Under Canvas

The tent flap whispered open, and I looked up from my sketchbook to find Lena standing there, backlit by the dying fire. She’d already peeled off her hiking shirt, and the loose tank top she wore underneath was clinging to her skin, damp with sweat. She had that look — the one that said she wasn’t tired, not really, just done with pretending.

“You’ve been staring at me all day, Marcus,” she said, stepping inside. The tent smelled of crushed grass and her perfume, something floral that didn’t belong up here. “I thought I’d give you something better to look at.”

I set the pencil down. My heart was already hammering. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

“That’s the point.” She dropped to her knees on the sleeping bag, crawling toward me until her face was inches from mine. “I didn’t come on this trip for the views.”

I reached out, my fingers brushing the strap of her tank top, pulling it down over her shoulder. Her skin was hot, slick with the day’s heat, and she shivered under my touch. “You wanted an audience.”

“I wanted you.” She leaned in and kissed me, hard, her tongue sliding against mine before I could even respond. Her hands were already at the waistband of my shorts, tugging at the drawstring.

I groaned into her mouth. “Fuck, Lena.”

“That’s the plan.”

She pushed me onto my back, straddling me, and I watched her peel the tank top over her head. Her breasts were bare, her nipples already tight, and she caught me staring. “Like what you see?”

“You know I do.” I reached up, cupping one breast, thumbing the nipple until she gasped. She was already grinding against me, the thin fabric of her shorts doing nothing to hide the heat between her legs.

“Quit teasing,” she breathed, pulling at my shorts. “I want your cock inside me. Now.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I helped her shove my shorts down, and she let out a low, appreciative hum as she wrapped her fingers around my shaft, stroking me slow.

“God, you’re thick,” she whispered. She positioned herself over me, and I felt the wet heat of her pussy grazing the tip. “Ready?”

“Always.”

She sank down, taking me inch by inch, and I swore under my breath. She was so tight, so wet, and the way she moaned as she bottomed out made my toes curl. She started to ride me, slow at first, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was almost teasing.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I asked, gripping her hips.

She smirked. “You want more?”

“I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

She did. Her pace quickened, her thighs slapping against mine, and I could hear the wet sounds of her pussy gripping my cock. I reached up, grabbing her hair, pulling her down for another kiss, tasting the salt on her lips.

“Harder,” she begged against my mouth. “Please, Marcus. Fuck me harder.”

I flipped us over, pinning her to the sleeping bag. She gasped, then laughed, that wild, breathless laugh that drove me insane. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I drove into her, deep and fast, the tent walls shuddering with every thrust.

“Yes,” she moaned, her head thrown back, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. I fucked her until she was a mess of moans and trembling thighs, until I could feel her clenching around me, her orgasm rippling through her. She cried out, her body arching, and I followed, burying myself deep and spilling inside her with a groan that was half pain, half pleasure.

We collapsed onto the sleeping bag, breathing hard, tangled in each other and the crumpled sheets. The tent was still warm, still smelled of her and sweat and sex.

Lena giggled, rolling onto her back. “God, we’re going to have to hike out tomorrow with sore knees.”

I laughed, pulling her against me. “Worth it.”

“Definitely worth it.” She tilted her head, looking at me with that glint in her eye. “But I’m hungry. Got anything to eat in that bag of yours?”

I grinned. “I’ve got something.”

She slapped my chest, laughing. “Not that, you idiot. Food.”

I kissed her forehead. “Yeah. I think I can manage that.”