Marks of the Lake House

"You're not going to believe this, but I've never actually been bitten."

The words hung in the humid air between us, and I watched Lena's eyes go dark. She was perched on the edge of the rickety dock, bare feet dangling over the dark water, and the late summer sun had painted her skin in shades of gold and amber. We'd met exactly four hours ago at a gas station twenty miles back, both of us stranded by a dead battery and a broken promise from a tow truck that never showed.

"Never?" I asked, stepping closer. The wooden planks creaked beneath my boots.

"Never." She tilted her head, and there was something dangerous in the way her lips curved. "Been bitten by mosquitoes, bitten by my ex's dog, but never... properly."

The lake house behind us was a forgotten relic, wood-paneled and dusty, but the owner had left it open for the summer. We'd found it after walking the long gravel road, hoping for a phone, and instead found a key under a ceramic frog and a bed with sheets that smelled faintly of cedar and someone else's summer.

"Want me to show you?" My voice came out rougher than I'd intended.

She stood up slowly, and the space between us collapsed. "Show me," she whispered.

I didn't kiss her first. I wanted to, but something told me to wait, to build the moment like a struck match. Instead, I reached for the hem of her thin cotton dress and pulled it over her head in one motion, letting it fall to the weathered boards. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts were small and perfect, nipples already tight in the cooling air. Her skin smelled like salt and sunscreen and something floral.

"Jesus," I breathed.

"Say it again," she said, stepping into me. "Say my name like that."

"Lena." Her name came out strangled as my hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me. She was already wet — I could feel the heat of her through my jeans, and she let out a small gasp when my cock pressed against her through the denim.

"Fuck," she murmured against my throat. "I want to feel you."

I undid my jeans one-handed while she worked on the button of my shirt, and we were a clumsy tangle of fabric and eager hands until we were both naked, skin to skin on the rough boards of the dock. The water lapped beneath us, a rhythmic counterpoint to our breathing.

"Where do you want it?" I asked, trailing my fingers down her stomach, feeling the muscles flutter beneath my touch.

"Everywhere," she said. "I want you to mark me. I want to see your teeth on my skin tomorrow and remember this."

I lowered my mouth to her collarbone and bit down — not hard, but enough to make her gasp and arch her back, her fingers digging into my shoulders. The taste of her skin was incredible, salt and warmth, and I sucked at the spot until I was sure it would bruise, then moved lower, leaving a trail of marks down her sternum, across the swell of her breast.

"Yes," she hissed. "God, yes."

Her nipple was hard against my tongue, and I bit it gently, feeling her whole body shudder. Her hand found the back of my head, pressing me closer, and I could feel her pulse racing against my lips.

"I need you inside me," she said, and her voice was broken, desperate. "Please."

I moved over her, positioning myself at her entrance, and she was so wet that I slid in with a single thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She cried out, a raw, guttural sound that echoed across the water, and I froze.

"The neighbors," I whispered.

"There are no neighbors," she gasped, her legs wrapping around my waist. "Just fuck me."

I did. I pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in, and she arched beneath me, her head thrown back, the tendons in her neck straining. The dock creaked beneath us, and the sound of our bodies slapping together mixed with the water's gentle rhythm. I bit down on her shoulder as I thrust, hard enough to leave a mark, and she moaned, long and low.

"Don't stop," she begged. "Don't you dare stop."

I reached between us and found her clit, slick and swollen, and she bucked against my hand as I circled it. Her nails raked down my back, and the sting only made me harder. I drove into her with a rhythm that was almost punishing, and she met me thrust for thrust, her breath coming in sharp, bitten-off gasps.

"I'm close," she whimpered. "I'm so fucking close."

"Come for me," I said against her ear. "Come on my cock."

She shattered. I felt her tighten around me, wave after wave of convulsions, and her mouth found my neck, biting down hard as she came. The pain was exquisite, and it pushed me over the edge. I came inside her with a groan, my body shuddering, my forehead pressed to hers.

For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing and the water lapping at the pilings. Then she laughed, a breathless, surprised sound.

"I think you broke me," she said.

I kissed the corner of her mouth. "I think I marked you."

She turned her head, showing me the spot on her neck where her teeth had been. "Fair's fair."

The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. We lay tangled together on the dock, and I traced the marks I'd left on her skin — a constellation of bruises and love bites that told the story of our afternoon.

"We should probably go inside," she said eventually.

"Probably." I didn't move. "Or we could stay here and see what else we can discover."

She smiled, slow and wicked. "I've always wanted to be bitten somewhere I couldn't hide."

I rolled over, pinning her beneath me. "Show me where."