“You gave them to me.”
“Yeah.”
The single syllable lands like he hates how much that matters.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties.
He pauses.
It’s a pause that feels like he’s giving me control while looking like he wants to take it.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Tell you what?”
“That you want this,” he demands, eyes locked on mine. “No games. I don’t even have a condom, Brit.”
My breath shakes out. My body's a mess of need and jitters. Protection ain’t something I’m used to thinking about.
“You’re clean. Tested?”
“Of course,” he sighs. “I can pull out so you don’t end up like Lottie.”
I think of Lottie and Holler. Her getting pregnant and them getting married.
“I want you,” I say, my desires winning out.
Something in his face breaks. Not softness. Not romance.
Control.
The thin scrap of fabric tears under his hands. The sound is sharp in the quiet woods.
My breath catches. My pulse skitters. I should be embarrassed. I should be mad.
Instead I feel filthy in the best way. Chosen. Wanted. Claimed.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
“Then show me,” I whisper, because I’m done asking for permission from men who never gave it, anyway.
“You’ve done this before?” he asks.
“Once or twice,” I say in a whisper.
He growls and unzips his wet pants. His hand finds me wet where water is no fault. Another hand goes under his shirt that I’m wearing. He brushes his thumb over my nipple. At the same time, his fingers walk my slick slit, like he’s trying to test if there’s room for him.
I just fall apart.
Oaks decides to make room. I bite my lip as his fingers enter me rough, one and then two, then three, spreading and kneading as to prepare the way. His mouth descends on mine as he removes his hand and replaces it with his cock. Somehow it feels so much harder than his fingers. Solid, grounding as he leaves it parked.
He rumbles against my cheek. “You want me to fuck you against this tree?”
“An oak tree? I don’t even know why they call you Oaks.” I don’t even know his real name for that matter. Currently, I can’t bring myself to care.
“Why am I called Oaks? Lots of different reasons. You’re about to find out one of them.”
“Why? Do fuck all the girls against big oak trees or something?” I ask almost laughing at the thought.
