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She swallows and the smirk returns, telling me how much she is enjoying this. I pull back a fraction, my hand still bracketing her throat, and let the tension hang between us, heavy and electric. Only our breathing and the faint rustle of leaves above are the only sounds in the night.

My fingers, feather-light, trace the edge of her jaw. She shudders under my touch. It’s intoxicating. I could watch her for hours, knowing this moment belongs only to us. No one else will ever know this version of Bryn exists. The one who likes the chase. The one who likes the danger. I drift to the edge of her hoodie, tugging it down just enough to expose the curve of her shoulder. She stiffens for a fraction of a second, that small shiver racing through her again, and I can’t hide the grin tugging at my mouth.

Leaning closer, I press my lips to her bare skin, biting lightly, just enough to make her gasp and tilt her head instinctively. Her pulse leaps beneath my touch. I pause, just long enough to let her notice the effect. I watch the way she reacts: a slight stutter of breath, widening eyes, flushed cheeks. It’s addictive, making her respond. It’s proof of everything I already know. She’s mine in ways she hasn’t admitted, and I intend to remind her at every chance I get.

Bryn’s lips part slightly, and I bite again, just enough to make her shiver. My hand tightens subtly at her waist, and I feel the thrill of her pulse under my fingers. I pull her hoodie up over her shoulders and tug down her strappy running top. Her breasts bounce out, barely contained in her lacy, very-inappropriate-for-a-run bra. Her nipples pebble in the cool wind, the prettiest of pink, delicate and soft under my hands as I palm them greedily. My mouth moves to one nipple and I circle it with my tongue, enjoying the sound she makes when I tug on it. Drifting my lips across her chest, I move to the other one and repeat the movement.

Her chest is rising and falling, her silky hair slipping through my fingers before I brush it back off her face and behind her shoulders. It has come loose on her run, and I quite enjoy the dishevelled look she has going on. I get down on my knees. Kissing down her stomach, I ease my fingers into her leggings, tugging them down her creamy thighs, her pale skin striking against my tanned hands. Inhaling, I breathe her in. Every instinct in me sharpens; every nerve ending comes alive. I can feel her pulse beneath my fingers, quick and uneven, and it drives me wild how much control I have over just that simple reaction.

I lean a fraction closer, brushing my lips against the edge of her underwear, teasing her, not touching fully. She shivers again, and I let out a low noise that sounds a hell of a lot like a growl. She’s aware of me, aware of every movement, and I love it. I love the way she reacts, the way she can’t hide what she feels, even when she tries.

Her eyes flick down to mine, a spark of mischief in them.

‘You’re not getting away,’ I murmur, almost whispering. ‘Not tonight, not ever.’

Her chest rises and falls quickly, and I feel that rush again: the pulse; the thrill; the dark, electric tension between us. Tantalisingly slow, I push to my feet, towering over her once more. She tilts her head up toward me, her cheeks coloured with warmth. Her hair clings to her forehead, the strands dampened by sweat. She tries to catch her breath. Her lips are slightly parted, and there’s a wild, unsteady look in her eyes that makes my knees threaten to knock together.

Slowly, I rotate my finger, and she eyes it. ‘Turn around, Cherry. Hands on the tree. Let me look at those pretty red fingernails of yours while I fuck you.’

She lets out a soft, sharp gasp that catches in her throat, a laugh tangled with surprise. Her back presses lightly against me as she twists, her shoulders tense. Her palms press against the tree and her fingers splay, her bright red nails contrasting so beautifully with her skin.

‘I see you’re wearing a red set for me,’ I purr, stroking her hair, enjoying the little whimper that escapes her. ‘And matching red nails. You know they’re my favourite.’

‘I did it for you,’ she confesses, leaning forward and arching her back, her ass pressing straight into my raging hard on. Precum leaks out of me as my eyes trace over her rounded ass, the red, lacy thong covering nothing. My finger wraps around it and pulls it so that it slaps against her skin. She shudders, a gasp leaving her. This time, I bring my hand down and slap her ass before I grab a handful of it. She moans, pushing back into me. I slip a finger into her, and she is hot and wet, soaked for me.

‘Always so eager for me, Cherry,’ I drawl. ‘Practically dripping.’

Hooking two fingers around the flimsy thong, I push it to the side, lining up my tip between her cheeks.

‘Are you ready for me?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’

‘How much do you want it?’

‘Really bad.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Just fuck me already, Ash,’ she demands, her voice heavy with lust, impatience trickling through each word. I will never get over hearing my name in her mouth. She bends over a little more as I push myself into her, both of us exhaling at the sensation.

‘You take me so well,’ I groan. ‘Always have.’

‘Harder,’ she pants.

I thrust harder as asked, and she cries out, gripping the tree in front of her. I pound into her relentlessly, not holding back this time. The way she arches her back and moves back into me tells me how much she is enjoying this. Just about as much as me, I suspect.

‘Touch yourself,’ I tell her.

She leaves one hand on the tree for support, slipping the other between her thighs, doing as I demand. Her breathing grows fervent and ragged as I grip her hips and fuck her mercilessly, loving the mewls that escape her.

‘I’m coming,’ she practically sobs, and hearing those words leave her makes me reach my climax too. I thrust one last time, long and slow, ensuring every single drop settles inside her before I pull out, panting and exhausted. She falls back into me and I catch her, collecting her bridal-style and holding her to my chest.

‘My God,’ she whispers, sweat dotting her forehead as she closes her eyes, leaning heavily into me. ‘Better than my fantasy.’

‘Oh yeah?’

I lean down, brushing my lips against hers with a deliberate gentleness I rarely let myself show. The kiss is tentative at first, testing the moment. I savour the way she breathes in response. Every part of me wants to linger here forever, close enough to feel her heartbeat against mine, to memorise her warmth in this quiet, suspended space. It’s possibly the softest kiss I’ve ever given her, and somehow, it carries everything I’ve wanted to say but never could.