Carla is frozen where she stands in the shallows.
I look up.
I should not have because fuck me sideways.
She is standing about five feet from me in river water that reaches just below her hips, and none of the mud is on her now. All of it is gone. She’s fully bare, the current pulling gently around her.
Her blonde hair hangs heavy and wet down her back. Her pussy is covered in dark fur but trimmed neatly on the sides. I had heard that humans do that. That some of them shave their pussy hair off completely.
I like that she has hair. I like the trim. I lift my eyes to her lush hips and soft belly. Despite just having had a drink of water, my mouth goes dry at her full breasts that sit high and round, her nipples tight from the cold water. Her shoulders are wet and gleaming. Her face is tipped partly toward where the eel vanished. She’s wide-eyed and startled and, incredibly, devastatingly beautiful.
My cock goes hard in an instant. There is nothing the cold water can do. My tip eases from the water.
She is, without question, the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life.
Something in my chest tightens. Blood rushes through my veins.
“Carla.” Her name comes out of me wrong. Too low. Too rough. I can hear it myself. I’m eating her up with my eyes, and I know it, and I can’t stop. I take a step toward her and the water lowers.
She turns her head and looks at me.
Her eyes go down and then up. I’m hard, thick, and heavy, impossible to miss. Even my balls feel heavy and throbbing.
She swallows.
“Should I…run?” she says. And she means it half as a joke, I think. Maybe it’s her way of telling me that she wants me to fuck her.
Shit!
Is that it?
“No.” The word comes out clipped. “Don’t!”
I know what I should do. I know it clearly. I should turn back around. I should put my eyes on the opposite bank, keep them there, get my body and my head under control, and remember every sensible word I said to her only just this morning.
I don’t turn.
She doesn’t move either. Her underwear and what’s left of her skirt are clutched in her fist. She doesn’t try to cover herself and doesn’t cross her arms over her chest. She just stands there in the water, her chin up a fraction, and her mouth has parted, and her eyes are half-dark and heavy. She’s looking at me the way she was looking at me from behind that tree.
The current moves around both of us.
“Fuck.” It comes out of me like a breath. Then I’m moving.
I close the distance between us, and I get both hands on either side of her face, and I kiss her, hard, before either of us can think about it any further.
She kisses me back.
Her hands come up and hit my chest, her underwear still in them, and then her fingers curl against my skin, and she makes a sound into my mouth that does something catastrophic to my self-control. I angle her head and go deeper. She gives me everything. Her body, still cold and slick from the river, presses into me from chest to hip, and everywhere we make contact I feel it like something lit.
I break the kiss just long enough to get my arm under her legs, my other hand braced at her back, and I pick her up out of the water. She wraps her arms around my neck. I carry her to the bank and step up out of the river.
Her soft body presses against all of my hardness, and she pulls back and looks at me with those heavy eyes, her mouth still parted.
Shit!
“I can’t.” I put her down. “We can’t, Carla. I want you. Know that?—”
“Now what do we have we here?”
