He pumps inside, hitting that place again, and I don’t care how any of this will feel tomorrow. Hell, I welcome the bruises, the scrapes, the cuts. I want to be this broken thing, rubbed raw.
His fingers slide between my legs, skate over my lips to my clit. It’s absolutely electrified. It doesn’t take much. A few flicks, a quick pinch, and I’m there—
No, not there—here. Everywhere.
Fuck, I’m exploding. He’s pumping into me hard, close to the end for him, I think, and all I can do is fall into sensation the way you dive into water, head first. Completely. Giving myself up to it. And that initial moment, like breaking below the surface, is utterly empty. No thought, no sensation beyond pure, endless bliss.
I feel nothing. It’s wonderful.
* * *
Comingdown is the hard part. I knew it would be, but I had no idea just how bad. It’s like a drug, I imagine, although I’ve got nothing to compare it to.
I’m shaky, a little lost, and cold, despite his enveloping warmth. I shiver, which I don’t imagine he’ll notice, seeing as how he just orgasmed inside me. In the condom, I mean, but still. He surprises me by rubbing a hand up my arm to my shoulder, then back down again. Our palms meet, mine squeezes, he squeezes me back.
Okay then. That’s it. I’ve done it. I mean… Jesus. This is it. What I wanted. All of it, from the set-up, to the chase, to my first-ever orgasm with a man was perfect. I want…
I shiver again, hating myself for wanting something, anything. And then, because I’m not allowed to need more than this—and not just based on his rules, but my own as well—I clear my throat, sniff, lift my head from the ground, and force out something approaching a laugh.
“I could use a drink.”
His body shakes once, as if he’s laughing too, though really, who can say? I mean, everything’s been in my head, hasn’t it? He’s told me nothing.
And that’s the way I want it. No complications, no strings. I came to Kink Camp for this very thing: to live out my fantasy. To have an orgasm with another person. Not once did I imagine I’d actually achieve any of it.
It’s a toss up at this point as to whether I can walk, much less get up, but I’ve got to get out of here. I have to.
I lean back, showing him with my body that it’s time to move and the guy, who can clearly take a hint, pulls out, leaving me achingly empty. He gets up. I have no idea if he offers me a hand. I use the tree, taking stock as I edge toward standing.
Oh, that’s all gonna hurt tomorrow. Or tonight, actually. Good thing I don’t sleep on my front. I brush dirt off my boobs, which feel as tender as these fresh emotions. I almost laugh at the idea of trying to explain cuts and bruises to the guys on the job site come Monday.Nah, I’m good. Just busted my lip getting fucked by some rando in the woods. So, how’s about them Cavs?
Yeah, no. Much better keeping Randy and José in the dark about this week’s activities. My colleagues are overprotective enough as it is. They’d lose it.
A little steadier, I pull the bra down, trying to ignore the sound his pants and zipper make. I don’t even think he took his shirt off, so getting clothed again’s easy for him. Him. The stranger. My stranger.
He hands me a sandal. I thank him. He doesn’t reply.
Right. Anonymity. That was the big one for him. Makes me wonder who he is, of course.Like, are you famous? Do you have a girlfriend?
Dean—that asshole—broke up with me the day after I told him about the things that turn me on.Too freaky, he wrote in his break-up text. Atext!We were talking about getting married, dammit. But sex with him wasn’t anywhere close to this. It was mechanical. Almost a duty. All I feel about the break-up now is relief.
Crap, what am I doing even thinking about this? It’s time to get out of here, leave this whole thing behind, get back to the campsite, crack open a cider—or three, now that there’s no pre-kinkytimes 2-drink maximum hanging over my head—flop back onto one of Max’s fancy folding chairs and just…think.
I zip and button my jeans, brush off as much dirt as I can and turn to the shadow I just had sex with. “Uh…” God, how on earth am I feeling awkward right now? I huff out a half-laugh and shake my head, which he probably can’t see anyway. “Um. Are you—?”
“No talking,” he whispers.
I blush, chastised. It’s uncomfortable and not remotely how this evening is allowed to end. I force my voice into an unrecognizable hush. “Sorry. Thanks. Good night.”
“Do you need afterca—”
“Nope!” Shit. Too loud. “No. Thank you.” A forced smile, which he’ll never see. “Take care, now.”
With as much dignity as I can channel into my stained, bruised, and freshly fucked frame, I stumble off in what I hope is the right direction.
My stranger… Well, I have no idea what he does next. And I guess that’s the point.
5
