Chapter 7
We don’t make it fifty feet down the trail before he shoves me against a tree. The bark bites into my bare back, and his mouth crushes mine, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. He grinds into me, his hard cock pressing against my hip. I wrap a leg around his thigh and pull him closer.
“I can’t fucking wait,” he growls against my lips, biting my lower lip. “Every step down this mountain, all I’m gonna be thinking about is burying myself inside you.”
“Yeah? You gonna make me scream so loud the squirrels cover their ears?”
He laughs into my mouth. “Hey, maybe that one wasn’t so bad after all. Your lines are growing on me. Give me another one.”
I pull my wrists free, drop to my knees, and yank his sweats down with me.
His cock is in my mouth again before he can react.
I take him deep, all the way to the back of my throat until my nose is buried in the coarse hairs at the base, then pull off slowly, dragging my tongue along the underside.
With a pop, I release him. “How’s that for a delivery? ”
He looks down at me, a wild, feral look in his eyes. “That’s how you do it, Tate.” He hauls me to my feet, spins me around, and presses my chest against the tree. “Ass out. Now.” He kicks my feet apart and yanks my shorts down to my knees, my cock bobbing free, hard and dripping.
His hand runs over my ass, palming the flesh, then smacks it hard. I yelp.
“Fuck,” he says, “I’ve been wanting to do that all day. Every time I looked back, your ass was right there in those shorts. Made me crazy.” He smacks the other cheek, and I moan, pushing back into him. He spreads me open with both hands, exposing my hole to the cool mountain air.
“Look at that,” he breathes. “So fucking tight. And you’re winking at me, Tate. Your hungry little hole is winking at me.”
It’s surreal hearing Brody talk to me like this.
Years of listening to him brag about pussy, about the girls he was fucking, about all the filthy things he’d done to them.
And now that dirty mouth is aimed at me.
Now I’m the one bent over with my ass out.
I’m the one he’s smacking and growling at.
Every fantasy he ever described to me about some girl, I’m living it.
And I never realized that’s exactly what I’ve been craving.
To be on the receiving end of all that testosterone.
He spits on my hole. A warm glob of saliva that lands right on target. I shudder as it drips down my crack, between my inner thighs, into the dirt. He does it again. And again. Until I’m slick with it. Then he circles my rim with the tip of one finger, scooping up the mess and pushing it inside me.
“You ever had anything in here, Tate?”
“No,” I gasp as the finger slides past the tight ring of muscle.
“Not even your own fingers? In the shower? Never?”
“Never really thought about it.”
“Really? Well, I’ve been thinking about it all day.
” He pushes in deeper, knuckle-deep, crooking it, and fireworks go off behind my eyes.
“Thinking about how you’d feel around me.
Warm. Tight. Fuck, you’re even tighter than I imagined.
” He pulls out, spits again, and pushes back in with two.
The stretch burns, but it’s a good burn.
Not the kind I hate at the gym. This one makes my toes curl.
“Ungh,” is all I can manage. My forehead presses into the rough bark of the tree.
He scissors his fingers, stretching me open, working my hole until he finds a spot inside me that makes my knees buckle.
He grabs my jaw with his free hand and turns my head.
The angle is awkward, but it’s enough to crush his lips against mine, a messy, sideways kiss.
His tongue plunges into my mouth as he fingers my ass, pumping in and out, in and out.
The squelch of his fingers in my spit-slicked hole is the only sound besides the wind and our ragged breathing.
I moan into his mouth, and he swallows it, feeding me more spit, more tongue, more of those twisting fingers. I can feel his cock pressed against the back of my thigh, rock hard, leaking through his sweats. I reach back and grab it. The fabric is soaked.
He adds a third finger, and I cry out against his lips.
He doesn’t stop kissing me. Just holds me tighter, shushing me, whispering filthy things into my mouth as he opens me up.
The stretch is intense now, a deep ache that radiates through my whole body.
It feels like I’m being reshaped from the inside out, carved out to fit him.
Right when I’m really starting to feel it, when the ache turns into a deep, throbbing need, he pulls his fingers away. I whine at the loss.
“Don’t stop. Why are you stopping?”
“Because if I keep going, I’m gonna fuck you right here.”
“And? Do it.”
“No.” He spins me around so I’m facing him. His cock strains against his sweats, a dark wet patch spreading across the front. He cups my face with the same hand that was just inside me. “Not against a tree. Not like some quick, dirty hookup.”
“But I want it dirty.”
“Oh, I’ll make it dirty. But I want to see your face when I enter you. I want to watch your eyes roll back in your head, Tate.” He pulls up my shorts, tucking my hard cock away. “Let’s go.”
We stumble down the trail like that, grabbing at each other’s asses, crashing into each other for sloppy, desperate kisses whenever we find footing.
Every couple hundred feet, he has me pinned against another tree, another boulder, one hand down my pants, the other in my hair, telling me how he’s going to ruin me.
How I’m going to be full of him, dripping with him, for days.
And every time he pins me, his fingers find their way back inside me.
Prying me open, stretching me, making me slick with spit and precum until my hole is a sloppy mess, twitching for more.
Then he yanks my shorts back up and shoves me down the trail again.
A delicious, maddening game of edging. His cock is a steel rod in his sweats, and I know he’s just as desperate as I am.
By the time we make it back to the cabin, the sun has started its descent, casting warm golden light through the trees. I’m shaking, legs like jelly, my ass slick and tingling.
Brody detours to the truck and reaches behind the back seat. He comes back with a bottle of lube in one hand and grabs mine with the other, pulling me past the cabin and toward the lake. “Not inside that dusty old cabin,” he says. “Outside, where I can see you.”
The lake glows in the late-afternoon light. He leads me along the shore to a wide flat bank of grass sheltered by a pair of old pines. A fallen log covered in thick green moss makes a natural bench.
“Here,” he says, kicking off his boots. “This is where I’m gonna dick you down.”
A full-body shiver runs through me, equal parts fear and anticipation. I’ve never been more turned on in my life. I pull off my sneakers and socks, the grass soft under my bare feet. The air is warm, smelling of pine and damp earth. No wind here. Just the gentle lap of water against the shore.
He pulls me in by the waistband and kisses me.
Slower this time. Not the frantic, crashing-into-trees desperation from the trail.
His hands slide down my sides, thumbs tracing my hip bones, and he walks me backward until my calves hit the mossy log.
I sit, and he follows, dropping to his knees between my legs.
His mouth moves down my jaw, my neck, my chest. His tongue drags across my nipple, and I hiss, my hands gripping his shoulders.
His hands hook into the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down and off, tossing them aside. My cock springs free, slapping against my stomach. He leans in and takes a long inhale. “Fuck, Tate. You smell good. You smell like you want to get fucked.”
He licks a wet stripe up the underside of my cock, from base to tip, before taking me into his mouth.
I groan and fall back against the log, the spongy moss a cushion at my spine.
He takes me deep, just like I did for him.
His head bobs up and down, his lips stretched around my girth, one hand wrapped around the base, the other rolling my balls.
Watching Brody on his knees in front of me, his head in my lap, is something I never thought I’d see.
This big, powerful man, all muscle and bravado, sucking my cock with a focus I’ve only ever seen him give the squat rack.
His eyes are closed, dark lashes fanned against his cheekbones, moaning around my shaft, the vibrations traveling through my whole body.
The setting sun catches the line of his jaw, the sweat beading on his temples.
I’m close embarrassingly fast. “Brody. Stop. God, stop,” I gasp, pushing him away.
He grins, my cock slipping from his lips with a wet sound. “Too good?”
“Y-yeah.”
He gives the head a final lick. Then straightens up and yanks his sweats off in one smooth motion. His cock juts out from his body, thick and throbbing. My ass clenches. That whole thing was in my mouth. I can’t believe it.
He flips the cap on the lube and pours a thick line of it along his shaft.
I watch his fist close around himself, stroking, coating every inch until he’s gleaming in the fading sunlight.
A string of lube drips from his head onto the moss.
He pours more onto his fingers and kneels between my legs.
His slick hand finds my hole, tender from the trail, and he pushes two fingers in without resistance.
“Damn, Tate,” he murmurs. “You’re opening up for me so nicely.” He works the lube into me, coating my insides, preparing me for what’s coming. He pulls out and smears what’s left over my rim, my taint, the insides of my thighs. I’m slick, dripping. I’ve never felt dirtier.