I didn’t follow him into the woods because I trusted him.
I followed because I was wet.
Dripping, actually. Thighs warm, panties clinging to every swollen inch of me from the second his hand brushed my lower back during that fake-ass campfire game. He barely looked at me when I talked, barely smiled, didn’t ask for my name. He just stared like he already knew what I looked like spread open.
And now I was walking behind him, heart racing, trying not to trip on roots as he cut through the trees like he owned the whole goddamn forest.
"You ever been f****d outside?" he asked without turning. His voice was low, scratchy, casual like he was asking if I wanted gum.
"No," I breathed, voice too small for how bad I wanted it. "You?"
He chuckled. “You’ll learn quick, baby. You just gotta know
