bacon? I don’t see any pigs.”
“I hunt,” Coal says. “And I make furniture. I mostly try to trade goods for goods, but sometimes I just sell a chair or coffee table for cash. That bacon and these eggs are farm fresh though.”
“You go to all that trouble when there’s a supermarket in town?”
“Like I said,” he says, cracking an egg into the skillet, “No half-assing.”
I can kind of see the appeal. He’s simplified his life. Rather than spending eight hours a day earning enough money to pay an electric bill and buy food, he chops the wood for fuel himself. He spends the time hunting and trading, and that fills his days.
It’s not for me to judge that kind of lifestyle, but I doubt it’s for me. It’s one thing to walk into Coal’s life for a night and a morning, to get a taste of it, but I can’t imagine living it day after day.
“Try it,” Coal says, holding the skillet out to me.
“Tell me you at least have plates.”
He grins and puts the skillet back onto the stove. He grabs a plate from the cabinet and puts the eggs and bacon onto it.
“Where’s yours?” I ask.
“I don’t have plates. I have a plate,” he says. “But the plate is yours, I’ll use the skillet.”
I bite into the egg, and fuck it’s good.
He watches my expression as I eat. “That’s why I don’t just go to the supermarket.”
“It’s really good,” I say. “I don’t think it’s good enough to justify carrying a piece of furniture down to a farm ten miles away to trade...but it’s delicious.”
