I should care about that.
Some distant, buried part of me knows I should feel bad, or worried, or at least aware that a man just walked out of this tent confused and half-wrecked because of me. But Cliff's tongue is in my mouth and his hand is in my hair and hetastes like dark chocolate and smoke, and I can't hold onto a single thought that isn't him.
And I don't want to.
Angling my head to one side, I open my mouth wider, letting Cliff kiss me deeper. I grind against him, slick pouring from me, finally soaking through my underwear, through my scrubs, a hot flood that I couldn't stop even if I wanted to.
Every gush of arousal is a relief, my body finally giving in to what it's been fighting all day.
And I know Cliff feels it because his grip on my thigh tightens and the growl drops an octave and his hips roll forward, grinding his big alpha cock against me with a desperation that matches my own. Even through the layers of our clothes, I can feel the thick, hard length of him, a promise of the stretch and fullness my body craves. The friction is electric, a maddening tease that sends a fresh wave of slick soaking my thighs.
My hands find the collar of his shirt and I pull. The fabric stretches, resists, and I pull harder, My fingers twist and yank and I hear stitches pop.
I need it off.
I need skin.
I need his scent with nothing between us.
Cliff breaks the kiss long enough to grab the hem of his shirt and wrench it over his head in one rough motion. It catches on his chin before he tugs it free and throws it somewhere behind him, and then his hands are back on me, dragging at the hem of my scrub top, hauling it upward.
I tighten my legs around his waist to keep from falling as he rips my sports bra right off my body. I register a slight, sharp pain as the rough elastic around my ribs pops and then falls away.
Cool air hits my stomach, my ribs, and then one hand reaches up and palms my breast. We both make a sound at the same time—mine high and wrecked, his low and guttural.
“Fuck,” Cliff snarls, before kissing me again.
His body is so hot against mine.
His skin is soft with firm muscle, and barely any body hair.
The feel of his hands sends a shockwave through me so intense that my back arches and my nails rake down his shoulders, leaving lines I can feel rising under my fingertips.
He hisses and bites my lower lip.Hard.
I bite him back, sinking my teeth into his full lower lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood.
He groans, a deep, guttural sound of pure pleasure, then he pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes burning with a feral light. "Do that again," he growls, his voice a raw command. "Fucking bite me again."
And I do.
He moans louder this time as his hands grip my thighs, shifting to lower me to the ground. He bends at the knees, loosening his hold so my legs will unhook from his waist, but my arms instinctively lock tighter around his neck, clinging to him like he's trying to throw me into the ocean.
Don’t let me go!
"Easy, sweetheart," Cliff grunts, but I'm already scrambling, pulling myself higher, pressing my face into his neck, my legs squeezing so tight around his ribs that his breath comes out in a wheeze.
And he moves.
One arm bands across my back like an iron bar. He drops to his knees and takes me with him, then he drives me down onto the ground in one fluid motion. Hishands are rough, demanding, tearing at the drawstring of my scrubs. The fabric rips, then he yanks my underwear down, the elastic snapping against my skin.
I'm naked, completely exposed. The warm summer air hits my wet pussy, making me gasp, then grunt as another cramp hits me.
I try to scramble back into his arms, desperate for his weight, but he pushes me back, his hands firm on my hips. My shoulders hit the hard ground and his weight comes down on top of me, his hand flat against my breastbone, pressing me into the dirt while his knees pin my thighs apart.
But I keep thrashing on instinct.
I’m so empty. So horribly, painfully empty.
