Thwack.
Thwack.
I’d been going like this for hours.
My muscles ached and screamed at me to stop. But I didn’t.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
I hadn’t made enough progress on the tree.
I could tell already that it was going to take two days to get it cut by hand. The oak was strong and thick, it’s wood hard against my axe blade.
Each hit wedged closer to the heart of the tree.
Each hit felt like I was destroying the memories of my childhood.
My first scare in life happened by this tree.
And my first kiss.
My first treehouse.
Well, my only treehouse.
It was long gone by this point, along with the message I’d carved to the universe. ‘Corbin Wallace is here, fuckers!’
The message didn’t mean much now, but it had meant a lot to the ten-year-old version of me.
Each axe stroke failed to erase those memories. Instead, they were burning deeper into me, coming to life.
Along with the memory of this morning.
I’d woken up wrapped around Poppy, all her decadent curves molded to my muscles.
And somehow—I had no idea how, I swear—I’d worked my cock into her underwear, and it had sat there cuddling with her warm, wet pussy.
When we’d woken up like that I’d about freaked out.
Especially when I felt her hips pulse ever so daintily, sliding her pussy across my shaft.
I went hard right now just thinking about it again.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
I needed to get these thoughts about her out of my head.
Thwack.
Thwack.
