by Penny Wylder
There’s a regular road too, one to the left of the house, where what I assume must be Gil’s truck is parked. That road leads down into the town, which is just barely visible from here, a faint dotted collection of lights through the trees.
It’s quiet, save for my quick breathing, his steady one, and the soft sounds of the nighttime forest around us. Somewhere, the distant hoot of an owl sounds. All around us, the whisper of the wind in the trees.
It’s everything I imagined this weekend could be, and so much fucking more.
“It’s lovely,” I tell him, self-conscious about how distracted I got by the house, the land around us. I turn back to him, though, and it’s easy to let it all wash away again, gazing into his icy blue eyes which stand out under his dark hair above his sharp cheekbones.
“My grandfather built it himself,” he says. “I take care of it now; fix ‘er up when she needs any repairs.” He releases my waist, and disappointment floods my veins. I practically jog after him as he starts up the wooden steps to unlock the door.
“Where’s your family now?” I ask, because to judge by the size of the house, it can’t be more than a one bedroom, maybe two if the pointed windows I see upstairs belong to a second story and not an attic.
“Moved to the big city.” He flashes me a knowing smirk over his shoulder. “I’m the only one who stayed. Got my grandfather’s soul, my dad always says.”
I cross the threshold, and my eyes widen. The inside is just as picture-perfect as the outside. It’s not cutesy the way some cabins would be—you can tell a man lives here. The wood burning stove in the corner has coals burning in it, and a stack of fresh wood beside it in a wrought-iron holder. The couch and chairs are simple and functional, but the craftsmanship and detail are obvious, even to someone like me who knows little about carpentry. Despite the sleek and minimalist style, they look comfortable.
Somehow, the whole place reminds me of Gil. Simple, unpretentious, to judge by first glance. But well-made at his core. Sturdy and dependable.
He’s walking toward the back of the house, so I follow, but linger in the doorway of the little kitchen space to watch him load fresh wood into a second fire. He crosses back into the living room, passing close enough to me in the narrow doorway for our chests to brush together, and making me stifle a groan of desire.
“It’s spring now,” he’s saying, “But it still gets cold enough up here in the mountains to justify keeping the heaters running, especially at night. We still sometimes get snowfalls this time of year, though mostly it melts away again in the morning when the sun comes back.”
“Have you always lived here?” I ask, leaning back against the doorframe with one shoulder as I study him. I can’t say I hate the view as he leans down to pluck some logs from the stack and bends over to thrust them into the stove. His jeans aren’t tight, but when he bends like that, I get a good outline of the firm, muscular ass he’s sporting.
The flames of the newly-revived fire light his face, throw him into sharp angles, and I swallow hard to control my desire.
“Most of my life,” he says. “Went to New York for college, then did a few years backpacking before I came home.” He stands up, dusts off his hands as he turns to grin at me. “What can I say? I like it here. It feels real.”
He’s finished heating up the place now, and he crosses to me until his huge frame blocks the doorway I’m standing in. This close, I can feel the heat, but not from the stoves. It comes off his body, radiating from him like the summer sun. I step closer, until we’re chest-to-chest, and I’m gazing up into those bright eyes of his, mesmerized, entranced.
“I can see what you mean,” I admit, my voice softer now than it was back at the bonfire when we fired flirty, suggestive comments back and forth at one another. “I like it here too.”
“Do you now?” His hands are on me again, but touching me lightly this time, teasing. He trails a fingertip up my arm, then back down, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake, the fire stoking inside me to an almost unbearable degree. I feel like another one of his wood stoves. He knows just how to coax the flames in me. “I haven’t even shown you proper Bailey hospitality yet.” From the smirk on his mouth, I can guess what he means.
Still, I ask anyway. “What exactly does that entail?”
“Well.” He bends closer, eyes trapping mine, until his mouth hovers just inches away from my lips. “First, it would involve escorting you to my bedroom. Then…” His gaze breaks away, drips down my neck to my shirt. “I’d have to take off all those clothes of yours.”
A shiver traces its way along my spine. “I see. And then?”
“Then, I’d carry you to my bed, lay you down so I can look over every glorious inch of you. I’d memorize your body, how your nipples get hard and flush when I brush my palm over them. I want to feel the smooth skin of your legs, and of course, examine every inch of your thighs. And finally, when I’ve had my fill, I want you spread-eagled across my bed.” He dips toward me, and I shut my eyes, lips parted in anticipation of a kiss. But he slides right past my mouth, presses his cheek to mine once more, his breath hot on my ear. “After which I’ll be tasting every…” He catches my lobe between his lips, swirls his tongue around my earring, then kisses that soft, tender spot right beneath my ear, where it meets my neck. A spot that always makes me swoon. My knees feel weak under me. “… bit of you,” he murmurs. His lips kiss down my neck to my collarbone, to the edge just visible under my shirt.
I rock toward him, unable to help myself, I’m in a total, lust-fueled daze. My hands reflexively drift up to grip his shoulders for balance. “Mm,” I manage to say, distracted by his lips, his tongue edging along my neck. “And after you’re… satisfied with tasting?” I catch my breath, because he stops kissing my neck then, and draws back and with one finger under my chin, lifts my face toward his.
“I doubt I’ll ever be satisfied with you,” he murmurs, a grin on his mouth. “But once I’ve made you come enough times that you can hardly catch your breath?” His eyes light up, because I have to catch my breath again, this time in a breathy little gasp. “Well, then I’m going to fuck you, Jenna.” His hands slide down from my waist, caressing my hips on their way to my ass, which he grabs with both hands, hard enough to lift me half an inch off the floor, and pressing my hips against his, where his stiff cock still digs into my belly, harder than a steel rod. “All. Night. Long.”
I’ve got my arms around his neck now, and I arch my hips up, grind against him. “Sounds like we better get started then,” I say, or try to. About halfway through the sentence, his lips finally collide with mine, and I sink into him, lost.
He tastes like the forest around us. Like mint and pine and hard wood, a flavor that fills me up, sets my head buzzing. His lips part under mine, and I tilt my head to grant him better access, let his tongue slip between mine and circle my own, toying, teasing. I groan into his mouth, and only then do I notice the motion around us.
He’s walking us backward, through another doorway and into a cozy bedroom. I catch a glimpse of the big king size bed, right before he pushes me onto it, and climbs on top, only breaking our kiss for a moment.
His tongue strokes along the flat of mine, curls through my mouth, possessive. At the same time, his hands fumble with the buttons on my flannel top. He gets about halfway down, grunting in frustration, before I pull back and hiss, “Just tear it.”
He growls under his breath, rips the flannel. I hear the distant ping of buttons flying, but I don’t even care. I’m yanking on his shirt, tearing through his buttons too. Underneath I find an undershirt, which I tug over his head in my fist while he goes to work on my bra clasp. He has it off in seconds, like a pro, at the same time that I toss aside his shirt, his hair mussed now. I run my hands through it and pull his face back toward mine, back into our kiss.
When we break apart, he’s gazing at me like I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “Fuck, Jenna.” He runs his hands down my sides, over my ribcage, the
n circles them back up to trace around my breasts, fingers hot on my skin. “You have fucking perfect breasts, has anyone ever told you that?”
If anything, I always thought they were a little small. My cheeks heat, but I flash him a smile anyway. “You’re the first.”
His eyebrows rise as he glances back at me, doubtful. “Some people have no taste,” he says. And just as he’d promised, he grazes his palm over my nipples, creating delicious friction that sends a jolt strait to my pussy. My nipples perk up, getting harder from his attention.
As for me, I can’t stop staring at his chest. His chiseled, washboard abs, his huge pecs, and his biceps, which look nearly as broad as my thighs. I run my hands over his chest, then the flat plane of his stomach, feeling every ridge as I already picture him inside me, tearing through me. “You look like a Viking god,” I murmur, not even aware I’m speaking aloud until he laughs, deep and throaty, and my face flushes.
“Guess that makes you the beautiful mortal woman I corrupt,” he says, a flash in his eye before he leans down to kiss the side of my breast, then between them. Finally, he traces his tongue up under the mound of my breasts to circle my nipples, first one, then the next. The other breast, he traces with his hand in the meantime, his fingertips rolling my nipple between them expertly, until both of my nipples feel so hard they could chop wood.
He lightly nips at my nipple with his teeth, and flicks it with his tongue, just hard enough to make me moan with want.
I arch my hips up into him, grab his waist and pull him toward me, thrusting against him in time to his tongue flicking my nipples.
He draws back, and smirks down at me. “Eager little girl, aren’t we?”
“Fuck me, Gil. Please.” My breath is already coming fast, and the cool air on my nipples, now that he’s stopped licking and sucking at them, makes me shiver even harder.
“Not yet, Jenna.” He slides down a little, kisses my stomach now, and nips at my stomach, hard enough to make me gasp. “I told you. First I want to taste you.” His eyes find mine, bright with amusement. He’s loving teasing me, the bastard. “I’m going to make you come at least three times before I’m even inside you.” The way he says it, it’s not a challenge. Just a statement of fact.
My breath hitches. “I’ve never… I don’t know if I can come multiple…” But I trail off, because he’s already undoing the button of my jeans, and it’s always distracting to watch his hands work.
He tugs my jeans down to my hips, lifts me a little ways off the bed, and then, all in one swift motion, tugs the jeans down, past my hips, until they’re at my ankles. The only thing I’m wearing now is the skimpy little panties I had on under my jeans.
His eyes flash at me, as he kneels between my spread thighs, and reaches for the fabric…
4
Gil
I can’t get enough of this fucking girl.
From the moment I first noticed her at the festival, checking me out while I worked in my booth, though she tried to disguise it by putting a camera between us, I knew I had to talk to her. For the rest of the afternoon I kept scanning the crowd trying to find her again. I think I may have even blown a commission I was so distracted. But I knew I had to see her again.
Then I spotted her in the woods, standing to the side, seemingly in her own world. It gave me a chance to study her, and I confirmed my original assessment: I had to talk to her. I had to know her. Relief washed over me when she spoke to me in the woods. Hearing her throaty voice, low and sultry. Her smirking, flirty way, telling me instantly that she was game. And later in the night, by the fire, I knew I had to have her. Her lithe little body, which looks so small in comparison to my own, so breakable. Yet, to judge by the way she’s reacting to me tonight, she’s a lot stronger than she looks.
And just as fucking thirsty for this as I am.
I watch her writhe across my bed, her perfect tits, pink nipples hard as rocks, her hips rolling in graceful arches as she tries to raise her ass toward me, up off the bed, and I feel so fucking hard I could burst.
It’s been a long time since a woman has turned me on this much. And she says nobody’s ever told her she has perfect breasts before? She’s not sure she can come more than once in a row?
This poor girl. What kind of lame-ass city-slicker guys has she been dating?
Ones who don’t know what they’re fucking doing when they strike gold, that’s for damn sure.
After I toss her jeans onto the other side of the room, I slide my hands back up her legs and savor the way she shivers and twists under me, reacting to my every touch. I can’t wait to make her scream in pleasure.
“So Jenna.” I sit up above her, reaching up to slide one hand along her inner thigh. I trace one thick finger all the way to the top, to the crease where it meets her thigh. “Do you usually make a lot of noise when you come?” I shift my hand over, trace across her mound now, with her panties still on. When I dip my finger an inch lower, I can tell she’s already wet—practically soaked through the panties, in fact. I can smell her need.
As for Jenna, her face has gone bright red again. I love the way she blushes. “Usually I try not to,” she admits, darting a glance around the room for a second. “Neighbors, thin walls, you know…”
My smirk widens. “No neighbors to worry about out here,” I point out, and I press a little harder, stroking her through her panties now, the silky fabric adding extra friction. I can feel her clit, swollen and pulsing beneath my finger.
A breathy little moan escapes her parted lips, and she arches under me, her hips straining upward. “So… you aiming to make me scream, Gil?” She catches my eye and holds it, raises her eyebrows in a challenge.
I grin. “If that’s a challenge, I accept.” With that, I tug her panties down, swiftly, all in one motion. She gasps again as I peel them off her legs, then spread her legs with one swift push, both my hands poised on the insides of her thighs.
Fuck. She smells fucking amazing. Like rain and beaches and fresh air in the mornings at dawn, when the ground is still wet with dew. Her pussy is perfect—clean-shaven, the lips a perfect rosy pout, her clit swollen above them like fruit waiting for me to pick it. And already I can see her own dewy wetness glistening at the edges of those lips. I push her legs just a little farther apart, until her pussy lips make a faint pop, and spread apart for me, revealing every inch of her.
“God, Jenna.” I dart a glance up at her, find her watching me with hooded eyes, as she reaches down to run her hands through my hair. “You’re so fucking sexy.” I keep my eyes on hers as I lean down to kiss the top of her mound, flick my tongue across her smooth skin. Her breathing gets faster, shakier, and I smile to myself as I slide down to kiss her inner thigh instead, first one and then the next, sucking and nipping at her sensitive skin until I leave marks. She moans the whole time, arching up against me, begging me not to stop.
If I thought my dick was hard before, I had no fucking idea. I have to reach down and stroke myself, the urge is so strong.
“Eat me out, Gil,” she’s begging through tightly clenched teeth, as I lick all around her lips, teasing myself as much as her, tasting every inch of her pussy except the spot she really wants me to.
Finally, I cave in, and slide one hand under her ass to lift her a few inches off the bed, while my tongue presses between her pussy lips. Her moans grow louder now, and I start to drag the flat of my tongue along her length, spreading her lips as I lap between them. I lick all the way along her taint up past her pussy entrance, and flick the very tip of my tongue across her clit, enough to make her body jump under me like I’ve given her an electric shock.
Then I start all over again, licking slowly backward, before I turn around and return. Each time I make sure to barely touch her clit. Not yet.
When she’s practically panting, I finally pause at her entrance, and push my tongue inside her fully.
Fuck.
She tastes even better than she smells. Incredible, overwhelming, a little bit
sweet. Has this girl been drinking nothing but pineapple juice for days or what? I swirl my tongue inside her, curl it to drag along her walls, one after the next, and she wraps her legs over my shoulders, thighs clenching my head between. I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it.
I keep licking at her, until her hands fist in my hair, and she’s bucking against my face.
“Yes, yes, fuck, more,” are the only words I make out of the stream she’s shouting.
I smile to myself and pull back just far enough to make her gasp in dismay.
“Don’t stop,” she half-begs, half-commands, face a mask of want.
“Oh, I don’t plan on it,” I promise. Then I lean back down and start to fuck her with my tongue, hard thrusts, until her thighs shake on either side of my head. When I think she’s close, I draw out, drag my tongue up to her clit and circle it, pressing down hard with the tip of my tongue.
She’s so close, I only have to lap across her clit three times before she cries out at the top of her lungs, a wordless jumble of sound that makes my hard dick twitch in my jeans. It’s the sound of sheer pleasure, of a girl who’s enjoying the fuck out of herself, and it makes me hard as hell to know I’m doing that to her. And her hands, clawing through my hair, damn it, the pain turns me on even more.
I keep going, keep circling my tongue around her clit, more gently now, not quite touching the hotspot as I give her a moment to recover, before I flatten my tongue like a blade and lap across her, moving faster and faster again.
Her voice shifts now, into a high keening sound, as another orgasm hits her, hard on the heels of the first. Her legs shake where they’re lifted around me, and her hands are so tight in my hair I’m surprised she hasn’t ripped any out. She’s lost to this world, I notice as I gaze up at her, enjoying the show.
She writhes across the bed, panting, lost in her pleasure.