Page 27 of Outlaw of Hollow Peak
"Fuck, you feel good," he rasped, hands flexing on my ass.
I started to ride him—slow at first, savoring the drag of his cock inside me, the way my slick pussy glided up and down his shaft. The outdoor thrill hit harder now—the sun on my bare breasts as they moved with every roll of my hips, the cool air kissing the sweat forming between us, the river's steady rush matching the rhythm I set.
I braced my hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscle and the rapid thud of his heart under my palms, and rode him deeper, grinding my clit against his pelvis on every downstroke.
Hale's hand slid between us again, his thumb returning to my clit—still sensitive, still throbbing from the first orgasm. He stroked me in tight, relentless circles while I moved on his cock, the dual pleasure building impossibly fast.
Every thrust sent sparks through me. Every stroke of his thumb made my breath hitch. I could hear my own slick sounds, the wet slap of skin on skin, his low groans mixing with the river's murmur and the distant call of a hawk overhead. My tits bounced freely, nipples tight and aching, the sun warming them as I arched my back and took him harder.
"Look at me," he said, voice strained.
I did. His eyes were locked on mine—dark, possessive, full of five years of knowing exactly how to unravel me. The intensity in them, combined with the thick drag of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me and his thumb working my clit without mercy, pushed me right back to the edge.
"Come on, baby," he growled, hips thrusting up to meet mine. "Give me another one. Right here, where I can see all of you."
The second orgasm slammed into me harder than the first—deeper, longer, my walls pulsing tight around his cock as pleasure ripped through every nerve. I cried out, loud and unrestrained into the open air, my whole body shaking as I rode him through it, grinding down desperately.
The outdoor exposure made it sharper, wilder—the vast sky above, the river singing beside us, the thrill of being so completely his in a place that felt like the whole world.
Hale groaned my name, hands gripping my hips hard as he followed me over, thrusting deep and spilling hot inside me. We stayed locked together, panting, as the aftershocks trembled through us both.
Nothing had ever felt more right.
We lay on the bank in the morning sun, the river running beside us, the cabin roof visible through the pines above the slope. His hand was in my hair and I had my cheek against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat had been one of my favorite sounds for five years. I didn't see that changing.
"She's going to tell Cal she caught a fish," I said.
"She'll believe it by the time they get back."
"She has your instincts."
"She has yours." He pressed his mouth to the top of my head. "She waded into the shallows this morning before I could stop her. Didn't hesitate."
"Smart girl."
"Reckless girl."
"Same thing," I said. "If you do it right."
He laughed—the real one, low and unhurried, the one that had taken months to find its way out and now came easily. I felt it in my chest where his heartbeat was.
The river ran on. The mountains stood. The valley held the morning the way it always had—quietly, without asking anything of it, just keeping it the way it kept everything.
I thought about the legend. The men who'd passed through and the ones who stayed. How you could always tell the difference eventually.
The ones who stayed stopped looking toward the road. They looked at what was in front of them—the river, the ridge, the lifethat had grown up around them while they weren't managing it—and they looked like men who had run out of reasons to be anywhere else.
Hale's hand moved slowly through my hair and the sun came up over the ridge and the cabin sat quiet in the pines behind us and our daughter was somewhere down the valley teaching my father that his hat was hers now, and none of it had been reckless.
All of it had been exactly right.
