Page 47 of Far From Sherwood Forest
Leaning my shoulder against the tree, I watch him with a smirk on my face. He tries to get his knees up under him but crashes back to the dirt. He’s panting too heavily, and I can’t help but wonder if it also has something to do with how hard he might be. He tries one more time, and when he fails again, his body falls limp, his cheek pressed to the cold ground.
“Giving up already?”
“Fuck…you,” he says between heaving breaths.
Grinning, I push off the tree and approach him. Pressing my foot against his side, I roll him over onto his back. His front is covered with dirt, his cheek smudged with it. It’s cold enough that his hot breath blooms above him but not quite cold enough that it lingers.
My gaze drifts down his body, and just as I suspected—and hoped—he’s as hard as I am, his dick trying to burst through his zipper.
I used to hate chasing Robin Hood more than anything.
Now?
“I could do this all day, Robin.” My eyes find his as I lift my boot and place it over his crotch. “How about you?”
Fear flashes in those beautiful jade pools as his chest rises and falls more rapidly. He has no way of stopping me as I press my boot down, but I don’t apply enough pressure for it to be too painful.
Icould. I almost want to.
But I don’t.
Instead, it’s just enough to be pleasurable. Clearly. Since he moans and thrusts his hips up, chasing the friction I’m giving him.
“You’d get off on my boot again if I let you, wouldn’t you?”
He doesn’t have to answer. The desperate, aroused look in his hooded eyes is enough of one.
“Too bad.”
He whines when I remove my boot. Leaning over, I grab his arm and haul him to his feet. He stumbles on weak legs as I turn him around and back him up against the trunk of the nearest tree. I press the length of my forearm over his chest, pinning him in place as my other hand goes to the button of his jeans.
His eyes bulge as they lock with mine, his breathing picking up even heavier than before.
I get his jeans undone and reach into his underwear, taking his hard cock in my hand and pulling it free without ever breaking my gaze from his. A quiet, raw noise escapes him as his breathing ceases completely.
I thought I’d hesitate. I thought I might even experience a wave of disgust.
There’s none of that.
Not even close.
Ever since he came just by grinding down on my boot, I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted to touch him, to feel the weight of him in my hand. To give him pleasure again.
As much as I’d still love to hurt him, I think I want this even more.
I move my hand, stroking him from base to tip as I keep my other arm pinned against his chest. He’s uncut like me and just a little smaller than I am, but he feels perfect in my hand. He lets out a strangled moan as I swipe my thumb across his slit, sweeping up the bead of precum there.
“Already leaking for me, huh, little thief?”
“Fuck, Henry,” he groans, thrusting into my hands.
I’ve always hated the sound of my name on his lips.
Until right the fuck now.
Tightening my fist, I stroke him again.
And again.
