Page 131 of Wildest Dreams

“You’re gonna come,” he rumbles, voice low and matter-of-fact. He looks down at my breasts, squeezes one, and grunts quietly.

“Y-yeah,” I whisper, nodding my head as he caresses me.

“I still wanna fuck you in the locker room,” he says, eyes burning as he thrusts harder. “When I start playing pro this fall, you’re gonna come to my games. I’m gonna take you like this.”

“Th-that’s definitely not going to be allowed,” I whisper, “but, like, okay.”

Tanner grins before growling roughly against my throat, sinking his teeth into my neck as he bounces me hard on his hockey player thighs.

“Tanner!” I squeal, and then it’s all happening at once, my toes curling and my abdomen tightening as my body explodes in unending pleasure.

Tanner releases his teeth from my throat, licking the area while he continues pounding me.

“I’m there, baby,” he murmurs, pinning one forearm above my head, hips thrusting frantically. “Right behind you.”

I choke out a tiny laugh. “W-well, technically you’re notbehindme–”

The sound that rips from Tanner’s throat is so rough that my nipples pinch, and I squeal as he thrusts me straight into another orgasm.

His big palm grips into my behind, massages it gruffly, and then gives it a spank.

I squeeze the large muscles of his chest, gasping and sighing as he ejaculates.

“I can’t wait to take you like that,” he rasps, biceps flexing as he shudders. “Layin’ you down on your belly and makin’ love to you from the back.”

“Oh my God,” I whimper, biting my teeth into my lower lip. “You have got to stop with the dirty talk or I’m going to be on, like, orgasm number four.”

Tanner huffs out a pained laugh as he thrusts slowly inside of me, jerking rougher every few seconds when he releases another long spurt.

When he finally stops shuddering he pushes my back against the wall, holding me tight against his chest as the water cascades around us, warm and never-ending.

Chapter 31

Tanner

Present day

After spending all of last night and this morning giving orgasms to the hottest girl that I’ve ever seen, I can’t deny that I’m feeling pretty fucking incredible.

Aisling’s currently sashaying up the mountain’s incline at about ten feet ahead of me, occasionally throwing impassive little glances over her shoulder as the guys and I trail behind her.

As if I don’t have her nail marks all over my chest.

She flashes those dismissive vixen eyes in my direction while Fallon and Winter talk on either side of her, and I give her a quick jerk of my chin, forearms flexing as I give her a once-over. I’ve got four bags in each fist slung back over my shoulders, six carrying either tents or camping equipment and the others belonging to Miss Two-Hundred-Dollar Panties in front of me.

Seeing as most of Aisling’s belongings are extremely expensive, the group collectively decided to help her bring most of her stuff with us while we’re camping up the mountain – just in case any shit was to happen down at the lake while we aren’t there. It’s unlikely that it would but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

And I don’t mind carrying half of Aisling’s possessions, especially when some of them are of the lacy-variety.

Aisling lifts a hand above her eyes, shielding them from the bright morning rays, and then turns back to face the make-shift trail, a wooden post that the girls just walked past signalling the opening of the campsite just ahead.

It only takes another two minutes and then we’re breaching the clearing.

There’s a large National Parks bathroom situated inconspicuously to the camp’s edge in deep brown wood, but the remainder of the space is a bright open expanse.

The clearing is so large that the trees can’t eclipse the canopy overhead, meaning that there’s plenty of sunlight pouring through to make the area a perfect suntrap.

We start dropping our gear into the centre of the clearing, where previous campers’ make-shift seating logs are still hauled into the middle. There’s a medium-sized circle of rocks beside them that they must have used to set a small controlled campfire inside. It’s cute.

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