Page 27 of Lost in the Wild

My hot breath pants against her slit. Evie’s squirming again, wriggling on the pelt, gripping the fur even as her heels dig into my back, urging me on. And the fire cooks my left side, the shadows dancing on the cave wall as I duck down and taste her.

Finally.

“Oooh god.” Evie’s head tips back, her slender throat shifting as she swallows. “Oh god. Oh god. Yes. Rowan! Like that.”

She’s salty and sweet, her body warm and slick beneath my tongue. With every lick and lave and nibble on her clit, Evie bucks beneath me, her strangled cries bouncing off the stone walls, and my jaw clicks but I don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care.

Who needs a tongue anyway? I’ll keep going until mine drops off if that’s what it takes to get her there. I’ll keep rubbing my whole goddamn face against my girl, my nose nudging her clit as her soft thighs clamp around my ears. Don’t need anything but this.

When I slide a finger inside her, Evie lets out an animal groan.

And when I crook that finger, rubbing the sensitive spot on her inner walls, she thrashes so wildly beneath me that she nearly bucks me off. But she’s panting and moaning, kicking me closer with her heels, and something tells me that if I stopped now she might truly never forgive me.

“Rowan! Please. Please.”

My heart burns with the heat of a summer wildfire.

I drag it out, because I’m a bastard. I make her moan; make her beg. Work her with my mouth and hands into a sweaty, trembling heap, and only once a fierce blush covers Evie’s whole neck and chest do I zone in on her clit with a relentless rhythm.

She hisses, bucking, and I press her back down to the pelt with one arm across her hips. Her cry echoes around the cave, the sound so fractured and sweet. It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.

And when she stiffens up, her whole body rigid and her eyes squeezed shut, my own pulse races in triumph.

Red waves glint in the firelight where they’re splayed across the pelt. This morning’s braid is long gone, undone by Evie’s thrashing, and now her loose hair mingles with brown fur and spills onto the stone floor.

The fire pops, a log shifts, and a small flurry of sparks burst in my peripheral vision.

After an impossibly long time and no time at all, Evie sucks in a desperate breath and collapses back onto the pelt, boneless and quivering.

Pressing one last kiss to her clit—she whimpers—I push up just enough to crawl along her flushed body. Evie loops her arms around my neck, blinking at me in a daze.

Mine.

She’s really mine.

How did I ever get so goddamn lucky?

I kiss her long and hard and deep, stroking our tongues together, letting her taste herself. Letting her catch her breath and wake up beneath me once more, coaxing her to life like the ashy embers beneath the fire, until her hips roll against mine and her nails score hot lines down my back.

“You want more?” Resting our foreheads together, I rock my head from side to side. This close, her cinnamon scent pulls into my lungs with every inhale. “We can wait if you want, sweetheart. Don’t need to rush.”

My girl snorts, reaching between us to wrap a hand around my cock. Just that simple contact makes me grunt, hips pitching forward to fuck her fist.

“Don’t you dare, Wild Man.” Evie licks my neck. “Now get inside me.”

Eleven

Evie

Okay, I’ll admit it: I’ve imagined this moment. I’ve lain in bed with busy fingers, picturing what it might be like to have a big, warm man looming over me, settling his hips between the cradle of my thighs. Wondering about the stretching sensation of being entered by the first time, and whether it would hurt; guessing at how the weight of a strong body on top of mine might feel.

My daydreams about this exact moment used to be hazy. The imaginary man was kinda blurry, with no set features, and yeah, okay, I always figured we’d be in a bed. Caves weren’t exactly on my radar until two days ago.

Last night, though, in between huffing and puffing and cursing Rowan’s name, it was his face I pictured while cramming my hands between my legs. His pine and fresh wind scent I imagined drawing into my lungs, almost tasting him on the tip of my tongue. His chest hair I could practically feel tickling my bare boobs.

“Evie,” he says now, his deep voice tinged with reverence. Like I’m the best thing he has ever seen and will ever see. “Evie, Evie. My Evie.”

Propping himself on one elbow, Rowan strokes my body with one large, callused hand, skimming my hips, my waist, my rib cage.

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