S’mores were pretty awesome until you got melted marshmallows in your hair. Maybe that was what I got for trying to go for three marshmallows at once. If there was ever a metaphor for wanting too much of a good thing and making a fucking mess in the process, this was it.
Angel didn’t try to hide his delighted laughter as I scowled and muttered in Spanish and trucked down to the water to do a quick wash before it dried. I’d planned to punish him with all kinds of sexual teasing. Making him suck chocolate off my fingers, sit on his lap so I could feel his dick against my ass—typical Quinones/León shenanigans.
Except, when I returned to find him setting up our shitty little sleeping bag back in our tiny tent, I was suddenly exhausted. Not even s’mores could breathe enough life back into me to keep me alert once we were snuggled together. Weariness from lack of a real dinner, the hike, and the conversation, settled into my bones. I fell asleep hard and fast to the rhythmic feel of his fingers combing through my hair. When I woke up, the early-morning sun had turned the sky a very pale blue.
I watched daybreak through the slit in our tent, and marveled at how comfortable I was, even though the ground was hard beneath the sleeping bag. Angel’s face was pressed against my neck, and he was hugging me like a stuffed animal.
The left side of my body was falling asleep though, so I wiggled out of his grasp. Considering we were zipped together, it didn’t work. I sagged on the floor for a second, regrouped, and then undid the sleeping bag just enough for me to escape his clutching arms and sit up. If the marshmallows had been a metaphor, what was this? Him holding me tight while I tried to escape.
Laughing humorlessly, I rubbed my hands along my arms and watched him. Still breathing softly, he’d rolled onto his back. He was a way prettier sleeper than I was. I snored, drooled, and kicked my way through the night, but Angel just looked like a more peaceful version of his strikingly handsome self.
The first time I’d laid eyes on Angel had been in high school. It was entirely possible that he’d been around the block or handball court before that, but the image of him striding into my ninth-grade Biology class was engraved in my mind. I’d already zoned out, wishing I’d had a cell phone, when suddenly this tall boy with dark-blond hair had strolled in wearing a bomber jacket over a Nas T-shirt, and Timberlands. I’d only looked up from my out-the-window daydream because I’d heard Raymond’s voice in the hallway—he’d dropped Angel off before allegedly going to his own class—and had quickly found a random reason to speak to the adorable creature sitting next to me.
“Hey, blanquito. How do you know Ray?”
He’d looked at me with those light-green eyes, froze in place, then mumbled, “From the park. Handball.”
Fourteen-year-old Angel had quickly averted his gaze, staring straight ahead at the whiteboard as if it held the mysteries to life, while I’d studied his profile. He’d slowly reddened under my rapt attention, and I’d been so charmed. His shyness had been a total change from catcalls and “Hey Mas” and corny little boys talking about my tetas until I wanted to knock them out.
We’d ended up having like three classes together, and had become friends despite me knowing he had a hard-core crush on me. He’d been too sweet, and respectful, to tell me about it.
In some ways, Angel was still that same sweet boy.
In some ways, I was still so fucking charmed.
I leaned down, brushing my lips to his. He didn’t so much as stir, so I did it again. That time, I ended the press of mouths with a slow lick. Angel might as well have been a stone. His deep sleeping was a challenge I couldn’t resist. Us being in nature did not change my desire to get my greedy hands all over his golden skin, or to wake him up in exceedingly pervy ways.
It took some effort to get him in the position I wanted—sleeping bag unzipped, legs pushed apart, and his briefs skinned down—and he still hadn’t stirred beyond a pucker of his brows at all that skin being exposed. I barely noticed. I was all about the happy trail leading down to his groin, and the light-brown hair at the base of his dick. He was semihard from sleep, but already wilting from the cool air. Unacceptable.
I kissed his stomach, and looked up to see a smile flicker at the corner of his mouth. “Stephanie . . .”
I leaned down to take him in my mouth with no finesse. I grabbed his thick base and went straight for deep-throating. There was no point in wasting time.
Angel released a low sound, half groan and half whimper, his hips jutting up. I hummed around him and closed my eyes, enjoying the solid length of him in my mouth. His dick expanded and grew so hard it was now pulsing.
“Steph . . .”
A hand found the back of my head, fingers sliding through my messy hair, but he didn’t push my face down. The only time he went full caveman on me was after a lot of foreplay or a long dry spell of us not touching each other. Or when we were so pissed that all that energy exploded into sex so intense it was nearly frightening. Like when he’d pulled me away from the ballroom on the QFindr cruise, pushed me against a balcony overlooking the ocean, and hiked my dress up. I’d been as enraged as I’d been turned on, and I’d slammed back on him as some crewmember likely watched the cameras. Angel and I had growled at each other after, before stalking off in separate directions.
In our little tent with the sun barely rising over the lake, there was none of that intensity just yet. There was only peace, quiet, and the knowledge that for this moment, we were playing at being engaged, and I could get away with a lot.
I pulled away with a wet pop of my mouth. Saliva covered the column of his dick, wetting my fingers. “You fully awake now, mi caro?”
The endearment came out in a low purr, and it hit the note I’d wanted. Angel hissed out a breath, his feet sliding against the now-askew sleeping bag so he could bend his legs at the knee. I liked him spread open in front of me.
Angel dragged the tips of his fingers along the side of my face. “Very awake, mi vida.”
My heart stopped. It was the worst timing to get misty-eyed and shaky. Turning my face down, I pressed a sloppy kiss to the head of his dick.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Treat me real nice.”
After tracing the veins in his shaft with the tip of my tongue, I suckled his weeping crown once more. I could taste his pre-come, so I sucked harder. The sound he made, half growl, half cry, was probably heard across the lake and in the lodge, but I wanted to hear more. Seventy-five percent of the time we spent in bed was with him making me come repeatedly. When it was his turn, he could be stoic. There would be none of that this morning.
I took him in my mouth, still gripping his root with one hand. I slipped the other down to his ass, pushing him back just slightly so I could trace the crease with my fingers. Some guys might clench up or pull away at the hint I was throwing, but Angel just groaned again and rocked against me.
Pegging had been part of our games early on. As soon as I’d shown him a delicious series of Tumblr gifs portraying a guy having his prostate stimulated by a woman, Angel had wanted in on it. My adventurous sweetheart had looked at me with dilated pleading eyes at the very idea of having an orgasm that hard. I’d been so ecstatic. So fond. Maybe him digging butt play had been the first real sign that I would fall in love.
I pushed my two spit– and pre-come–covered fingers into his hole and found his prostate easily after so many months of practice.
“Ahh . . .”
I hooked my fingers up, and massaged the little notch inside of him. When he rocked on my hand, making agonized sounds, my pussy clenched. I squeezed my thighs together, overly aware of how wet I was, and sucked again. This time, he clutched the back of my head with more force and guided my face so I could take him deeper into my mouth. My eyes teared a bit, but it didn’t stop me from working his prostate with more purposeful movements.
“Ay Dios, Stephanie.” Angel’s voice hitched. I opened my eyes just in time to see him grabbing up the sleeping bag with his free hand, squeezing it in his big fist. He’d dropped his head back, hair hanging over his face, and only the damp sheen across his mouth visible as he panted. “Por favor, no pares.”
Groaning, I bobbed my head and the tip nearly brushed the back of my throat. All the while, I felt myself rocking against the air and clenching around nothing, wanting very, very badly some pressure against my clit. To get it, I’d have to stop touching him, and that wasn’t going to happen. I wanted him on the edge.
When I shoved a third finger into his ass, Angel seemed to hit his breaking point, and sweetness switched to demanding.
“Yeah, Steph,” he growled. “You suck that cock.”
“Mmm . . .”
He fucked my mouth so hard my eyes teared again. I saw spots dancing before them, the world dimming just slightly at the edges, but I didn’t pull away. I reveled in him finally losing control, but my body was an inferno. I was so overheated and turned on that it was nearly painful.
“You want to taste my come or feel it in your pussy?”
My hips jerked forward, and for a second, I thought I was going to come from the question. God knew I was close enough. Breathing hard, I pulled my mouth off his gleaming dick and stared at him through a mess of hair. There should have been no question about what I wanted. I’d been on birth control for a decade, and we’d stopped using protection with each other months ago. He knew I loved feeling it as he released. Not only the way he clung to me and said my name in that low worshipful moan, but the pulse of his dick inside me.
“What do you think?”
Angel swept his tongue over his lower lip. “Ride it.”
It wasn’t smooth as I fumbled out of my underwear and climbed atop him in the small tent, but I managed it in seconds. I positioned myself above him, squirming as he tapped his cockhead against the hard nub of my clit.
I rubbed myself against him. He had a level of restraint that I didn’t possess. At least, not when it came to him. Angel loved to tease me, to draw it out until I was drenched and aching. Sometimes, I just needed him in me. Now was one of those times.
“Angel.”
He dragged his tip along my slit and watched me from beneath his eyelashes. “Pull your shirt up.”
Impatiently, I yanked it off. I had all kinds of tan lines from the combination of my tank top and sports bra, but he sighed like he’d just set eyes on a work of art. I leaned forward so my breasts rubbed against his shirt, my nipples taut and stinging from the friction, and kissed him hard. I kept kissing him when he was sheathed inside of me, and only stopped when his steady thrusts ripped my breath away all over again.
My knees dug into the hard ground on either side of him as he clamped down on my ass with one hand and gripped the back of my head with the other. We stared into each other’s eyes as he moved inside of me, and I rode him as much as I could even though he had me locked in the position he wanted.
A thousand sensations went off in my body like mini explosions. The sensation of my clit grinding against his groin, the angle of his hardness inside of me, his breath on my face, a hand tight and possessive in my hair, and then . . . the sudden pressure of his finger against my anus.
I bit my lower lip, so close to coming it was agonizing, and reared upright. He smacked my ass, as if chastising me for ruining his plan. He smirked, but it turned to a hooded look of pleasure when I began to ride him in earnest. One hand braced behind me on his knee and the other between my legs so I could frantically rub my clit.
When it hit me, my orgasm was loud and messy. I was so wet that I had a distant fleeting wondering about how we’d ever hike back down to the lodge around other people. The concern was blighted from my mind once Angel shoved himself up to press his lips to my throat. He bit lightly and surged inside of me, coming with harsh, breathless gasps.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, keeping him inside of me. “Nice try, León.”
“Mmm?”
“The attempted DP.”
Angel snorted into my hair and smacked my ass again. “Does one finger really count as double penetration?”
“Yup. After the other night, you’re getting greedy.” Snickering at his exaggerated pout, I pulled off him. “I need a bath. We both reek of sex.”
“There’s a problem with that? I like having you all over me.”
“Ugh, stop being so . . .” I waved vaguely at his flushed face. “Stop making me want to fuck you again immediately.”
“Give me like ten minutes, nena.”
I smiled broadly, then forced myself to shake my head. “Nope. We need to get down to that stream before the rest of the normal people wake up and see our unprepared naked culos.”
“Is your culo being unprepared the reason for no fake-DP?” He dodged a swat and sat up on his knees, snickering. “Fine. Maybe later.”
“Maybe.”
We fumbled in the small space to gather our clothes. I grumbled that I had nothing to change into, and he silently presented me with an extra tank top and a pair of shorts. My eyebrows hiked up.
“Those are mine.”
“Good eye, Sherlock.”
I poked him in the side. “I thought you’d planned this little camping trip to be solo?”
We’d just fucked each other’s brains out and joked about butt play, but Angel flushed like my sweet boy all over again. “Well, I guess in the back of my mind, I was kind of hoping you’d stay out here with me . . .”
I stared at him. He tried to duck out of the tent for a quick escape, but I grabbed him and dragged him back for a kiss.
“I love you, fiancé,” I whispered against his mouth.
Angel held me to his chest and released a shuddering sigh. “I love you too, Stephanie.”