Page 30 of Out on a Limb

But Stig just grins wider, kneeing my legs apart and setting his cock at my entrance once again. His jeans are halfway down his thighs, the belt hanging loose and buckle clinking as it swings against his strong quad—and something about Stig staying part-dressed while I’m rumpled and ruined makes my tummy swoop.

“Beg,” the adventurer says again. Those ice-blue eyes gleam. “Prove you want me, Jana Kumara.”

Woof.

Biting my lip, I wiggle my hips. Try to coax him inside me without giving in to his command, but Stig flattens a hand over my stomach and pins me in place.

“No. Beg.”

A rush of slickness makes me squirm. God, I love him all bossy.

And he’s lit up from inside, exhilarated. Stig Hansen may not know it, but this is the exact look he gets in all his adventure footage, when he’s cliff jumping or rock climbing or back-country skiing. This is how he looks with a full shot of adrenaline running through his veins.

“Please,” I whisper, my lips barely moving. Hardly any sound gets out, but I kick my heels against the backs of Stig’s thighs anyway, urging him on. Job done, right?

I’ve said please, and now I want my reward: the delicious stretch of that big length pressing inside me. Want to be full. I felt it earlier, and now I’m hooked.

“I didn’t catch that.” Stig cups his ear, refusing to press forward even a single inch, even as my hips tilt and I rub myself against the blunt head of his shaft. “Say it again, Jana. Louder this time.”

I scoff, cheeks burning hot. “You’re enjoying this.”

Stig winks. “Very much.”

Ugh. And part of me rankles at this power play, part of me wants to drag it on for hours and hours, to wear him down and make him beg, but the rest of me really wants Stig Hansen inside me.

Another time, maybe. Revenge is a dish best served cold, yada yada, and this way I might get to come before I weep with frustration.

Besides, doesn’t Stig deserve this? Shouldn’t he hear exactly how much I want him, especially after everything I put him through tonight? Don’t I want him to know that his feelings are mutual?

“Please,” I say, loud and clear in still night air. Stig straightens incrementally, watching me with those eagle eyes. Secretly as desperate as I am for this. “Please, Stig. Fuck me. Make me yours.”

A shudder travels through his whole body, and Stig exhales hard before gripping both my hips tight enough to bruise. Clinging on like he never wants to let go. Like I’m all he wants in the whole world.

“You asked for it, Kumara.”

With one powerful thrust, he pins me to the clothing pile.

Fifteen

Stig

There’s this feeling I get when I’m kayaking down white water rapids. This sensation that grows inside as I twist and turn, flecks of sweat and river water clinging to my cheeks, trying to ride the deadly current rather than fight against it.

Focus.

Not the hard-won kind of focus needed to finish dull work for a deadline—not the kind that comes with chain-drunk black coffees and tugged hair. But a calm, centered focus, where the rest of the world fades away and there’s nothing left except the water churning beneath me; the paddle gripped in my hands; the steady rush of air through my lungs.

That’s what I’m feeling now. As I move over Jana, as I hold her down and fuck her writhing body, as I kiss away her gasps and whimpers and mewls—nothing else exists. No other thoughts are in my head. No sneaky To Do lists or flashes of conversation from earlier today; no wondering about the next video for my channel.

There’s only Jana.

Jana, and the sweat I lick off her throat.

Jana, and the vise-grip of her pussy.

Jana, and the toss of her head; the squeeze of her thighs; those wrecked little sounds she makes.

Those goddamn sounds. I’ll never be the same again.

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