Her eyes water, but she’s staying strong, hands behind her back.

“Right there,” I groan as she takes me deep, gulping around me. Again and again, I thrust, and each time she meets me, her rough swallows forcing me toward release. She’s found her rhythm, regulating her breaths in time with my pumps.

“Look at you, taking everything.” I’m teetering on the edge, barely able to get the words out, but she needs to know how good she’s doing. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. Your mouth is magic, you know that?”

Every thrust feels better than the last, and then I can’t hold off any longer. Her face is pressed to my body when I come buried deep in her throat. Pleasure overwhelms me, and it’s all I can do to remember to ease my grip on her head, give her room to move if she needs it. She doesn’t. Claire swallows me down, not releasing me until I’m spent and softening in her mouth.

Fuck.

I’ve lost cognitive function, so I silently wipe the moisture from her cheeks. Cum clings to the corner of her mouth. I swipe it up with the pad of my thumb, offering it to her. She wraps her lips around my thumb and sucks. Her watery eyes watch me, and I see pride in them. It makes me smile. She should be proud.

“You did good.” It’s a hell of an understatement. “You did so good.”

After a smack of her lips, she smiles. “I know.” Her voice is rough. I went too hard.

“Is your throat okay?”

She looks surprised at the question, then gives me a wicked look. “It doesn’t count as throat fucking unless it hurts a little.”

Shaking my head at the Claire-ness of her answer, I help her to her feet, dusting grass and dirt off her knees. I tuck my cock back into my pants, and she looks around the woods as if double-checking to see which way is out.

Oh, little deer, you aren’t done yet.

FIFTEEN Shane

“Where do you think you’re going?” My question makes Claire’s head spin toward me.

“Back to the house.” Unplaiting her hair, she starts to fix the braid I destroyed. “Right?”

Distracted by her project, she doesn’t notice me reaching until I grab her. Half dragging, half carrying, I haul her to the nearest oak tree, pressing her back to it. She gapes at me, one hand clutching the partially completed braid. There’s a branch above her, the right height for her to grip without stretching. Perfect.

“Grab the branch. Both hands. No matter what, don’t let go.”

She does, arching an eyebrow. I expect an argument, some sort of sass or pushback, but she’s waiting, watching.

“Are you wet?”

Taken aback at the question, she blinks at me.

I yank her leggings down her thighs in one rough movement. Shocked and indignant, her yelp shoots straight to my cock.

Not now.

“Are. You. Wet?” I ask again. “Did it turn you on when I fucked your face?”

Her arms flex, and I can tell she’s thinking about releasing the branch. “Don’t you dare let go.”

“Why not?” There’s the defiance I expected earlier.

Of course Claire would be braver with her pants off.

“Answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”

Her grin returns, far too confident for someone with their pants around their knees. “Which one? You asked two.”

Don’t smile.

“Are you wet?”

“Touch me and see.” She delivers the sentence like she’s daring me to touch an electric fence and see if it’s live. As if it’s a great challenge.

Wordlessly, I hit my knees. Her sound of surprise is satisfying but not as satisfying as shouldering her legs open to see her drenched for me. I put a hand on her hip, shoving her back against the tree, and jerk one of her thighs over my shoulder. My mouth waters, my tongue eager for her.

Hips writhing before my mouth even touches her, Claire lets out a horrified squeak. This one sounds less surprised, and more genuinely displeased, tugging my attention from between her legs. I look up at her.

“We’ve been out here for hours,” she sputters. “What if I taste—”

Shoving my face forward, I take a long, lingering lick. She squeals, a new sound. I like it. I’d like to hear it again. Impatient, I pull back to look at her.

“You taste incredible.” I rub two fingers through her slickness, then thrust them into her, pleased at her gasp and how her hips buck toward me. Pumping them in and out of her, I savor the sound of her arousal.

“Can you hear what a mess you made?” I add a third finger, fucking her as loudly as possible. Claire’s pussy grows wetter by the second.

“Yes.” It’s an exhale of an answer.

“Good. Now are you going to let me clean it up?” I tilt my head toward her pussy.

“H-have at it,” she stammers, back to uncharacteristically shy. I like that too. Like watching her get all flushed and bothered. But I like my face between her legs more. Hiking her leg higher up on my shoulder, I settle in. Planting a kiss on her clit makes her squirm. My tongue tracing the valleys and peaks of her lips makes her sigh. Each response gets cataloged and placed in the How to Unravel Claire folder in my mental filing cabinet. Before long she goes from stiff against the tree to riding my face. She keeps her hands on the branch, hips rocking and bucking. Gasps turn into whimpers, which turn into a hungry whine that does something to my soul.

Arousal trails down my jaw. She’s covering me, and I love it. Focusing my attention on her clit, alternating licking soft circles with vicious sucking, makes her squirm in that frantic way she does when she’s close to coming.

Not yet.

Easing my tongue away from her clit, I fight not to smile at the keening sound she makes. Sliding three fingers into her, I work her convulsing pussy, stretching her as wide as her as body will let me. On either side of my shoulders, her legs tremble. She makes a sound like a sob as I add a fourth finger and begin thrusting. I’m still teasing her with my tongue, lapping everywhere but the swollen clit that needs me so badly. I want to toy with it again as desperately as she wants me to, but I don’t. Continuing to fuck her hard and fast with my fingers, I force her to the edge of orgasm, her body ready to tumble over even without my lips on her clit. Before she can fall, I slow my rhythm.

“No, please,” she begs without being told, shameless with desperation. “Please, Shane.” My name could be a prayer; the sound of her sobbing it makes me groan against her skin. I reward her by shifting my lips over her clit. She tries to ride my face and steal her climax, but I press her hips to the tree with the hand not inside her. I lap viciously at her. Claire cries out, cresting her climax again. She’s dangerously close, clenching and shuddering, soaking my hand. I don’t suck her clit long enough for her to come, just long enough for her to think she might get to. I want to hear my name again. I want her to scream it so loud it echoes off the trees.

Claire’s still begging, crying, “Please,” and “I need it,” and “Oh god,” but not my name.

So I keep playing with her, even as my jaw begins to tire. Kissing, and suckling, and nipping everywhere but where she wants me. Then she whimpers my name again, and again I sweep across her clit.

It clicks.

“Shane, please.” Her voice is softer than I want, but we’re headed in the right direction. I reward her with more attention. “Shane,” she pants, a little louder this time. I curve my fingers, making her writhe.

“Oh, Shane.” She’s louder, and I flick my tongue across her. “Please, Shane, please.” It’s a cry, not quite a yell, but close. Pumping my fingers, working her clit, we go to the edge again. My shoulders are holding her upright now, her legs shaking so hard they’re useless.