Sirena
I don’t know how long it’s been. Minutes. Hours. I have absolutely no clue what time of night it is. The world outside this place doesn’t exist anymore.
The air is thick enough to taste — smoke, pine, skin. Every breath I take feels like his, caught and returned. The forest hums around us, alive and watching.
I can feel my body trembling again, the aftershocks of the most mind-melting orgasm I’ve ever had, and I’m needy for more.
The insatiable hunger I have for this masked man’s cock surprises even myself, and in an instant, I’ve freed my own hands, leaving my bra on the forest floor, and I’m on my feet wandering in the direction he disappeared. I need more.
He moves like shadow made flesh — always close, never close enough. My body keeps searching for him, reaching into the darkness before I can think, but always coming up empty. The sound of my own heartbeat feels too loud, too frantic.
When he catches my wrist, the touch is deliberate. A claiming touch, not a question.
I should resist. I don’t. Every part of me leans toward him like I was built for this, as if I’ve been waiting all my life to be caught. My hands find his chest, and I can feel his erratic heartbeat matching my own.
The mask has become a part of him — faceless and perfect, the embodiment of every forbidden thing I ever wanted. Every dark romance novel I’ve ever imagined being the main character of. I’m in my own book, written just for me, and I cannot get enough.
He’s silent as he touches me, but his silence says more than words ever could.
Each sound I make pulls something deeper from him — a groan, a growl, the sound of restraint breaking thread by thread.
It doesn’t feel like lust anymore. It feels like worship.
Like punishment. Like coming undone in the dark and wanting nothing more than to be seen by the one who refuses to show his face.
He breathes my name against my neck, “Sirena,” and I come undone again. I’m breathless with desire and need as I press my body firmly against his. When he pulls back, I gasp — half in shock, half in ache. The air between us is charged, a storm not yet spent.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, before I can stop myself. The words hang there, fragile and daring.
He stills — one heartbeat, two. Then his breath ghosts over my ear, “I wasn’t going to.”
His hands wrap around my back and find my ass, and he easily hoists me into the air, using one of his hands to free his cock from his jeans.
I lose track of everything after that — time, sense, self.
The forest sways with us. My body burns.
My throat aches from his name, I don’t even know, even though I never speak it aloud.
When I finally open my eyes, head tilted back in ecstasy, I can see the stars, and they are brighter than I remember, the world seems sharper, and he’s still there, staring at me like I’ve become something dangerous.
****
The Wolf
She doesn’t know what she does to me. No, that’s not true — she knows now. I’ve made sure of it.
Every sound she makes carves deeper into my soul. Every movement is a test of how much I can take before I stop pretending to be anything but the man that has been right in front of her and in love with this girl for three years.
My hips buck frantically, her back to a tree, and my dick buried deep in her soaked pussy.
I’m ferocious with need, slamming into her repeatedly.
I can’t get enough of the sounds she’s making, the feeling of the walls of her pussy clenching on my cock.
My one hand under her ass, my other reaching up to wrap around her throat.
The forest is alive with us — the rhythm of our bodies, the echo of her voice, the smell of skin and want. It’s everywhere, inescapable. It’s everything I could have ever dreamed up.
I have imagined this moment, but the reality is worse — or better.
It hurts, the way she looks at me through the mask, trusting and undone.
Like she’s giving herself to the darkness and daring it to love her back.
I want her to see me, but I also don’t know if she can handle what she will see. It’s torture.
I’m pounding into her with every fiber of my being, with every time I’ve watched her lips grace the side of a glass and I imagined it being my cock, with every laugh I’ve ever heard from her, with every side glance she’s ever given me across the bar.
I trace her asshole with my fingertip, and I can feel her body shudder underneath me.
Every time I draw back, I think I can stop.
Yet every time, she pulls me back in with one look, one breath, one moan. She was never prey. She was the snare.
When she moans my name — not my real one, but the one the town whispers like a warning — I almost lose it. Wolf. The sound of it on her lips feels like a brand.
I’m painfully hard as I repeatedly slam my cock into her cunt again at a furious pace; there is no gentleness here.
This is all heat, and need, and years of desire coming undone all at once.
I can feel her body tense underneath my fingertips.
She’s so close, so am I. We come together in a crescendo of movement, breath, and sound.
My balls echo in the forest as they slam off her pussy.
I hear the moan coming up her throat as she throws her head to the sky, and I bury every inch of myself inside of her.
Minutes pass, hours maybe. I don’t count. I don’t care. The world could burn, and I wouldn’t look away from her body beneath mine, from the dazed look in her eyes. There is nothing that would stop me from claiming her, again and again, in this forest.
When she finally collapses against me, shaking and breathless, I catch her. Hold her. Feel the pulse that still thrums wild beneath her skin.
I should end it here. Let her rest. Let her forget, but I know better.
The night isn’t done with us. Neither am I.