Page 77 of Fire for Effect

She was all of that, but also my woman.

“I need to feel that you’re alive. That you’re okay. That you’re able to fight.” I grabbed her by the throat, pulling her towards me as I captured her mouth, plunging my tongue in. She gasped, then moaned. I swallowed it all. “That’s right baby, I need your pulse, your air. I need to fuck the fight out of you.”

She nodded, slightly, her tired eyes looking at me with lust.

“That’s what you need?” she asked.

I wondered if that was an olive branch.

Was that her consenting?

Or was I such a fucking Taz-obsessed fool that anything and everything she did would look to me like desire.

“Yes,” I growled.

She pulled away, and I saw the fight return.

Those deep, dark hazel eyes narrowed, slightly, wrinkling in the corners. Her jaw set, her fists clenched. And I knew… I just knew…

She bolted.

She turned and sprinted into the woods, and I followed close behind.

She moved like a fucking gazelle. Watching an athletic woman move in the primal surroundings was a totally underrated thing. The Greeks had it right. Running naked nymphs in the woods needed to show up in porn more often. Or at least, just Taz. In porn. That only I could watch.

Even through her skinny jeans, I could see the way her glutes, thighs and calves tensed and relaxed with her movement. I knew very well that she could run a 7-minute mile, or faster, and she was faster when she was off-trail. Maybe that was more of the wildness in her, coming to the surface.

I wasn’t going to let her get far. I lunged for her, and we tumbled to the ground, down a small bank. I put my hand to the back of her head, protecting her from the sticks, rocks and roots that would harm her.

Her legs opened up, wrapping around my waist - both arousing and threatening at the same time. I landed on top - thank God for having more body weight - our hips locked together, and me in her guard.

The smell of the alpine forest, the mud, and the wet, dead leaves sent a jolt through me I had never felt before. Desire, and singularly driven madness.

She fought me, trying to create space with a movement of her thighs. But as she moved, I moved with her, dancing with her, and keeping our bodies as flush as could be.

“Get off me!” She gritted through her teeth, and she did something that told me that she was absolutely consenting to everything that happened.

She flipped onto her stomach, giving me her back.

In a fight, there was no way that a trained combatant would turn their back to an enemy. If I was her enemy, she wouldn’t.

But I wasn’t. I was her lover.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her ass up and into my hard cock, and I grinded through our jeans.

My other hand snaked up to her throat, my forearm laying between her round breasts, tightening down on the pulse on her throat.

“I need to feel your fight,” I said quietly into her ear. “I need to feel your pulse and breath in my hand. I need to know you’re alive.”

I bit down into the soft skin at the crook of her neck, taking the flesh into my teeth. She moaned, her body pushing into me. Her fists in the dirt clenched until the leaves and dirt crumbled in her hand.

I bit down hard, and I tasted the salty, coppery taste of her blood on my lips. She gasped at the pain but did not wrench her skin from my mouth.

I needed to feel her blood flowing, her pulse, her air, her everything.

I needed to know she was alive, and okay.

I unbuttoned her jeans, letting the metal snap open, then pulled them down to her thighs. She tried to resist - a feeble resistance that did something to me as well. In her shuffle to get away, I pushed her onto her stomach.

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