I shouldn’t smile, but I do, wicked and entirely sincere. My knuckle brushes along his cheekbone, a whisper of touch that makes his long lashes flutter. “Couldn’t I,Petit?”
He doesn’t answer, but his throat bobs once in a rough swallow.
Putain.
His lips are parted, but his shoulders are rigid, locked between the bark and my chest. He smells like lavender and ointment, a herbal sharpness beneath the sweetness. It’s the scent of healing, of bruises not yet faded. Strangely intimate and real in a way that cuts through everything synthetic in my world. It shouldn’t be sexy, but fuck, it is.
I eye the patch of skin at his throat, the small sliver exposed beneath the edge of his hoodie, too delicate for someone who rides like the devil owns his soul.
I want to taste it, bite it.
Claim it.
My knee presses higher between his thighs, and I swear I feel him tense, like he doesn’t know whether he wants to push closer or bolt. My thumb drags across the corner of his mouth, and I tilt his head to the side, because I need more. I need access. I needhim.
“Merde.” I breathe out, and my voice is hoarse with everything I’m holding back. Tiny freckles are scattered across his pale skin in little constellations no one else has discovered.
Mon Dieu.
My hand slides along his neck, fingers splayed, thumb teasing over the taut line of muscle. His pulse hammers against my touch, wild and terrified or turned on, maybe both. I lower my mouth to that tender place just under his ear and bite. Gently. Teasing. Just teeth, heat, and the faintest drag of tongue.
He jerks in my arms, then hiccups a split second later, and I can’t help but smile.
Fuck, that sound.
I chuckle low against his skin, drunk on it, already addicted. My body reacts before my brain can catch up, and my cock twitches, and I want…
No.Need.
I need him under me, over me, around me, twisting in my hands, calling my name. I’ve never needed anything like this. Never anyone likehim.
I’ve never fucked a guy before, and sure, this might be a bit ambitious out here in the middle of nowhere, with no lube, noprep, and nothing but pine needles to cushion myPetit. But I’ve got two hands and a vivid imagination. Couldn’t I just slide one down, wrap it around both of us, and stroke us off together?
I barely hold back a groan, becausefuck.Yes.
That sounds perfect.
My hips press forward instinctively, lining us up. I grind just once, causing a firm pull against the ache in my jeans, becauseGod,I need something, anything.
I’m not teasing anymore, I’m begging. Not out loud, but in every touch, every breath, every inch of me straining toward him.
My eyes find his, searching, asking.Is this okay? Do you want this too?
And for a moment, it looks like yes. His lips are parted, his chest rising in shallow waves, and the tiniest moan escapes him, so soft I feel it more than I hear it.
I want to revel in it, but in the back of my mind, I know something is off. Pulling back just enough to glance between us, I freeze.
Why the fuck doesn’t he have a boner?
The realization crashes into me like a snapped chain at full speed.
He’s not hard.
But I am.Fuck,I’m so hard I feel feverish, aching with it, every nerve tuned to the pitch of him, and now I’m suddenly, horrifically aware of it.
I look up, panic already creeping into my lungs. His expression is carved from tension, mouth pinched, eyes wide but blank. Not dazed with pleasure or drunk on the same madness I’m drowning in.
Blank.
