AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I need you to take my dick now,” I say, my voice sounding like someone else’s.
A gasp escapes her lips, and she grips the back of the bench again, lifting. I guide her with my hands on her hips, my whole being concentrated on the movement and the knowledge that her sweet slickness is about to grip my cock and end the torture. Then she’s lowering onto me, and the pleasure of feeling her all around me is all-consuming. Almost immediately I feel a tingling at my lower back, but I think of horrible things—of Big Mike and climate change and the likely disastrous state of Mira’s computer security—to keep from coming too soon. She takes hold of the back of the bench for leverage again and tips her head back as she rides me hard, grinding into me each time she comes down. I lean forward to kiss the soft slope of skin, to bite it, to mark her as mine, my hands gripping her hips as if they’re afraid someone will take her away. Or this moment will dissipate into mist and reveal itself as one of my dreams.
I dip my head to keep kissing along her collar bone, then use one hand to push down her sweater, her bra, so I can get my mouth on her nipple. The little sound of pleasure that issues from the back of her throat stokes the fire in my chest. I thrust up harder, but I’m maddened by the need to get closer to her, to feel her fully pressed against me. Then my gaze hits the huge tree beside our bench. There are no branches around the trunk. I don’t think, I just stand up and lift Mira, still buried inside of her.
“Danny?” she says, her voice breathy, her good leg wrapping around my waist as I carry her. The movement changes the angle, and I lift her and sink her back down, needing the friction, needing the feeling of her from every possible angle, every possible way.
“I want to fuck you against that tree.”
“Yes,please.”
I press her back into it, and stroke in deep, one hand braced against the bark, the other supporting her, and it feels so fucking good it quakes through me. There’s a slight twinge from my wrist, but I could give a shit about my wrist, or about anything other than the sensations roiling through us. I kiss her neck, her face. I want to kiss all of her. I know I don’t have much time left. I’ve put off the inevitable as much as I can. I’m going to come inside of her—and that thought drives me wild too, enough that I feel the tingling at the bottom of my spine. I grit my teeth and pause, because I’m not done. I haven’t done my job fully, and I refuse, I refuse, to come before she does too.
Then I feel her clenching around me, hear her sharp inhale, followed by “Danny.” And I decide the sound of this woman saying my name like that, when she’s coming, is my favorite sound in the world. I thrust in once more, and I come so hard I’m surprised my eyes don’t roll back in my head—that the world doesn’t pause and take notice.
She kisses my neck and grips her hand in my hair. I know it’s time to let go. To leave this place where my cock would very much like to stay, but I can’t move yet. I need one more moment. I need…
There’s the telltale scratch of leaves, but I don’t even process it—my attention is on Mira.
“Oh shit,” I hear someone say, every protective impulse in my body firing off, because we’re not alone out here, and I’m still inside her. Then, words I’d hoped never to hear again, “You’re under arrest.”
ChapterTwenty
Mira
“Do you mind if I ask why you were out there, Officer?” I ask as Officer Dunkins, an apple dumpling of a man with red cheeks and wispy orange hair on his head, leads us to his squad car. Danny’s still carrying me, because of my ankle, but at least the good officer turned his back to us at the tree so we could make ourselves decent.
He clears his throat. “Ah, I was driving around on my lunch break to get a look-see at the leaves, and I needed to take a leak.”
“I’m starting to think the hex is real,” I mutter to Danny in an undertone. “I mean, really, what are the odds?”
“Hex, huh?” Dunkins says. Really, the man has preternaturally good hearing when he wants to. “You been messing around with that pentagram stuff?” He shakes his head in a classickids these dayspose, as if he hasn’t noticed we’re both past thirty.
“No pentagrams for us, sir,” I say. “Someone else put the hex on me.”
“It was a punk kid, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Damn kids, messing with forces they don’t understand.”
I glance at Danny. His jaw is set, and he looks like his face was carved out of stone, but I know his mind is probably whirring. I take a second to feel really sorry for myself, becausegoddamn, the most pleasurable moments of a person’s life shouldnotbe bookended by getting arrested. Then again, maybe the most pleasurable moments of anyone’s life are when they’re doing things that could potentially get them arrested.
Danny’s been pretty quiet, but suddenly he asks, “Weren’t you also guilty of indecent exposure?” His dark gaze on the trees instead of Dunkins.
It’s a good point, but Dunkins’s brow furrows. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, son. Those trees have seen enough today to turn them scarlet. Me too.”
I’m tempted to point out that the leaves change every year, and if it’s because of people having sex in the woods, thena lotof people are having sex in the woods. I keep my mouth shut.
We trek along in silence for a while before we reach the side of the road. Officer Dunkins gestures to his squad car, parked behind Danny’s Outback, as if he’s our host and we’re lucky enough to have been invited to a party. “Come on in. Don’t mind the smell none, I have lactose intolerance, but I can’t help myself. Those pumpkin spice lattes get me every time.”
Part of me wants to laugh hysterically, although it occurs to me that Danny should try to bond with him over their mutual love of basic lattes. Maybe then we can get out of here without asking our friends to bail us out of an indecent exposure charge.
Danny still has on his stoic look, though, and it only falters slightly when Dunkins opens his car door and a waft of stench emerges.
Dunkins rolls a little on his feet, like he’s mildly self-conscious about his car smelling like microwaved roadkill. “Not a long ride down to the station,” he says. “Sorry, but the back windows don’t roll down. Security risk, you know.”
“Definitely hexed,” I repeat. I’m glad Byron’s hair got fried. I hope it feels as dry as it looks. I hope it falls out in clumps and grows in grey. I hope his vocal cords wither, so he sounds like an old rooster. No one with such a crappy personality should have such a honeyed voice.
Danny lowers me onto the backseat, gives my shoulder a squeeze that radiates through me, then straightens up.
“Can I get her crutches, Officer? They’re in my car.”
