First Time in the Tent

The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the forest smelling of wet pine and damp earth. Inside our tiny tent, the air was thick and warm, and I could hear the distant hiss of a creek somewhere below the ridge.

"You're thinking too loud," Marcus said, his voice a low rumble in the dark. I felt his hand slide across my hip, fingers curling into the waistband of my shorts.

I laughed, a little breathless. "Can you blame me? We're alone in the middle of nowhere, and you keep looking at me like that."

"¿Como qué?"

"Like you're starving."

He pulled me closer, his chest pressed against my back, his breath hot on my neck. "Because I am." His hand dipped lower, tracing the line of my hip, then slipping beneath the fabric. I gasped when his fingers found my clit, already slick and swollen.

"Jesus, you're wet already."

"Cállate y fóllame."

He rolled me onto my back, and I saw the outline of his face in the dim light filtering through the tent walls. He was beautiful—dark skin, sharp jaw, that crooked smile that always made my knees weak. He tugged my shorts down, then his own, and I felt the weight of his cock pressing against my thigh. Thick. Heavy. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around it, stroking slowly, feeling it pulse.

"You want this?" he asked, his voice thick.

"I want you inside me. Now."

He positioned himself at my entrance, and I felt the tip tease me, sliding through my wetness. Then he pushed, and I groaned as he filled me inch by inch. He was bigger than I was used to, and the stretch was delicious, almost painful.

"Fuck," I breathed. "You feel so good."

He started slow, rocking his hips, letting me adjust. His mouth found mine, and we kissed sloppily, tongues tangling, while his cock moved in and out of me with a wet, rhythmic sound. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

"Harder," I whispered against his lips.

He obliged, slamming into me with a force that made the tent shudder. I moaned, loud, not caring who might hear. His hand found my breast, squeezing, pinching my nipple through the thin fabric of my tank top.

"You like that?" he grunted.

"Sí. Dios, sí."

He pulled out and flipped me onto my hands and knees, his hand on the back of my neck, pressing me down. I arched my back, offering myself to him, and he didn't hesitate. He thrust into me from behind, deep and hard, and I cried out, my fingers digging into the sleeping bag.

"Look at you," he said, his voice ragged. "Taking all of me like a good girl."

I felt his balls slap against my clit with every stroke, and the pressure was building, coiling tight in my belly. I pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, and he groaned.

"I'm close," he said.

"Inside me. I want to feel you cum inside me."

He drove into me harder, faster, and I felt myself teetering on the edge. Then his fingers found my clit, rubbing in tight circles, and I shattered, my orgasm crashing over me in waves. I cried out his name as I came, my walls clenching around him.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, and I felt him jerk inside me, hot and thick, filling me. He collapsed onto my back, his weight comforting, his breath hot on my neck.

We lay there for a while, tangled and sweaty, the tent suddenly feeling smaller and warmer. He kissed my shoulder, then my cheek, then my lips.

"Worth the hike?" he asked, grinning.

I laughed, breathless. "I'd climb ten more mountains for that."

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, and I felt his heart pounding against my back. Outside, the wind rustled through the pines. I was sticky, sore, satisfied.

"Next time," he murmured, "we bring a bigger tent."

I smiled into the dark. "Deal."