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I head that way, unable to reconcile the angry constriction in my chest—I told her not to wander far from camp—with how reluctantly impressed I am. She’s doing exactly what I would’ve done, if I’d thought that far ahead.
As I near, the tension in my shoulders grows. If anything happens to her…
But as soon as I see her, the tension only increases.
Harley has stripped down to her panties and is wading in the water, video camera propped on her shoulder.
“Hey,” I say.
She pauses, grins over her shoulder. “Looks great, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say, unable to admit that I can barely notice our surroundings with her ass in full view.
Though not for long as she advances further into the water.
She gestures to something ahead. “I know people love scary alligators. But cute alligators have their appeal, too.”
That’s when I see it, what she’s advancing towards—its small, army-green, scaly head just visible on the surface of the water: a baby alligator.
Fuck.
“Harley,” I say sharply, advancing too and scanning the nearby waters tensely. If there’s a baby, the mother should be nearby.
“Shh,” she says, eyes never leaving the prize.
“I don’t like this.”
Not one fucking bit.
“I’ll be careful. Promise.”
“Fine,” I grate out, ripping off my shorts and hurrying after her. “A close-up shot…” I stop mid-sentence. A close-up shot of the tiny crocodile’s snout—have I lost my mind? No lapsing into producer mode. Not now. “Just get what you can.”
As she advances, I go until I’m right behind her, my body lightly pressing hers. No fucking way am I letting her even one step away from me. If anything happens, I’ll be here.
If I had my way, we’d be putting as much distance as we could between us and the baby alligator, but I know better than to try to order Harley to do anything she doesn’t want to.
Despite the overwhelming awareness of her body against mine, I keep my gaze scanning around us, poised and alert. If anything dangerous approaches, I want to be the first to know.
“Would you look at that,” Harley breathes quietly as she shoots. The little creature paddles towards us, pauses, blinks its small-pupiled yellow eyes, then paddles away.
Harley makes to follow, but I don’t like how far the pea green waters snake through the trees, how the gloom could hide any number of creatures.
“That’s enough for now,” I tell her, even though the producer in me is screaming for more, better footage.
“But—”
“I mean it.”
Hearing in my voice that I’m not about to let up on this, Harley sighs. She turns off the camera and turns to me. When her green eyes meet mine, they carry a mischievous glint. “What’s the matter—don’t want your cinematographer getting eaten?”
“Something like that.”
She throws an ironic hand to her chest. “I’m touched.”
“You should be. Most cinematographers, I don’t care one way or another.”
We crack up, and she grabs my hand. “Come on—the small falls can’t be dangerous.”
Next thing I know, we’re splashing onto the rocky floor under a small pattering falls, laughing. Harley pulls me back under the stream with her, so it’s falling directly on us.
Leaning in close, water splashing over her face, she murmurs, “It’s better this way.”
Her arms wrap around my neck, and our lips find each other.
It is better: her lips, mine, moving together, our tongues, the water. But what’s best is her in my arms, how perfectly her waist fits in my hands. How right as fuck it all feels.
Our hands run along each other’s bodies like the water, like relearning every curve and swoop and fall, memorizing it.
Fuck, do I want her.
I’m as hard as ever, and the slick perfection of her breasts under my fingers is maddening. I cup her face, kissing her, kissing her—never have I cared that much about kissing, but kissing her is on a plane of its own. Our mouths, our tongues, us, we just… work together.
My hands slip under her ass and I hoist her up and over, press her into the rock wall of the waterfall.
The water streaming on us has stopped, but we’ve only started. Our lips twist as our hands scramble to rip off the layers separating us, delight in the wet soft flesh beneath. Her breasts are two perfect handfuls I knead and knead. Almost meditatively, except I’m getting hornier, and my self-control is edging away.
Anyone could round that corner at any minute, she’s my employee—and I don’t give a flying fuck. All I know now is that I want her—here, now.
She’s naked in my arms, and going down on her knees and… oh, fuck yes. Her warm tongue encircles my erection, and a pleased growl rolls out of me.
She’s on her knees now, lapping all around my dick, taking her sweet time, enjoying it. It’s so good I have to lean back on the rock wall for stability. The sight of her—eyes closed, the slightest curl of a smile on her face—would be enough to get me rock-hard. But how intent she is, how skillful—hand pumping and lips up-down gliding and tongue swirling all in tandem—it’s enough to bring me to the edge already.
