And I keep walking as if I didn't do a thing…past the circle, past the firelight, and into the dense forest. I stop maybe one hundred feet out, hidden by a big gnarled oak with roots like knuckles, and I put my back to it and look up at the stars.
It’s a couple of minutes before I hear heavy boots crunching in the grass near me.
He steps into the shadow as if he was made out of it. Blocking the moon.
"Took you long enough," I whisper. “I wasn’t sure you were comin’.”
“I’m a big man. Sometimes it takes a while.” He moves in close and leans on the tree with his arms over my head.
I slide both palms flat up his chest—over the hard slope of his brawny pecs. “Big, huh?”
“Not as big as some predators you might find, comin’ out here alone in the dark,” he says, in his smokey voice.
“Well, I did plan on pokin’ a big bear.”
He chuckles. “Then yer just askin’ to get bit.”
I grab his shirt in both fists and pull him down, and he follows, his mouth landing on mine.
The world explodes.
Everything I thought I knew about being kissed gets wiped clean in under a second. His big hand comes up, thumb brushing my jaw, the other splaying across my hip like he can’t decide whether to keep me there or lift me off the ground. His mouth is hot and tastes of chocolate and marshmallows and beer.
He pulls his hat off quickly, letting it drop onto a thick root near us.
His tongue slides against mine and I make a pleading little noise in the back of my throat, and it’s as if something inside him snaps clean in two.
His hand leaves my jaw and cards into my hair, fisting it at the base of my skull, using it to tip my head back the way he wants it. The other drops from my hip and reaches around to my ass, pulling me in hard and rough, so I feel every inch of him against me.
Every. Thick. Hard. Massive. Inch.
"Fuck," I breathe into his mouth.
"Mhm," he agrees, and kisses me deeper.
The bark of the tree snags the thin cotton of my tank and I don't care. I don't care about the bark, or the scrape of his beard, or the way he's backed me up so completely I'd slide straight to the ground if he stepped away. I roll my hips into his and hegroans—a low, wrecked sound that vibrates my core—and then he grinds back into me almost infuriated by the sensation.
His mouth moves over my jaw, under my ear, and down the line of my throat. His beard burns everywhere his mouth tastes, and I'm going to wake up tomorrow covered in pink patches and treasure every one.
"Lark," he rasps against my neck.
"Yes."
His teeth graze me, then bite, right where my neck meets my shoulder. I hear myself gasp.
My knees actually buckle.
But he catches me.
One huge hand slides under my thigh and lifts, easy, and my back skids up the tree. My legs wrap around his hips, and now we're in deep trouble, because I'm lined up with the seam of my jeans pressed flush against the rock hard length of him.
I can feel the shape of his cock…the long girthy shaft, the flared, taut head.
And I’m going to combust.
I grind down.
Heswears.