I’m breathless, pinned between the firm ground and his equally hard body. He smells like wood smoke and pine, and the pressure, the friction, is so good. I whimper as he works his erection over my sex. The layers of fabric whisper back and forth across each other, conducting sensation. I moan, and he laughs and covers my mouth. I bite his hand and he bucks, thrusting against me. Heat surges through me and for a second I think I’m going to come, but then the sensation sinks back down, banking itself.
It’s there, though. He could push me over the edge so easily.
He helps me out of my shirt and sports bra. There’s a lot of rustling and giggling involved. I’m now very glad that he built his shelter at a distance from the main site.
“I wish I could see you,” he says. “I’m going to grope you a lot to make up for it.” And he does, his hands on my breasts, shaping me, plumping me, thumbs finding and fondling my nipples. His mouth follows his hands, and another wave of heat takes me up against my cliff.
I don’t know how he knows, but he does. “Not yet,” he says. “You wait for me.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You will.”
“Don’t touch my nipples, then.”
“Really? They’re that sensitive?” He sounds totally amped, like he just discovered you can make fire with matches. No more bow and hand drills and flint and steel! Instant, phosphorous conflagration! “Could you come from that? Just my touching them?”
“I mean, when I’m already this close and you’re between my legs like that, yes.”
“So what you’re saying is…” He ducks a head and licks a circle around my nipple. Not touching it. “This is basically torture.”
“Mmm-hmm. The best kind of torture.”
“So, like, if I—” He hikes his hips, and the stretch and pressure is so, so good. I can feel the breaking point, like a horizon.
“If you keep doing that, yup.”
“Then I should probably stop.”
“Gabe,” I plead.
He props himself next to me—there’s just enough space in this brilliant shelter for the two of us side by side—and works his base layer off. Then his pants.
“You smell so good,” I tell him. Like aftershave and the woods and honest work and camping soap, which is not a thing I ever thought would be an aphrodisiac, but that was before I met Gabe.
“You, too,” he says, nose in my hair, then my neck, then between my breasts. Gah. I want him on my nipple again. I grab his head to try to steer him, but he resists, chuckling. I palm him through his boxer briefs, hoping to entice. He presses into my palm.
“Can you take these off?”
He nods, and does, crawling over me, stroking the velvet skin gently over my inner thigh, then right along the seam of my sex so I feel the friction through my lips and on my clit. I whimper, and he does it again, nudging my clit with his cock’s head.
Suddenly I can’t wait.
“Gabe. Please.”
“Please what?”
“I want you inside me.”
“Can’t,” he says, with satisfaction.
“What?”
“I bought condoms, but I left them home. On purpose.”
“Please tell me you’re full of it.”
“Nope. You said it was more fun waiting.”
I groan. “I lied.”
He’s working himself on me, against the soft skin of my inner thigh, against my slick pussy, nudging my clit over and over again. The orgasm is gathering itself with the inevitability of an oncoming train. I’m totally helpless. I pull his head down, wanting his mouth on mine, and kiss him, hard and openmouthed, our tongues tangling, soft and silky. He slides his hand up over my breast and works my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and it’s just right and too much, at the same time. I come in slow motion, my climax tightening down and rolling over me, rocking my hips, making every muscle in my lower body clench.
He gives a rough cry, props himself up on one arm, and strokes his cock until he comes all over my belly and chest. The moonlight illuminates the show: long, pretty ropes. His whole body tenses, every muscle in his torso beautiful in high definition. My pussy musters a few last sympathetic spasms.
Suddenly I’m laughing.
“Really, Gabriel Wilder?”
He’s still speechless, lowering himself onto his side next to me, resting his forehead against mine, breathing hard, stroking my hair.
“We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere with only the water in our water bottles, and you decided it would be a good idea to come all over me?”
“Are you mad?” he asks, sounding as uncertain as I’ve ever heard him.
“Are you kidding me? That was so fucking hot.”
His grin lights up the shelter.
He cleans me up, using his boxer briefs, then settles back down. He lies down on his back and pulls me half onto him, urging me to rest my head in the crook of his shoulder. We’re officially cuddling. I know without being told that it has been a long time since Gabe cuddled anyone, but I don’t say anything, because I don’t want to scare him.
Or myself.