Suddenly the heat of him vanishes, and his hair slides through my fingers. I blink my eyes open. He’s crouched a few feet away, digging through his bag.
“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing.
He holds up a small blue container, opening it to reveal thin white sheets. “Soap.” He peels one free, pours a little water into his palm, and starts scrubbing his hands together.
A laugh escapes me. “You brought soap?”
“I’m always prepared.” He smirks.
I arch a brow. “Let me guess. You also have a condom in there?”
“In fact, I do.”
“Then you should probably bring it with you.”
When he’s finished, I grab the front of his shirt and tug him back to me, brushing my lips over his. My tongue traces the seam of his mouth, and he opens instantly. His fingers slide over the fabric of my dress, bunching it up until his hand finds my bare thigh. Goosebumps ripple over my skin as he moves higher and unhurried, until he reaches the edge of my thong. The pad of his finger moves in slow, deliberate circles over my clit, and my breath stutters.
His mouth brushes mine. “You’re so wet for me.”
“Drenched,” I breathe.
His fingers slip beneath the elastic, teasing, and when he presses closer, I lift my hips without thinking—needing him, all of him. He eases one finger inside, pulls out, and adds a second one.
My gasp snaps into a whimper as I clutch his shirt, dragging his mouth to mine. “Miles—” My hips lift, desperate. “Make me scream.” I breathe—and when he curls his finger inside me, I do, his name tearing out of me, carrying far enough that anyone nearby knows exactly who I belong to.
He fumbles with the button of his khakis as I slide my thong down my legs and step out of it. The fabric bunches warm in my palm before I tuck it into the front pocket of his khakis. I take the condom from him and tear it open with my teeth, my eyes never leaving his. Spinning around, I gather the fabric of my dress at my waist. I bend forward, bracing myself against the tree. My teeth catch my bottom lip in a silent invitation.
His heated gaze roams over me, then his brows pinch together. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hold on.”
My ass is fully on display for every forest creature within a mile, and he wants me to hold on. He doesn’t explain, only scans the ground until he finds a flat rock and nudges it to my feet.
“Stand on this. It’ll help for better leverage.”
I laugh softly as I step up, the height adjustment absurdly sweet and totally on-brand for him. “I did ask for adventure.”
“That you did,” he murmurs, closing the distance.
Once I’m at the right height, his mouth finds the back of my neck. The world narrows to him—his hands, his warmth, the way he fits behind me like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. I moan when his hand slides up my front and cups my breast, his fingers tracing the barbell with practiced familiarity.
He pulls back just long enough to roll the condom down his length. From behind, he drags the tip of his cock through my arousal, slow and teasing. I press against him.
“Miles,” I breathe. “Please.”
“I like it when you beg,” he murmurs against my ear. His hand tightens at my waist, and in one decisive movement, he thrusts inside, stretching me.
“Oh, Miles!”
His thumb brushes my nipple as he presses deeper, voice low and reverent. “You’re perfect. Like you were made for me.”
“Only you.”
With one hand still anchoring my waist, he reaches up and tugs gently at the end of my braid, tipping my head back just as his thrusts turn harder, more urgent. A broken moan escapes me. “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. His breath stutters. “You feel so fucking good taking every inch of me,” he whispers, his pace quickening, breath rough against my skin. His grunts mix with my moans. My palm scrapes against the bark with every thrust.
