Page 35 of Stags

He pulled back his hips, angled himself, thrust forward and he wasin.

She cried out.

He howled again.

She seized his hand, moving it around to the front of her body, holding it against her clit.

He thrust in and out of her in jerks. She was tight and warm and her sweet little pussy gripped him perfectly as he fucked her.

His other hand moved up and closed possessively over one of her perfect, springy little tits. He squeezed it and slammed in and out of her perfectly tight little hole.

She moved his hand on her body, making little half-whines, jerking her hips against his thrusts.

It was bliss.

He didn’t last very long. He erupted into her, filling her full of his come, going still as he did, even as she continued to make those little jerky thrusts, even as she moved his hand and kept whining.

He panted into her neck, confused, spent, but fucking relieved and happy, endorphins and pleasure rushing all through him.

She dug her fingers into his hand, and then he felt her come—against his fingers, around his cock, which was still inside her. He let out a little noise, one of sheer disbelief and joy.

This was insane, but it was possibly the best damned thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life.

She sagged into him.

He licked her neck again.

She turned her face and caught his mouth with hers.

They were kissing now, sloppy, satisfied kisses, the smacks of their mouths joining echoing into the darkness of the woods.

He banded one arm around her waist and held onto her.

AFTERWARDS, RORA LAYin the circle of Bruin’s arms and he lazily brushed his fingers over her shoulders and the swell of her hips and traced the underside of each of her breasts and murmured that he didn’t deserve this, that he was a very fortunate man to be here with her.

And she believed him.

She shut her eyes and basked in the sense of having been entirely and utterly incorrect about her assessment of herself.

There is nothing wrong with me,she thought again and again, in wonder.

“Will you stay?” he asked her. “Sleep here with me until morning?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, snuggling into his broad, firm chest, cocooned against him. She ran her fingers through the faint brown fur on his chest.

There was more kissing and more of his gentle, awed strokes as he explored her, and she felt possessed and claimed in the loveliest of ways.

He fell asleep first.

She tried to sleep, but she began to feel frightfully uncomfortable. He was huge, and he was in the center of the bed, wrapped around her, which was nice while she wanted to be in his arms. But it became clear there was no way to mold herself against him that was comfortable. If she faced him, one of her arms became trapped. One of his legs was thrust between hers, which had been nice at first, but then she had to wriggle her leg out from beneath his larger one, because it was far too heavy. Then she had to contend with his leg.

She tried rolling over, her back to his front, being the little spoon, but his leg was still in the way. She tried scooting all the way over, not touching him at all, but then she had a sliver of the bed to sleep on, and her arms were dangling off the bed no matter what she did.

She kept checking the clock in the room, noting how much time had passed. After two hours of sleeplessness, there was nothing for it. She had to go back to her room.

She got up, found her clothes, and dressed.

Oh, she should leave a note or something, shouldn’t she?

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