She was glistening for me already, swollen and slick, the soft pink folds flushed dark from arousal and the cold river air. The last amber light caught every drop of her wetness, making her shine like she was made of honey and sin.
Out here, with the falls thundering twenty feet away and the whole empty trail stretching behind us, the sight hit me harder than it ever had in any locked bedroom. Anyone could round that bend—some late hiker, a ranger, a couple chasing the sunset—and see me buried between her thighs. The thought sent a raw bolt of heat straight to my cock. We were completely exposed, completely reckless, and it made every nerve in my body sing.
I kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and deliberate, letting my breath ghost over her soaked center so she felt the anticipation. Her skin tasted like river water and salt and pure Riley.
When my tongue finally dragged a long, flat stripe up through her folds, she jerked hard, a sharp little gasp ripping out of her that the waterfall almost swallowed. Almost. Her fingers twisted tight in my hair, not pushing me away—pullingme closer. I groaned against her because she was so fucking hot, so slippery-sweet on my tongue, and the thrill of doing this right out in the open made my pulse hammer in my ears louder than the falls.
I licked slow circles around her clit, then firmer, sucking the swollen bud between my lips while I slid one finger inside her—tight, velvet heat that clenched instantly around the intrusion. Her hips rocked in tiny, helpless pulses, chasing my mouth. I added a second finger, curling them just right, stroking that spongy spot that made her thighs start to tremble violently against my ears.
Her moans were broken and breathy now, mixing with the roar of water, each one a little louder, a little more desperate. I could see her stomach fluttering, her breasts heaving with every ragged breath, nipples tight from the chill and the pleasure. She was trying to stay quiet—God, the way her teeth sank into her lower lip—but the open air made it impossible. Every whimper carried.
When she came, it was sudden and shattering—her back arched like a bow, a raw cry tearing out of her throat that echoed off the rocks. Her walls pulsed wildly around my fingers, flooding my tongue with fresh slick heat, and I kept licking her through every shudder, milking every last tremor while she shook above me. The risk made it filthy and perfect—out here where the mountains could hear her but no one else was supposed to.
When finally she came down, trembling and soft beneath me, I eased my fingers free and kissed my way back up her body—slow, open-mouthed presses along her quivering stomach, between her breasts, over the frantic beat of her pulse at her throat—until I reached her mouth again. She met me there, lazy and sated, tasting herself on my tongue.
I settled between her spread thighs, bracing on my forearms and breaking the kiss so I could look down at her. My cock hung heavy and aching between us, the head flushed dark and already glistening with pre-cum. Riley’s eyes flicked downward, then back to mine. A slow, teasing smile curved her lips.
She reached between us, wrapping her hand around my shaft—firm, exploratory. She stroked once, root to tip, thumb sweeping over the slick head in a lazy circle that made my hips jerk forward involuntarily.
“Jesus,” I hissed, head tipping back for a second before I forced myself to watch her again.
Her smile turned downright wicked, eyes glittering in the dying amber light. She stroked again—slower this time, twisting her wrist just enough at the crown to pull another low groan out of me. The sight of her—still flushed and glowing from coming on my tongue, hair wild, lips swollen—handling me so deliberately almost undid me right there.
“Riley,” I managed, voice gravel-rough. “You keep that up, and this ends before it starts.”
She laughed softly, the sound husky and pleased, then gave one last teasing pump before removing her hand, knees falling open wider in clear invitation. She stayed on her back, thighs framing me as wetness still coated her folds and inner thighs.
I settled fully between her legs. The cool gravel pressed into my knees through the thin barrier of our shirts beneath us, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was her—soft, hot, and open beneath me.
I notched myself at her entrance, just the head kissing her slick heat. The contact made us both suck in a breath.
“Wait,” I rasped, holding perfectly still even though every instinct screamed to push forward. “Birth control?”
Her eyes met mine, steady and dark. “I’m on the pill.”
Relief and raw want crashed through me at once. I nodded once, then began the slow slide inside, inch by torturous inch.
She was still swollen from her climax, impossibly tight, and the stretch drew a sharp little gasp from her. I froze immediately, only halfway in, thumb finding her clit again—gentle, steady circles to keep the pleasure outweighing the pressure.
“Easy,” I murmured, leaning down to brush my mouth over hers. “Breathe for me.”
She did—slow, shaky inhales that gradually eased the tension in her thighs. I stayed right there, barely moving, letting her adjust while I kissed her softly, tasting the salt on her upper lip, the faint sweetness that was just her.
When her hips tilted up in a small, experimental rock, I gave her another careful inch. Then another. The heat of her wrapped around me like liquid silk, every tiny flutter of her inner walls rippling along my length. It was exquisite torture—going this slow, feeling every ridge and vein drag against her clinging heat, watching her face the whole time. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way her brows pinched, then smoothed, the way her lips parted on silent sighs, the way her eyes had gone wide as she took me in.
By the time I was seated fully—buried to the hilt, hips flush against hers—we were both shaking. She felt devastating around me—scorching, silky, pulsing faintly like a second heartbeat. Her arousal had slicked us both. I could feel it dripping where we joined, likely soaking into the shirts beneath her.
I held still for a long moment, breathing her in. “You feel…” I swallowed hard, voice wrecked. “So fucking good, Riley. Like you were made for this. For me.”
She clenched around me in answer—deliberate, teasing—and I groaned low in my throat.
Then I started to move. Slow. Deep. Controlled. Every withdrawal dragged against her walls, every re-entry filled hercompletely. I kept the rhythm unhurried, savoring the way she gripped me, the wet slide, the tiny hitches in her breathing each time I fully filled her. The exposed thrill hummed between us—the open air on our skin, the thunder of the falls, the empty trail that could end our solitude at any second. It made every slow thrust feel stolen, dangerous, electric.
Her hands roamed my back, nails digging in lightly when I hit just the right angle. Her legs wrapped loosely around my hips, heels pressing into the backs of my thighs like she wanted me even deeper. I watched her face the whole time—how her eyes fluttered half-shut, how her mouth fell open on soft, broken sounds the water mostly stole, how the fading light gilded the sweat on her throat and the flush across her chest.
“God, look at you,” I whispered, voice rough with awe. “Taking me so slow, so deep…feel that? Every inch right out here where anyone could see how perfect you look under me.”
She whimpered at the words, inner walls fluttering hard, another rush of wetness coating me.
