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‘You cheat,’ I gasp as his tongue parts me and draws tight circles over my clit. One hand moves upwards and cups my arse cheek while the other reaches for my breast, kneading it before he pinches my nipple. I gasp, back arching and pushing further into his grip.

‘That feels good,’ I pant, hips rocking against him. ‘That feels really good.’

Walker groans low, and I feel the sound travel through me. His tongue flattens. He laps at me like every pull is his last taste of his favourite meal. I groan, eyes rolling into the back of my head. My knees quake and my body shivers. I don’t know how much longer I can take this standing.

And then his hand moves, and I know I’m done for. The hand kneading my arse dips between my cheeks and traces the seam of me in gentle exploration. His fingers slipping against the slick he’s caused to pool at my entrance. Before they trace back further again.

Walker’s eyes flit to mine in question, his tongue still moving against me. His other palm full of my breast and his fingers just resting where they are, waiting for permission.

I nod.

Walker’s mouth leaves me and I despair. ‘Words,’ he demands.

‘Yes!’ I rush. And his fingers inch closer to where I want them.

‘Manners,’ he adds, grinning with his eyes.

I huff. ‘Yes, please,’ I say deliberately. He looks at me like he’s won, and I’m tempted to change our positions just to prove how wrong he is. But first, I will come.

His finger slips into my arse the same time his tongue rejoins with my clit and it’s all rather quick from there. I moan my release, nails digging into his shoulder and pulling at his hair while his tongue and finger work me.

His mouth is glistening wet when he grins up at me. ‘You can praise me more now⁠—’

I cut him off with a kiss, coming to my knees before him, and push on his shoulder so he sits with his back against the tree. I eye the very apparent bulge in his pants.

‘Do something about this,’ I say haughtily, motioning at his state of dress. Walker’s lips quirk and he undoes the top button and zipper of his pants. His dick springs to attention, and I go to take him into my mouth when he stops me.

‘I just want you on me,’ he says, pulling me closer. ‘I want you near,’ he says, arms settling around me when I’m seated in his lap.

‘Is your dick in my mouth not close enough for you?’ I smile against his lips.

‘No,’ he says, shaking his head and pulling on that strand of hair that always comes loose. ‘No, it’s not.’

His stare is bordering sentimental. I want to tell him that we’re not allowed to look at each other like that. Nothing lasts. I’m not good at keeping good things. He’ll jinx whatever time we have together. But what does it matter how long we have, when this moment between us lives forever in an instant? It seems to matter less and less as his nails drag up and down my spine, and he watches me with so much tenderness I convince myself that as long as we remember, we live forever.

I kiss him. Slow. I commit the ridges of his lips to memory, the stubble of his jaw, the softness of his hair. I’m going to lock this memory in my heart, and even when it’s broken it’ll still be the most beautiful reminder of what we could have had if things were different.

Walker pulls me closer. I align myself with him. And I let gravity join us slowly. I gasp at the feeling of being stretched and filled by him. Walker’s breath is warm against my lips. I swallow his sighs, and I think again of the contract we’d struck. That lovely pathetic excuse that meant all and nothing.

I rock my hips lazily, like we have all the time in the world. ‘Care to make a bargain?’

‘I think I have everything I want already,’ he says, hands coming to rest on my hips. His movements aren’t controlling, they follow. I set the pace, he follows. He shifts beneath me, I moan. He shifts again.

Between laboured breaths and dawdling kisses, he asks, ‘But out of curiosity?’

‘My heart for yours,’ I stutter as my arms outstretch towards the heavens and I stretch atop him, readying to take things faster, my courage a quick evolution to nervous energy.

He pauses, but not for long. His kisses are not short endeavours. I’ve learnt recently that Walker’s affection is closer in composition to epic suites than solitary tracks. Obsessive, compulsive, committed.

‘You don’t want mine, it’s rotten,’ he says.

‘I do.’

‘You don’t.’

‘Don’t you want mine?’ I ask.

He looks at me, green eyes the same shade as the moss we stepped over near the river. Moss is not quite so sad though. ‘Despite common conception, I am not so great a villain I would take that from you.’