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There’s bare stone along the rise ahead, with bushes at the far end, and I head for it. Stone won’t hold a print for him.

I look back through the trees.

He’s stopped laughing. I listen for a footstep while I run, but all I hear is my own breathing and the wet leather on my feet.

I’d like him a bit closer than this.

I turn off before the stone and put my foot in the soft earth beside it. The wrap leaves a deep print, toe and all, and so does the next one.

I leave both of them and jog on.

The ground levels out between the trees, and I slow to a walk. At the first trunk, I press my good shoulder against the bark and brush past, dragging the shirt over it. I do it again at the next one, hard enough to feel the bark through the cloth.

He’d better appreciate what I’m doing to his shirt. There’s already less of it than he gave me.

I glance back at the marks I’ve left, then walk around a low branch. The loose cuff catches, and I stop to pull it free. He can have that one too.

I want his mouth back on mine. I want it lower down, too. I’ve come on his tongue in the forest and in the rain, and on his fingers, and I’ve had the head of his cock right where I wanted it and been told not yet. He doesn’t get to say that today.

I still don’t know what he feels like inside me. All I’ve got to go on is my mouth, and I couldn’t get half of him in it. When he catches me, I want all of it, as deep as he can get it, and I want him to quit being so careful about it.

I’m the one who put half a forest between us, and I think I’ve made my point about the running.

I take another few steps, listening over my shoulder.

Nothing’s moving back there.

Come on, Rauk. Birdie could follow that trail. I get to the next tree and catch a bit of his smell, den smoke and fur, close enough that I start to turn.

A broad hand catches my hip.

“Oh, you—”

His other hand goes flat against my upper back, above the sore place, and my feet leave the ground. He turns with me against his chest and goes down on purpose, folding a leg under him, and I grab his neck as he rolls onto his back in the needles.

He sets me down on top of him with a knee either side of his hips, and the breath goes out of him hard. I stay folded over him until his grip eases enough for me to lift my head.

Both his rounded ears are tipped forward, and there’s a pine needle caught in the pale fur over one eye.

Very fierce.

“Pikku riesa.”

I look down at him, still holding a fistful of his neck fur.

“You could’ve made a noise.”

“You’d have run.”

“That’s what you told me to do.”

His hands settle at my hips with the claws lifted off my legs. He’s breathing hard, but he’s grinning up at me, showing both fangs. “You let me catch you.”

“You still had to catch me.”

“You left a print at every step.” One thumb moves on my hip.

“And you followed them. Well done.”