Chapter 92: Chapter 92 - Under The Covers
She used her hand to guide him between her legs and heard his breath hitch immediately, sharp and quiet, the only sound breaking the dark as her fingers closed around him.
He felt hard and soft at the same time, thick and smooth, hot and pulsing against her palm as she dragged him slowly through the slick she had already made, teasing herself with the weight of him, the reality of him pressed so close that it made her head spin.
Her body jerked when she slid the head against her clit, breath catching with every small stroke, every careful pass that sent heat climbing up her spine and settling deep in her belly.
The slickness made everything worse, or better, she could not tell anymore, only that it made every movement too much, made her legs tremble and her hips twitch despite her trying to stay still.
She glanced toward the flap of the tent.
The fire outside was gone. No light bled through the canvas now, no shadows, only darkness and the knowledge that they were not alone.
They were outside. Close enough that the sound of a breath out of place could ruin everything.
The pressure inside her doubled, electrifying her nerves as she rubbed her clit with his head, every slow drag making her shudder harder. She nearly moaned when he caught at her opening, the fullness immediate and unbearable, the blunt pressure right there, waiting, making her knees shake.
She pushed down.
The stretch was slow and tight and sharp, pain blooming first and then pleasure curling right behind it, delicious in a way that scrambled her thoughts and made her grip tighten reflexively.
Was this really how she wanted her first time?
In the dark, in silence, rushed and stolen, with no space to savor it, no words, only heat and need and risk?
But her thought are muddled.
Pain and pleasure overlapped until she could not separate them.
Her body twitched again, locked in sensation as she left him there, just an inch inside her, his head opening her slowly, holding her stretched. Her other hand slid to her clit, rubbing frantically now, chasing the edge she was already tumbling toward.
She was so close. Too close.
Malcolm let out a low grunt and his hips shifted beneath her.
Her eyes widened as more slid in, the stretch deeper now, biting her lip hard as pain flared and pleasure followed, bright and sharp. Then he stopped, completely still, as if something in him pulled tight and refused to let him move further.
She knew this was the moment she could ask him to stop. She knew he would if she did. That knowledge hovered right there, waiting.
But her thoughts were gone, drowned by sensation as her fingers worked her clit harder and her other hand pinched her nipples, her body moving on instinct, need overtaking reason until she was not even sure what she was doing anymore.
"Malcolm," she whispered, uncertain, breath shaking.
Footsteps sounded outside the tent.
Her eyes snapped toward the entrance, fear freezing her body mid movement.
And then he made the decision for her.
He pulled back just enough to make her gasp, to leave her aching and empty for a split second.
Then he pushed.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The pain was abrupt, sharp and splitting, like being torn open, like being filled too fast, her body protesting even as it took him. Pleasure cracked open behind it, raw and violent, and she could not stop herself from clutching him, fingers digging into his arm as her breath broke.
He stopped instantly.
The tent flap opened.
They froze together.
She forced her breathing slow as someone stepped inside, fumbling for something, and fear locked her muscles tight. She closed her eyes hard and with them shut every sensation exploded brighter. Her body clenched around him, pulsing, needy, as if trying to pull him deeper, her nerves screaming with awareness.
He felt huge, too full, stuffing her completely, the pressure making her dizzy, making her throat tighten as if she could feel him everywhere.
The person left.
The tent closed again.
He moved slowly, pulling out just enough to make her shudder violently, her nerves lighting up as if electrified.
His hand covered hers, steady and sure, guiding her fingers back where they needed to be.
"Nnngh," she breathed softly, unable to stop the sound from slipping out as her body betrayed her again, clenching hard around him as her fingers moved.
She was so close.
The pressure built until it felt unbearable, until her hips lifted on instinct, chasing more even though she knew she should stay still. Then it tore through her.
She erupted.
Pleasure crashed over her in a blinding wave, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle the sound as her body thrashed beneath him, muscles locking and releasing again and again. She shook hard, tears springing to her eyes as the intensity dragged on, relentless, overwhelming.
Malcolm grunted low as he moved inside her, controlled and steady, riding her through it without losing his rhythm.
"So tight," he muttered, voice rough.
She felt him grow harder, thicker, pushing deeper until the stretch shifted and he hit something inside her that made her cry out softly into her palm. Her hips jerked forward again and again, chasing every pulse of heat that sparked through her.
Her body seized once more, then again, wave after wave, her breath breaking as she came long and drawn out, the kind that did not end cleanly but dragged her under and held her there.
When her muscles finally loosened and her breath slowed, she felt him pull out.
She winced.
That was insane, she thought dimly, twitching uncontrollably, feeling like it went on forever.
Warm wetness slid out of her, streaking her thighs. Her hand moved automatically, touching the slick mess between her legs.
She was wet, but this was too much.
No condom.
They used nothing.
Her chest tightened as panic rushed in now that the heat had faded. The IUD was in, but it was not perfect, nothing was.
"Malcolm," she whispered, panicked, fingers trembling.
He let out a slow breath, not looking away.
He moved.
The sleeping bag shifted softly as he reached into the pack. She stayed still, heart hammering, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, waiting for words that did not come.
He returned with a cloth and a bottle, movements calm and unhurried. He lifted the sleeping bag and she sucked in a breath, nerves buzzing, body still too sensitive.
His hand touched her thigh, warm and steady.
She twitched as the cloth pressed between her legs, firm enough to clean her properly, slow enough that she felt every pass. He wiped her carefully, not rushed, not hesitant, cleaning what he left behind as if it was expected, as if it was his responsibility.
Her jaw clenched and her face burned. The fear did not disappear, but it stopped spiraling.
He did not look away. He did not apologize. He did not explain.
And she did not ask.
He finished, set the cloth aside, and pulled the sleeping bag back into place. Then he lay behind her again, arm wrapping around her waist, heavy and certain, pulling her back against him. Not gentle. Not comforting. Just there. Holding.
Did he come inside her?
But Malcolm would not do that. He would not.
She stayed where she was, breathing slowly, body still buzzing, thoughts tangled and suspended in the dark.
