It wasn’t even my dog.
We were just walking — or that’s what we told ourselves. In truth, we had no destination. Just a shared hunger and the excuse of a crisp afternoon to mask it. My lover’s hand brushed mine every few steps, fingers grazing like whispers. Each time, he let them linger a little longer, a little more deliberately.
The woods near the edge of town were quiet, dappled with sunlight and the occasional bark in the distance. Perfect. Secluded enough to get lost in each other, wild enough to let inhibitions fall like autumn leaves.
Every time I leaned in to “say something,” my breath grazed his ear — lips close enough to tempt, not touch. Every time he pointed out a squirrel or a fallen log, I let my fingers drift lower than necessary as I passed behind him.
He knew what I was doing. And he didn’t stop me.
Eventually, I tugged him off the path, laughing as though I’d spotted a bird. But once the trees closed in around us, I dropped to my knees — not for nature watching. He was already hard. Deliciously so. My lips wrapped around him with slow intent, my tongue teasing like a promise. He groaned, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping a nearby branch for balance. But I didn’t finish him — not yet.
“Just a taste,” I smirked, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand as I stood. “The rest… depends on what we find next.”
The search continued, a little more desperate now. His trousers strained. My cheeks flushed from more than the cold. When we finally spotted that low-hanging branch in a thicket, perfectly placed, we didn’t hesitate.
He bent me over it, my leggings yanked down in one smooth, urgent motion. The cold bark scraped my thighs — the perfect contrast to the heat surging between them. He entered me with a growl, not a word. My cries were muffled by the sleeve of my coat, the forest swallowing the rest.
It was messy. Hungry. Raw.
Each thrust sent tremors up the branch, my body open to him, my mind lost in that sweet, filthy bliss. I felt him everywhere — behind me, inside me, all-consuming. We didn’t hear the footsteps. We didn’t hear the jingle of a collar.
Only the horrified gasp.
I froze.
He didn’t.
“Oh—oh my god, Holly?!”
My neighbour. Of course. Standing wide-eyed on the path, her spaniel sniffing enthusiastically at the undergrowth, while I was bent over and absolutely being had.
I didn’t even flinch. I glanced over my shoulder, flushed and panting, hair wild around my face.
“Afternoon,” I said, steady as anything.
She gawked.
He finally pulled out, the sound indecent in the silence that followed. I straightened my leggings slowly, deliberately, chin tilted up like I was adjusting my hat after a picnic.
“You know,” I added, brushing a twig from my sleeve, “we were going to wait until we got home. But the branch was just too good to pass up.”
She blinked. Stammered something about the dog needing a wee. Then turned and walked quickly away, red as a beetroot, her spaniel trailing behind like it had seen it all before.
Once she was out of earshot, I turned to him, breathless with adrenaline and amusement. “Well. That was memorable.”
He smirked, pulling me back into him, still hard.
“Not finished yet, are we?” |
