Chapter Eighteen – Lira #2
It opens slowly, like a breath. The trees pull back. The sky, pale blue now, watches from above. Ferns edge the perimeter, and the earth is dry underfoot—damp at the edges but solid here.
He lets go of my hand.
“We’re in the safe part now,” he says quietly. “No cliffs. No animals we can’t hear coming.”
I exhale, the tension in my back softening just slightly. “What now?”
“Tomorrow,” he says, scanning the edges of the trees, “I’ll find a way out. There’s a gravel path about an hour south. I’ll take us through it when the light comes back.”
I nod . “I trust you.”
He turns toward a log near the edge of the clearing and pats it gently. “Sit.”
I do.
He shrugs off his suit jacket and steps closer, draping it over my shoulders with a softness that makes my throat tighten. His fingers brush my collarbone as he adjusts it, then he moves away, crouching down near the edge of the clearing.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“Stones,” he says without looking back. “I’m going to start a fire.”
I wrap the jacket tighter around myself and watch.
He moves methodically, picking through the underbrush, gathering small stones with a sharp eye. Then dry twigs. Splintered wood. He builds the fire slowly, arranging the materials in a careful pattern, his hands sure even as dusk thickens around us.
The click of stone against stone breaks the quiet.
Then a spark.
It catches. The fire flickers to life, low and crackling. He leans back on his heels and watches it grow until the warmth spreads far enough to touch my knees.
He sits beside me.
Without a word, I lean into him. My arms fold around his waist, and his wrap over my shoulders. I press my cheek against the base of his neck.
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
There’s a pause.
“When my mother died,” he says slowly, “things in the house changed. My siblings shut me out. Not with fights—just silence. Cold walls. My father traveled a lot for business. When he was gone, I’d slip out and come here.”
“Here?”
“Not exactly here. Different parts. Forests near every estate we had. I learned how to make fires, pitch tents, disappear.”
“Did they ever look for you?”
His jaw shifts slightly against my forehead. “No.”
“You had horrible siblings,” I say softly, my fingers curled over the edge of his sleeve.
He shrugs , gaze on the fire. “I don’t blame them. I was insufferable.”
I turn my head until he meets my eyes. “Not to me.”
The moment hangs. His eyes stay on mine. Neither of us leans forward at first—we just breathe in the space between us until it thins. Then our mouths meet.
The kiss is slow. Not desperate. Just certain.
“You’ve done so good,” I whisper when we pull apart. My hand slides down his chest. “You need a reward.”
He glances around us—trees, flame, sky. “In the forest?”
I grin. My fingers move lower. The zipper eases down. He’s already hard.
I laugh under my breath. “Is this the best time?”
“You made me like this,” he mutters.
I meet his eyes, the grin still playing on my lips. “Let me make you better.”
I press my knees into the earth and lean in, dragging my tongue slowly up his shaft. His breath catches— quiet. He smells like pine and ash and sweat, and when I close my lips around the head of his cock, he lets out the softest groan, head tilting back.
His fingers thread into my hair, not pulling, not pushing—just holding. I feel the tremble in his hands as he murmurs something in Italian, rough and low: "Amore, vai piano con me." Darling, go easy on me.
But I don’t want easy.
I sink lower, letting him slide deeper into my mouth, until he brushes the back of my throat.
His hips twitch and I hum around him, licking him again before taking him in with more rhythm, more pressure.
The moss is damp beneath my knees, but I don’t care—I care about the way he breathes, how tight he grips my scalp, how he shudders when I cup his balls and roll them gently in my palm.
He groans again, deeper , like it’s being dragged out of him. I start to bob my head now, faster, working him with my mouth as his thighs tense under my palms.
His grip tightens in my hair, his hips starting to move—small thrusts at first, then deeper, harder.
I brace my hands against his thighs, letting him fuck up into my mouth, each stroke hitting the back of my throat with a slick, desperate sound.
I gag , just a little, and he groans like he’s losing control, like he needs more.
His cock is slick with precum now, and I feel it coating my lips, the taste of him everywhere. He yanks my head back gently but firmly, and I look up at him, breathless, mouth wet and open.
“ I need to be inside you, ” he pleads, his voice torn at the edges.
“I want you inside me,” I whisper, voice hoarse, eyes locked on his.
I rise to my feet slowly, turning my back to him without another word. I feel his hand slide up the back of my thigh, bunching up my dress until the cool night air hits my skin. He drags my panties down in one smooth motion, letting them fall to my knees, then to the ground.
He’s sitting on the flat ledge legs parted just enough to pull me between them. His cock is flushed, thick, leaking against his stomach—and then I feel him guide me down, the head of him sliding between my folds, teasing my entrance.
He doesn’t wait. He pushes in—slow at first, then with a groan that vibrates into my spine as he fills me inch by inch.
I gasp, bracing my hands on his thighs again as my body stretches to take him. The angle is deep— so deep—and I can feel every inch of him as I start to move.
He cups the back of my dress in his hands, dragging it higher so he can watch me ride him. “ Look at you, ” he groans. “ You take me so well. ”
I roll my hips against him, grinding down until his breath stutters.
The forest disappears, the world narrows—just us and the fire and the slick sound of my body taking him over and over again.
His hands clutch my waist now, steadying me as I bounce in his lap, the pace building, filthy, and raw,and perfect.
His cock hits the deepest part of me with every thrust, and I can’t stop the sounds I make—soft, ruined little moans that spill out between my teeth.
His hands slide up under my dress, rough palms cupping my breasts from behind.
I arch into him, my hips never stopping, grinding down harder now, faster.
He groans into my neck, lips brushing just beneath my ear, the heat of him everywhere, all around me.
The fire cracks nearby, but it’s nothing compared to the burn between us.
I bounce in his lap, thighs shaking, his cock driving deeper every time I take him down to the root. He pinches my nipple lightly and I cry out, the sound half a sob, half a prayer.
“ Fuck, ” he gasps, and his hands grip tighter. “ Just like that. ”
His mouth finds the side of my throat again, trailing heat across my skin. I’m spiraling, so close I can feel my body tightening around him, ready to break apart.
And then it happens—everything clenches, everything floods. I cry out as my orgasm rips through me, every muscle locking tight around his cock as he groans behind me, thrusting up hard one last time.
He finishes inside me, spilling deep as he presses his face to my shoulder, his hips jerking, hands shaking where they grip my breasts. We stay like that—together, joined, every breath heavy and ragged.
I slump back against him, still trembling, trying to catch my breath. His lips move again, softer now, peppering my shoulder and the top of my spine with kisses. Like he needs me just as much as I need him.
The fire crackles.
My body is sore and soaked, his cum slowly leaking from between my thighs, and I can still feel the pulse of him inside me, softening but not yet gone.
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close, burying his face in my hair.
“You do things to me,” he whispers, voice low and reverent.
And I smile, eyes still closed, heart pounding like war drums against my ribs.