Tucker:

The way she’s gripping my arm for dear life makes me feel like I should walk her the rest of the way home. Carrying her down the mountain was the easy part. Trying to fight with my erection while she had her body draped over mine and my hand caressing the back of those curvy silky thighs of hers was the hard part. The sweat on her sweet skin smelled like something tropical and spicy. Absolutely intoxicating, so feminine but so mysterious.

Now I’m faced with a dilemma.

I might not know where I came from or who I am, but I do know it’s a dick move to help someone out and expect them to screw you in return. That’s not why I did it.

I did it because I wanted to. I know if the Vagrants hadn’t helped me out, I probably would’ve died there on the side of the road that day. I did it because when that little dog brought me to her sleeping body, I felt like I had walked up on my own personal Snow White sleeping there so peacefully, so beautiful with her wild dirty blonde hair and her rosy red cheeks. Sure, I wanted her the second I saw her. Wanted her in ways I know I’m capable of taking her in, even though I maybe haven’t acted on those urges in a while.

But I wanted her to be safe. I wanted her to feel comfortable. I wanted to make sure that nobody or nothing could hurt her.

Now, I worry that if I walk her the rest of the way home, I won’t be able to control myself. Girls like her don’t run around with guys like me for good reason. She’s not like the wild gypsies up on the mountain. You can tell she’s smart, probably has some money, and I’m sure someone is probably worried sick about her right now.

Me, I have nothing to offer her. Hell, I can’t even offer her my last name.

She’s staring up at me with those green eyes of hers and I just can’t deny her request.

“You don’t even have to carry me,” she assures me. “I promise. Just help me stay balanced.”

She fishes the dog leash out of her backpack and I help her get Dolly hooked up.

“You probably think I’m nuts, Tucker. Just wait til you see where I live,” she laughs. “Then you’ll probably think I’m utterly insane.” She looks up at me like she said something wrong and starts to backpedal. “I’m sorry. I guess that’s rude of me. I mean, knowing where you come from and stuff.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her. “I know it’s not a normal kind of life I live, but it’s the life that makes me happy. I don’t judge anyone for what they do, and if they want to judge me, they can go right ahead. I’m happy being a Vagrant. I do think you’re a little nuts for letting a stranger like me walk you home, though. Girls like you are way too pretty to be so trusting.”

She dips her head and lets out a snort of a laugh, so cute and uninhibited, like I just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard.

“I don’t think you know what kind of girl I am, Tucker.” Maybe I don’t, but I’m more than happy to find out. There’s nothing about her that I don’t want to know about, from what she does for a living to what color panties she has on, I want it all.

We near the entrance of a public campground, one of those places you pay by the day for electric and water hookups.

“This is my stop,” she says. “Come on.” The sun has set a while ago, and the darkness is punctuated by lights and lanterns in campers and RVs, bonfires here and there, the smell of charcoal from grilling in the air.

In the middle of the campground is what looks like a white school bus. It’s lit from the inside, and I can see the floral curtains hanging in the windows. It makes perfect sense as soon as we walk up on it. It’s so her, at least everything I know about her so far, in every possible way. Cute. Unique. Cozy.

“So you’re on a camping trip?” I ask her as she pulls her key from the zipper pocket in her shorts.

“Kind of,” she laughs.

She urges me inside as she flicks on some lamps, and I’m amazed at how roomy this little bus is. There’s a twin-sized bed in the corner, a desk, a love seat, and a little efficiency kitchen with a mini fridge. Everything is floral, randomly pieced together furniture that somehow all fits perfectly but without rhyme or reason.

“You sure know how to do it right,” I say, looking around in amazement.

“Have a seat,” she says, motioning to the love seat. She fishes out an ice pack from her freezer and grabs two cans of beer from the fridge. “Want one?”

I can’t remember the last time I drank a beer, but I know I like it. “Thanks,” I say.

“This bus is actually my home,” she tells me. “At least for now. I’m a freelance writer, so I can work wherever I feel like working. I figured I might as well spend some time out on the road enjoying the country while I’m still young.”

“That’s pretty cool.” She sits down on her bed across from me and props that pretty leg of hers up, putting an icepack on her ankle. I can’t help but notice how badly I want to run my hand up her thigh, parting those legs just a little bit more. “You get lonely?”

“Sometimes. But I have Dolly. And I try to make friends everywhere I go. That’s one of the best parts of this whole experience. Tell me about you, though. I bet your story is a lot more interesting than mine. What’s it like being a Vagrant?”

I haven’t talked to anyone about my story yet, other than the guys at camp. As much as I want to trust her, as much as I want to open up and let her into my world, I don’t want to put my brothers at risk. She is a writer after all. We try and stay out of the spotlight as much as possible, and having her poking her nose in our business isn’t something Moss would be too fond of.

“It’s a good life. It makes me happy.”

“Do you have a wife?” she asks. “Girlfriend?”

“No,” I tell her. “I’m actually kind of new to these parts.”

“Are you running away from something?” she asks, her eyes squinting, staring into mine.

“Are you?” I ask her, staring back. The silence is heavy. “Do all your conversations sound like job interviews?”

She cringes at the sound of that. “I’m sorry, Tucker. It’s just the journalist in me. It’s hard to turn it off sometimes. I’m sorry.”

“Relax,” I say. “I’m just teasing. Let me take a look at that ankle of yours, anyway.” I hop up on the bed next to her, the mattress squealing below me. I probably shouldn’t be doing this. The closer I get to her, the harder it’s going to be to pull myself away.

Everything about this girl seems perfect to me. She’s gorgeous, independent, and she lives life on her own terms. She doesn’t look at me like I’m some criminal or some freak of nature, but instead she seems genuinely concerned about who I am, like I’m the most interesting person in the world.

Truth be told, I’m not even the most interesting person in the room. I’m just a simple guy with very few needs. As I lift the ice back off her leg and brush my finger over her swollen ankle, I realize that maybe those needs are a little more intense than I thought. I realize that she has exactly what I need. I’m trying to be attentive, trying to gently run my fingers over that ankle of hers, but simply touching her skin is driving me wild. I can’t help but stare at the way her cleavage curves from the top of her tank top as she rests there on the bed.

She catches me looking and smiles sheepishly, a blush covering her pretty face.

“What’s wrong, Molly?” I ask, running my hand slowly up her calf, to her knee, resting it just below the hem of her shorts on her thigh and she lets out a stifled moan. “You shy?”

“I just… I’m filthy from being out in the woods all day. I should probably take a shower or something.” Her lips are moving, but the rest of her body is making no effort to leave.

“Filthy, huh?” I ask her, tracing my hand up just another inch, drawing circles on her tender inner thigh with my thumb. “Wanna prove it?”

Molly:

I’m trying to talk, but nothing is coming out. My jaw is moving, my lips are moving, but my brain and my body are trying to do two different things on me right now.

Here I am, with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my entire life in my bed, the man who saved me from having to spend a night out in the woods alone and probably getting eaten alive by a bear. His callused palm is creeping further and further up my thigh, his hand giant compared to the curves of my leg. This is a man who I know will take as much as I let him.

And right this second, I want to give it all to him.

I can feel the heat radiating from my core, and I swear the way he’s staring at my breasts is making my nipples hard without even so much as a touch.

I can’t tell if he’s as attracted to me as I am to him, but the way he’s staring at me, he looks like he’s going to rip me into a million pieces and leave me shattered here on the floor of this bus, and I want it. I want nothing more than to let this mountain beast ravish me.

Don’t do it, my inner voice is screaming. Hooking up with Tucker could have serious repercussions on my life as I know it. My article is going to have to go out the window because that would be a major conflict of interest. I’ll probably have to move out of the state so I can find some satisfying work.

My inner voice can go back up on that hill and die. I want to repay this man for his kindness after all.

“I can see it written all over your face, Molly. You are a filthy girl. Dirty and beautiful.” My thigh trembles as he creeps his hand closer and closer to my needy pussy. “Now take that shirt off and show me those gorgeous tits before I have to rip it off you.”

I take a deep breath, my eyes wide, and do as he says as if I’m under his sexy spell, pulling off my tank top, then wiggling my way out of my sports bra. His eyes never leave my body, making me feel completely vulnerable in the best sort of way. I know I couldn’t run if I tried, but no part of me is going to try. The way he sighs, taking in the sight of my curvy breasts, my nipples hardened into tender little peaks, makes me wetter than ever.

“You’re fucking beautiful, girl,” he growls, running his hand down my neck, barely grazing the outline of my breast as my skin pebbles into a million goosebumps. “I bet you hear that all the time, though.”

I shake my head sheepishly. I’m not a prude by any means, and I love to have sex, but normally I don’t stick around in one place long enough to find someone that strikes my interest.

At least not in the way that Tucker does.

“Oh, come on,” he laughs. “I’m sure you have no problem getting laid. When’s the last time you were with a man?”I shrug, feeling like I’m on the other end of some sort of fucked-up job interview now. “I don’t know. A year maybe?”

“A year!” he exclaims. “I find that hard to believe. Well, when’s the last time you got off?”

The way he’s tenderly stroking my chin, staring me directly in the eye, makes me feel dirty and sexy. Here I am, topless with a stranger, talking about my orgasms like it’s the most casual and comfortable subject on the planet.

I reach for words, but I am speechless in his gaze.

“Aw, come on, Molly. You don’t like being the subject of the interview? You can tell me. When’s the last time you came?”

“Tucker,” I say softly, “I don’t even know anything about you. This isn’t really the kind of conversation I’m used to having with strangers.”

His face softens, and he brings his mouth to mine for a gentle kiss. I can’t help but to return it; it just feels so right.

“I have to tell you something.” he says, pulling away.

I nod. I expect him to tell me he has to go, that I killed the moment with my big mouth. I’m really good at doing that.

“I don’t even know who I am,” he sighs. He tells me about his accident, his amnesia, his month in the woods living amongst the Vagrants. He pours his heart out to me and I am shocked. Surely someone is looking for this man. “All I have from my past life are my tattoos. And looking at them now, the only one that means anything to me is the most recent one.”

I trace the word Vagrant, inked in black on his hand, with my index finger.

“I’m sure I can help you if you let me, Tucker,” I tell him. “I have connections. I can do research. We can get your face out there. Or even this,” I say, running my hand over the giant buck tattooed on his chest. “Whoever did this will definitely remember! I can put something on social media tonight.”

“Don’t,” he growls, grabbing my wrist just hard enough to let me know he’s serious.

I look at him, perplexed. I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to be found.

“Why don’t you want to be found? How sad must your family be?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, running his thumb over the pad of my palm. “I don’t know. I honestly just don’t know. Something about my life now, it just feels right. Like I’m finally who I’m supposed to be. The only thing I know is that I wake up happy every morning. I feel fulfilled. I feel free. And seriously, being here with you is only making me feel even better, Molly. I have no idea what my ‘type’ was in my past life, but I’m pretty sure you’re it.”

I rest my head on his chest, feeling his pecs ripple with every breath. Who am I to judge? I’ve spent the last few years of my life looking for exactly what he’s talking about, running around the country trying to find that same fulfillment.

“And I’m not just saying that to get in your pants, even if that’s what it sounds like.”

“You sure?” I ask, shooting him a wink. “Because it’s working.”

He strokes my hair in his palm, pulling me in again for another kiss, this time longer, more passionate, his tongue filling my mouth with such urgent need. Our tongues swirl, the tender nerve endings on my lips sending shivers down my spine, the feeling of his rugged beard brushing up against my skin, marking me with his manliness.

“This morning,” I say, coming up for air, a devious smile on my face.

He looks at me puzzled, his head cocked to the side.

“Once in the public shower out back and once right here where we’re laying right now.”

His face twists into a devious grin, and he strokes his beard as he looks me up and down.

“Well you know you’re gonna have to show me now. Now that we know each other, that is.”

I reach for his face, but he pulls away.

“Come on, girl; I probably saved your life today. The least you can do is indulge me. Let me help you out of those shorts,” he says, tugging down my running shorts and panties in one quick pull, gingerly easing them off my injured leg like a real gentleman. I lay there before him completely naked, my mound dripping with desire, the tops of my thighs slick from this dance we’ve been doing ever since he walked through the door.

“Now, Molly,” he says, his voice stern, commanding, and dripping with the kind of sexy domination I had only dreamed of on lonely nights while rubbing my clit to climax. “Be a good girl and show me how you cum.”

He sits on the love seat across from the bed, unmoving. He’s so close to me, I can almost feel his breath on my body, but so frustratingly far away. “I want to touch you,” I sigh.

“I know.” He grins, cocky as hell. “There’s not an inch of my body you won’t be touching before tonight is over, but right now, you need to do as I say.”

The foreplay, the buildup, this game of control and power he’s playing with me, it’s not what I expected out of a guy like him. I expected him to fuck me the way he threw me over his shoulder this afternoon. Recklessly. Instead, he has me begging, performing for him like he’s some kind of powerful man giving orders to a high paid escort.

Except he’s not.

He is a powerful man, but it’s not in what he has or doesn’t have. It’s in how he is, and all of that is turning me on more than I’ve ever been in my life.

I start by cupping my breasts in my hands, heavy and swollen with lust, squeezing them together, pinching my nipples between my fingertips until I yelp.

“Oh God, girl,” he whispers. “That’s so fucking sexy.”

I let my hand travel down my stomach, closing my eyes as I trace the outside of my slit in a circular motion. I know the second I touch my clit I’m going to explode for him, but the man wants a show, and I’m happy to give him one. Maybe if I do a good job, he’ll give me exactly what I want. That bulge in his jeans is telling me he doesn’t exactly hate what he sees.

I spread my legs wide, exposing everything I have. His eyes trail back and forth from my dripping pussy to my eyes, like he’s trying to get a sneak peek into my brain.

“Show me how wet you are right now,” he commands, and I let out a little sigh as I slip my index finger inside myself, grazing my g-spot just the way I like. I pull out my slick finger and bring it to my lips, smiling at him innocently, the whole time.

“You are fucking filthy. I bet you taste so sweet,” he moans. He’s pulling off his belt, tugging down those tight fitting jeans and boxer briefs, and my eyes widen as soon as I get a glimpse of what he’s packing. He begins to stroke his big thick dick, a bead of precum running from the tip. “You want this cock, baby?” he asks.

I nod, biting my lip, sliding my fingers back inside of me, getting myself ready for him.

“Tell me,” he says, pumping his hand up and down his shaft, getting harder and bigger with every tug.

“I want your cock, Tucker,” I whine. “Please fuck me.”

“Show me how you cum,” he says, walking over to me, dick in his hand, stroking it right in my face. “Show me how bad you want this dick, Molly.”

I press my clit with intense need for release, and as the orgasm rips through me, I grab him by the back of his thighs, taking his cock as deep into my mouth as possible as I moan into it, holding nothing back.

The way he’s running his fingers through my hair, a low gravelly moan escaping his lips, his manly taste, everything about him, is making me a wild woman as I run my tongue all over his shaft, my body still twitching with orgasmic delight.

“Fuck, girl,” he growls, wrapping my hair around his fist, just hard enough to let me know who’s in charge. “You feel so good. You better slow down.”

I can’t slow down. I feel like I’m possessed by my slutty alter ego, desperate to make this stranger cum in my mouth, but he holds my head still and controls his thrusts, shallowly inching his length in and out slowly.

“You’re so gorgeous with my dick in your mouth, Molly,” he groans. I run my hands up and down those solid thighs of his, feeling his muscles ripple underneath my fingertips.

“Lay down on your back,” he urges, pulling out of me, his dick slick with precum and my saliva. It’s monstrous, the biggest and most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and my pussy clenches in anticipation. I need to feel him inside me. “Do you have a condom?” he asks, and I smile. He really is a good guy. Definitely more responsible than I am. It might be the heat of the moment, but the fact that he cares about our health and well-being makes him even sexier in my eyes.

“Nightstand drawer, probably buried underneath some stuff. It’s not like I do this all the time,” I say, rolling over on the bed. The ripping of the foil is like music to my ears, music to my needy slit, knowing that soon, Tucker will be inside me.

“I know you don’t do this all the time, Molly,” he whispers in my ear, his powerful and strong body hovering inches from mine. “I can tell by the way you touch yourself, you haven’t had a good fuck in a long time. I can tell by the way you’re drooling all over my dick like you’re a starving woman that you need this, and you know what? I fucking love it.”

He smothers my mouth with his kisses, warm and wet, and his body presses into mine. I feel him trace his cock up and down my slit, collecting my wetness, and I rock my hips, aching for him.

I feel the head of his cock line up with me as I stare into his blue eyes. “Please,” I beg, my whole body quivering.

He slides into me with one primal thrust, filling me with his length, and I swear I see stars. He’s so huge but I’m so turned on, my walls adapt quickly to his invasion, squeezing him, milking his dick as he saws in and out ever so slowly.

“God, you’re so tight, girl,” he groans, as he begins slowly thrusting his hips, never fully pulling out of me, his controlled movements grazing my swollen clit every time he inches back.

My moans escalate, cries from the pleasure of feeling him sawing in and out, and the delicious and slightly painful intensity of how deep he’s driving himself inside me.

“Take it,” he moans in my ear, overpowering both my body and my mind, and I begin to unravel.

“Tucker,” I wail, “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Show me,” he commands. “Show me how hard I make you cum.”

His thrusts quicken, harder, and he sinks his teeth into the crevice of my shoulder blade, sending a jolt of white heat through my entire body. I wrap my legs around him, no regard for the actual pain in my ankle, taking him as deep as I can as I feel my walls collide all around him.

His body stiffens, and he grabs me by my hips, hard enough to leave handprints. I feel him cumming with me, I feel his dick twitch deep inside my womb as I just hang there, a sweaty, screaming mess.

He presses his lips to mine, just like that first tender kiss we shared, as if the primal beast inside him is put to rest and the sweet and caring man who rescued me from a night on the mountain is lying on top of me. He rolls me over onto his stomach, still not exiting me, and I rest my head on his chest while he brushes his fingers through my hair.

The only sound in the bus is our breathing, slowly coming back to normal. I feel his heart beating under my ear, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me tight like a child clutches his beloved teddy bear.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, breaking the silence between us.

I stare into his gorgeous eyes and run my fingers through that thick beard of his.

“Thank you?” I half ask, half tell. I mean, it’s not every day that Mr. Perfect Sex Machine throws you over his shoulder and takes you home and ravishes you. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I am not complaining one bit, even with my black and blue ankle beginning to throb.

“You’re cute,” he sighs. I slide off him, resting on my back with my eyes closed, trying to put myself back together.

“Is this the part where you throw me out?” he asks.

“No,” I laugh. “This is the part where I ask you what you like on your pizza. I’m starving.”