The Loner's Lady

I’m forced to jog after John, his strides are so long. “We really don’t need to do that.” He ignores me. “It’s totally unnecessary.”

My protests are ignored and when we reach the pond, John gestures for me to hand over my phone. I do it absently, my attention absorbed by the stunning body of water spread out in front of us. There are actual frogs at the pond’s edge, hopping around in the mud and rocks. It’s like, nature nature.

A grunt from John reminds me of the task at hand and I turn around, posing for the raised phone with a broad smile, hip cocked. “How’s that?”

“Beautiful,” he mutters at the screen. “I’m going to delete it.”

“What? Why?”

His focus dips to my breasts. “Your nipples are hard and you look like you wouldn’t mind having them sucked. It stays off the internet.”

My core flexes, excited by his possessiveness, whether I should be or not. “You’re not my social media manager.”

“I’m well aware of that, Lyssa. If I was, I’d delete every picture where you look sweet, young and fuckable, which, by the way, is every goddamn shot.”

“Fine. Pose me how you want.”

Too late, I realize what a bad idea that is. Both of us are breathing fast and I can see the outline of John’s plentiful erection. Coming out here alone might have been a temptation neither of us can stand, because I have that damp, achy feeling again. The one I had last night that only he could cure. So when he approaches and his lit firewood and earth scent crashes into me, my knees begin to lose stability.

I remain perfectly still as John lifts a hand and tucks a windblown hair behind my ear. He’s visibly controlling himself, and the quickening flesh between my thighs wishes he wouldn’t. Wishes he’d take away my ability to think and leave only sensation. Only pleasure.

“You’d drive men to obsession no matter how I pose you.” He raises the camera and takes a close up of my face, before handing me back my phone. Then he slowly removes his own device, tapping it against his palm. “Will I take a few for myself now, Lyssa?”

I nod dumbly, loving the idea of John having private photographs of me way too much. “Okay.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he moves his thumb around on the screen and opens his camera. “These are for my eyes only, sweetness. What are you going to show me?”

If we lived in a world with no consequences, I think I would strip for him. I would show him my breasts and I’d let him look beneath my skirt. I’d soak up the way he stares at me, stalks me, like a man infatuated. I would thrive on it.

However, here in this unfamiliar, sun-soaked glen, our own little world, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take a little fantasy to-go. After all, standing in our own little slice of heaven, it feels as though there is no one else on the earth. My fingers are curled in the hem of my skirt, dying to lift—and I do. My fingertips inch up the material slowly and watch John’s eyes darken.

Rebellion beats in my blood. I never knew I could be like this. Naughty. Every inch of me tingles and heats to a fever pitch. I don’t stop lifting my skirt until I’m holding it up around my waist, leaving me in nothing but a thong from the waist down. John’s gaze is locked on the juncture of my thighs, and instead of being embarrassed by the wet spot I know is there, I want him to see it.

John drops to his knees in front of me and raises the phone, taking pictures of my clinging panties, sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip, his breathing labored. “Had my fingers in that sweet, little thing last night, didn’t I?” John rasps. “Tell me I made you come. Use my name.”

“John made me come,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Goddamn right I did. Now turn around,” he orders. “Show me the ass.”

I do what I’m told, staring with blind eyes out at the pond. The sound of his camera going off makes me moan, makes me throb desperately. I can’t help but lean forward slightly and show off my bottom for him, looking back over my shoulder to find John wetting his lips like a starving man in front of his final meal.

His heated breaths drift over my backside. “I’d eat you whole. You’d take your poundings like a good, little girl and then I’d spend hours rewarding you afterward with my tongue. You’d spend your life sore, but satisfied.” His forehead presses into the small of my back, rolling to one side and the other. “Turn around again and give me a peek, Lyssa. If I can’t fuck you, I need a picture of that pretty, virgin pussy so I can beat off to it ten times a day.”