So it turns out that the amount of time it takes you to have the world’s best orgasm is also the amount of time it takes for your average Southern stream current to wash away the clothes you abandoned on top of a tree trunk.

Fortunately, Hunter was a true gentleman, and let me have his boxers and ripped shirt, while he only kept his jeans. Our state of half-dress felt sexy and mischievous, and we nudged each other and shot sly secretive glances as we darted between the shadows on our way back, almost collapsing against each other with giggles each time a twig broke beneath our feet or we made a mad dash across open ground unseen—and that was half the fun, that half-collapse, that collision of barely hidden bodies humming and revving and eager to go.

Each time we brushed against each other the temptation reared its head anew, threatened to detain us in multiple rendezvouses behind trees, our lips eager for each other and for our skin. Only the threat of poison ivy in places that really don’t bear mentioning kept us going.

When the door of my cabin slammed behind us and we were finally home free, Hunter lunged for me, growling like a hungry jaguar. I giggled and danced out of his grasp, adding a little sashay to my hips as I darted to the other side of the bed.

Hunter growled his disapproval.

“Nuh-uh, mister,” I said, shaking my finger at him. “We’re both covered in mud and grass and God knows what else. I’m not getting that all over the nice clean sheets.”

He stalked closer, a panther on the prowl. “I don’t mind getting a little dirty.”

My legs turned to jelly underneath me, and I had to clench my thighs tight to keep from coming then and there.

“Yeah, but think of the maids,” I said with my best wide-eyed innocent look. “I’m going to shower.”

Hunter pouted.

I paused, halfway through pulling off my borrowed shirt on the way to the bathroom.

“Care to join me?”

If the Guinness Book of World Records had an entry for fastest disappearance of pout, Hunter would have won in a heartbeat.

* * *

Despite our earlier impatience, once we got under the hot water spray we took our time, the shower becoming a sensual exploration of each other as our hands and washcloths wandered over the curves and planes of the other’s body.

We took turns washing each other’s hair, and I reveled equally in the sensation of Hunter’s strong hands massaging my scalp and in the feel of his soft locks running through my fingers as he bent forward for my ministrations.

When we were scrubbed and fresh and free of any excuse for further procrastination, Hunter turned me gently around and pulled me back toward his body until I was flush against him, trembling with desire. He leaned down to nibble my ear and I moaned, arching backward into him, grinding my ass against his cock.

He chuckled, dark and dirty, and the puff of air against my wet skin made my lips quiver, my legs shake.

His hand began trailing up my side, up and down and up and down and never quite reaching my breasts until I thought I might go crazy. I bit my lip and sighed, pressed myself back against his hardness until finally, oh God yes finally, his hand came up to cup my breast, his fingers taking my nipple between them, twisting it almost leisurely, the sensation slowly building, intoxicating, breath-taking—

I couldn’t take another second.

I turned in his arms before he could stop me and practically leapt onto him, my breasts crushed against his chest, my hands greedy for the touch of his wet skin and slick muscles. He barely steadied himself against the wall of the shower with one hand before he could fall, his strong arms trembling with desire as his other hand gripped my ass tight, pinning me to him. I met his eyes, dark and avid as I was sure my own were, and held his gaze as I slid down onto him.

My eyelids fluttered, overwhelmed, as he filled me, stretching me to my very limit. My nails dug into his shoulders, and we both moaned. I pulled myself upward and slammed myself back down again, and this time Hunter was the one whose eyelids fluttered, each lash beaded with a tiny drop of water, and he made a deep gravelly sound of pure want in the back of his throat. That sound set a fire in my veins, and I knew that I had to get him to make that sound again and again, that I needed it, that I needed him—

I rocked against him, and he thrust, our need making us clumsy and desperate but it didn’t even matter, all that mattered was him and me and the water cascading down our bodies and our bodies, oh God our bodies, moving together, the sensation of skin on skin and our gasps, and his cock so deep inside me, oh God, I lifted myself up and dropped myself onto his hard, perfect length again and moaned, oh God, no one had ever been so deep inside me—

I licked the sliding droplets from the hollow of his throat and he snarled, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he claimed me, his thrusts steady and rhythmic, relentless, and before I could hold back I came at the touch of his teeth, at the feel of him pounding into me even harder than before, the shockwaves rippling through my body as I groaned his name.

“Ally,” he answered, but instead of slowing his rhythm he slammed his cock deeper, tighter, one, two, three more times, and I gasped as he pumped into me one last time, cursing under his breath, a sigh ghosting over my bare skin as the aftershocks of my desire trembled and ran through my suddenly loose and sleepy limbs.

I slid down his warm body, my toes almost slipping on the wet shower floor until he steadied me, and then I leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, making a contented humming sound into my hair.

He murmured, “We should have done this ages ago.”

I couldn’t have agreed more.