She blinks. “You’re telling me you have a designated drawer?”
“I’m prepared,” I say, dead serious.
She laughs and hops off the table on shaky legs. Her knees give a wobble but my hand steadies her. We move together, a clumsy shuffle past Bear (who opens one eye like,are you kidding me?) to the bed alcove. She yanks the drawer open and finds what we need.
She tosses me a foil packet.
I catch it one-handed, my eyes never leaving hers, and reach for my belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops makes her bite her lip. I strip fast—my shirt is already gone, then my belt, jeans, briefs—and watch her struggle to breathe.
I’m broad everywhere. I know what I look like—I’m built for combat, for survival. The line of my V, the trail of hair that disappears lower. My cock is thick, hard, and already leaking for her. I roll the condom on with desperate hands.
“See something you want?” I look over at her. Her eyes are locked onto my cock.
“Everything,” she breathes. “I want everything.”
“Come here,” I say, voice low, and she does.
My hands catch her hips and turn her gently, guiding her to the edge of the bed facing the fire. I stand behind, then drag her panties down with one decisive tug, and they pool at her ankles. She steps out of them and shivers.
“I want to see you,” I say, close to her ear. “Here. In the light. I want to watch my cock disappear inside you.”
“Oh God, Red.”
I bend her forward just enough for her palms to hit the mattress, one big hand flattening at the small of her back. She gasps—not from pain, but from being positioned exactly how I want her. The pressure is possessive, claiming, and her whole body screams yes.
“You’re sure this is still okay?” I check, thumb stroking tiny circles that make her knees threaten to buckle. My other hand runs up her spine, then back down to grip her hip.
“Yes,” she says, shaky and sure. “Please. Red, I need?—”
“I know what you need.” I line myself up, the thick head of my cock pressing against her entrance, teasing. “I’m gonna give it to you. I’m gonna fill you up so good you’ll forget your own name.”
Groaning, I sink in slowly. The way her body takes me—it’s everything. The stretch, the tightness, the way she fits me like she was made for this. I’m thick, splitting her open inch by inch, and I can feel every pulse, every flutter of her body adjusting to me. She pushes back, and I curse under my breath, my hands gripping her hips.
“Easy,” I grind out. “I’m gonna take my time. I want you to feel every inch of me.”
“I do.” She’s panting already. “God, Red, you’re so?—”
“Big?” I pull out almost all the way, then thrust back in, deeper this time. “Thick? Stretching this tight little pussy?”
“Yes.” The word comes out broken. “All of it. More.”
I laugh and set a rhythm that makes thought impossible. It’s slow at first, making sure she feels every inch of me. She rocks back into me, greedily meeting every thrust.
“Jesus, Cookie,” I say, voice torn. “You feel—so fucking good. So tight. You’re taking me so well.”
“I know,” she gasps. I give her what she’s asking for without words: more.
Faster. Harder.
The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, the fire’s roar—it’s perfect. She moans without shame, her hand fisting in the blanket, and I grunt my approval.
“That’s it. Let me hear you. I want everyone on this fucking mountain to know you’re mine.”
I wrap an arm low around her middle and pull her upright against my chest, changing the angle. Her head falls back on my shoulder, and I’m buried so deep I can’t tell where I end and she begins. My other hand finds her throat—not squeezing, just there, big and warm, a reminder of control I’ll never abuse. She melts into it.
“You like this?” I breathe, my mouth at her ear.
“God, yes.” She’s trembling, desperate. “If you stop now, I'll never forgive you."
