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“That’s it, wide fucking open for me. I told you this was my pussy,” he says. “It’s like coming home.”

“Can’t the others hear us?” I ask, panting, my eyes darting from tree to tree.

He curls his finger inside me. “Every sound.”

Ugh. I don’t even care.

“We can hurry things along if it bothers you,” he says with fake concern. “They won’t hear a thing if my cock is in that loud little mouth.”

I make more noise, nothing intelligible as I spread my legs wider and push upward, trying to force his finger deeper. His thumb finds my clit…and crushes it, rending another yell from me.

“You know, you’re really fucking wet for someone who didn’t want me touching her only minutes ago.” His finger pulls out and taps over my entrance, a quiet, wet slap. “Still a liar.”

“That isnotmy fault.” I wriggle my hands on my lower back, cuffs clanking as I stretch my fingers down and grab his length through his pants. “This is to blame.”

He gasps and bites my earlobe, then retaliates. His fingers sweep up my slit, scooping up juices, and he sticks those wet fingers up my shirt and back into my bra with a punishing quickness. He captures my nipple between his knuckles, pinching and slipping and sliding.

I buckle at the waist, escaping his touch and nearly banging my head into the stump. His palm presses the base of my spine and climbs all the way up, and he wraps his hand around my neck and yanks me back against him, my ass colliding with his cock. “No, no. You don’t get to escape this.”

“You’re so fucking controlling.”

“And you’re so fucking stubborn.” He reaches between our bodies, lowering the front of his pants. Then his scorching flesh is in my hands, tip dripping, skin so soft, and the rest so damn hard. My fingers tremble—at the heat, the size, the intimacy. I stroke him, as best I can with my bound hands, my rings sliding over the wetness I spread upward. His hips move into me, adding rhythm to my fumbling motions.

Reaching around to my front again, he slips both hands into my pants and runs them down my inner thighs and back up. He massages the creases on either side of my swollen lips and drags his fingers all over, circling around my core, touching everywhere but where I need, all the while humming the tune of his song in my ear, his chest vibrating against my back. I move my hands faster over his cock, imagining it filling me with those movements of his hips.

I suck in the night air, ripe with the scents of pine and bark and arousal.Howam I letting this happen?

Finally, his finger dips back inside me. And it doesn’t matter how. Nothing matters. His other hand grips my bare thigh.

“Don’t fucking go gentle on me,” I say.

A second finger slips in, softly stretching.Harder, dammit. I summon the pain of patience, forcing myself to ease into thepleasure, relax back into his touch, the rocking of our bodies, his wordless song. My eyes fall shut, only to fly open a second later as another finger rams inside of me, then a fourth.

I scream, pleasure and pain catapulting through me. My hands tighten around him, and he hitches forward. The tearing stretch, the ache of fullness, the wetness—fuck. When my hips should retreat from the attack, they don’t. They push into his hand, seeking more.

His ragged voice sounds over our heavy breathing. “Just making room. For what’s next.”

I squeeze him tight at the thought as those four fingers ram into me again, inch after inch, in and out and out and in, as hard and dominating and unstoppable as my visions. Taking everything I am. Wrecking and consuming me over and over. His hand pounds against me, wet slaps mingling with the chink of metal with every shove inside.

He’s vicious, and I love it.

I dare to look down. His hand moves fast, pumping inside the front of my pants, the waistband stretching and retracting, revealing flashes of skin and glistening fingers inside. And that’s it, that sight, that fullness—I can’t stop it.

“Go ahead, little Never. Hate me, fight me all you want, but don’t fight this. Come for me.”

“Not for you,” I seethe, and with full-body breaths and unhindered moans growing louder and longer with every slamming entrance, my body rolls and rolls, meeting his hand, thrusting upward, and when that sweet release comes, I abandon all control. My walls crush his fingers in an uncontrollable rhythm, wetter and slicker by the second, and his fingers fuck me even harder. My cries are rabid, raw, downright riotous, escaping into the night with all the cursing.

“Fuck fuck fuck. You seductive prick, I won’t come for you.” My legs shake violently as my body seeks center, my hips jerking at random. I pant, limp in his grasp, conquered.

“Too late.” A kiss lands on my neck. “Not so stubbornnow.”

“Eli.” I stretch his name into a moan and stare up at the black sky.

He twists his fingers as he pulls them out—a slippery spiral of knuckles—and watches the drops slide down his arm. Then he slaps his hand over my mouth, smearing my juices over my lips and cheeks and chin, careful to stay out of biting range.

“Say it again.” His wet hand slides down my neck. And squeezes.

I give him nothing. I stay silent, loving his hand on me. He presses harder, my air gone. It’s not until I’m lightheaded that I scrape out his name again.