Page 22 of Wild River

Ha. Laying back, I toss my arms overhead in triumph and luxuriate in the feeling of his whole shaft plunging into my body. Immediately, Jake’s eyes zip to where my boobs jiggle with every thrust.

“Can you blame me?” My thighs squeeze around his waist, drawing out a rumbly groan. “This feels freaking amazing.”

“Yeah.” His smile is wider, truer, and so disarming in its vulnerability. For the first time, I realize: Jake is nervous about this too. About making this good for me; about making me want to stay. I thought I made myself so obvious, but he really does doubt that I wanted him too. So crazy. “Yeah, it really does. Christ, Becca.”

For a moment we move together sweetly, both making breathless sounds at how good it feels, both adjusting to all these overwhelming sensations—then I get the devil in me again.

I grab the mountain man’s sturdy wrist, pluck it off the mattress, and place his hand on my boob. Jake lets out a wounded noise and starts fucking me harder, faster, squeezing my boob in a possessive grip. I don’t think he realizes that he’s baring his teeth, that his animal side is peeking out, but I love it.

Pleasure skitters down my limbs and pools low in my belly.

So. Good.

And when I lock my ankles together behind Jake’s back, nudging so that he crashes down to his elbows, the deep new angle of his cock makes my eyes flutter.

Yes.

My spine arches off the bed, and I’m completely covered by the mountain man now. Pinned down by his powerful body; caged in by those strong arms. I’m completely at his mercy, getting fucked so hard that my teeth clack together with each thrust, and there’s no place in the world I’d rather be.

“Mine,” Jake grunts, grabbing a fistful of my hair. He doesn’t yank it, just holds it possessively, and every nerve ending in my body lights up in response. I nod feverishly, squeezing down on his shaft so that he grunts again, even rougher, and thrusts so deep inside me that I see stars.

“Yours,” I breathe, giddy with arousal.

As if anyone else could ever measure up tothis.

Jake fucks me long and hard before finally taking mercy. He keeps working me into a sweaty puddle, pounding between my thighs, until I’m babbling nonsense and clawing at his shoulders, begging for him to make me come. Promising that I’m his, I’m his, always his. Only then does Jake wedge a hand between our bodies and seek out my clit, his callused fingertip so intense against that bundle of nerves that I cry out to the ceiling.

“There it is.” His voice is darkly satisfied in my ear, and my whole body trembles as he licks the sweat off my throat. “You’re ready, aren’t you, sweetheart? Any longer and it would be cruel.”

“Uh-huh.” It would be cruel and unusual punishment. “Please.Please.”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jake stares down at me, intense and hungry, as he fucks me rhythmically, my boobs jiggling against his chest. And it’s so much, so good, that steadyfriction making me flash hot all over, but then he starts pinching my clit too.

My breath catches.

My muscles tense.

I tip my head back andwail.

And as I come so hard that I feel it all the way from the roots of my hair to my toes, as my ears ring and my vision wavers, the mountain man wedges deep inside me and spills his wet warmth. On and on, he swells and spurts, letting out a wounded animal noise.

It’s messy. It’s primal.

It’sperfect.

Then we lie together in a sweaty pile, breathing hard. Jake is face down on the mattress, and his cock is still hard inside me. My ears are ringing. I’m so sticky.

“So.” Eventually, I wet my lips. “When can we go again?”

* * *

Two years later

It’s busy at the river’s edge today, with half the town turning out for this spring picnic. We’re not at Jake’s super-secret fishing spot where he rescued me from the river all those years ago, but closer to town on a stretch of the bank where the local kids love swimming.

It’s hot and sunny, with a pine-fresh breeze rustling everyone’s hair. Kids are whooping and splashing, and a barking golden retriever keeps jumping into the water to play. Dozens of picnic blankets are spread out on the grassy bank, all laden with boxes of sandwiches, brownies, pretzels and other treats. One optimistic parent brought a canvas bag full of apples, andnow one little boy is using them to learn to juggle. The scent of sizzling meat drifts over from a grill.

“Look at them.” Brooke—Jake’s sister and one of my closest friends—tips her sunglasses down at squints at the river. “They’re maniacs, the lot of them. Do you have any idea how cold that water is?”

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