She planned on kissing him for being so wonderful.
Instead, he grabbed her and shoved her back against a stout Doug fir on the side facing away from the girls. He drove against her: lips, hands, hips.
In seconds he had her moaning with a desperate need for more. She had a leg, then two around his hips to keep him close, her arms locked around his neck.
He kept her pinned against the rough bark, one hand scooped low to keep her from sliding downward, the other pressed so hard into her breast it would have hurt if it hadn’t felt so incredibly good.
Some impossible eternity later, that was probably seconds but felt far longer, he backed off a half inch.
His breath was as short and ragged as hers and her heart hammered louder than a full-on wildfire.
“Good morning,” his voice was hoarse
