He Said Let’s Hike In The Hills Again

The ancient timber creaks again as he shifts his weight directly overhead. I hold my breath, pressed into the damp hollow beneath the fallen eucalyptus, heart slamming against my ribs like a wild thing trying to escape. Rotting leaves and cool earth cling to my back, my t-shirt already streaked with dirt. My jacket is clutched tight in one fist—my only trophy so far.

His boots scrape against the bark. “Come out, come out, little prey,” he calls, voice low and teasing, laced with that dark amusement that always unravels me. “I can hear your pulse from here.”

A lie, probably. But the way his words sink into my skin makes my thighs clench anyway. I wait another beat, then roll silently to the far side of the root ball. The moment I break cover, bolting low through the ferns, he spots me.

“There you are!”

His laugh is pure delight as he vaults the log in one fluid motion. The chase reignites. I sprint harder, legs burning, dodging between towering gums and tangled banksia. The winter sun filters through the canopy in golden shafts, catching on his pursuing form—broad shoulders, powerful strides eating up the distance. He’s faster on open ground, but I’m smaller, more agile in the tight scrub.

I duck under a low branch, snag my shirt on a thorn, and tear free with a rip that leaves a small gash in the fabric. The cold air kisses the exposed skin at my waist. He’s gaining. Twenty yards. Fifteen. I can hear his breathing now, steady and hungry.

A narrow creek bed appears ahead, rocks slick with moss. I leap across, misjudge the landing, and slip. Mud splatters up my calves. That’s all the opening he needs.

Strong arms band around my waist from behind, lifting me clean off the ground. I yelp, kicking wildly, but he spins me, pinning my back against a smooth boulder at the water’s edge. His body cages me instantly—chest to chest, hips pressing forward so I feel every hard inch of him through his jeans.

“Round two,” he growls against my ear, teeth grazing the shell. One hand fists my hair, tilting my head back. “Pants are mine.”

I squirm, half-laughing, half-moaning as his free hand yanks at my belt. The button pops. Zipper rasps down. He doesn’t bother pulling them off gently; he shoves them down my thighs in one rough tug, taking my underwear with them. Cold air hits my bare skin like a shock. I step out of the pooled fabric, but he kicks it aside, claiming it.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to rake his gaze over me. T-shirt clinging to my breasts, nipples peaked against the thin cotton, bare from the waist down, legs streaked with dirt and goosebumps. His eyes are black with lust. “Even prettier when you’re half-wild.”

I try to shove him, but he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head against the rock. His mouth crashes down on mine—deep, devouring, tongue stroking until I’m dizzy. When he pulls back, I’m panting.

“Your turn,” I gasp. “I got free again.”

He grins, feral. “Did you now?” But he honors the rule. With one hand still holding me captive, he reaches back and yanks his own shirt over his head in that effortlessly masculine way. The sight of his bare chest—defined muscle, faint sheen of sweat despite the chill—makes my mouth water. I lean forward and bite his collarbone. He hisses, hips grinding into me.

“Cheeky.” He releases my wrists only to peel my t-shirt up and off. It joins the growing pile on the ground. Now we’re both topless, skin to skin in the dappled light. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples before he bends and sucks one into his hot mouth. The contrast—cold air, searing tongue—pulls a moan from deep in my throat.

I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair. For a moment, I let him feast, his free hand sliding down to cup my bare ass, squeezing possessively. But the hunter’s spark hasn’t died in me. When he shifts to lavish attention on my other breast, I twist, kneeing him lightly in the thigh—just enough to break his balance—and bolt again.

Naked now except for boots and socks, I run. The sensation is electric: wind whipping across bare skin, breasts bouncing with every stride, vulnerability heightening every nerve. Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot. I feel exposed, alive, hunted.

He roars with laughter behind me. “That’s my fucking girl! Run!”

The bush grows denser. I veer uphill again, toward a rocky outcrop I spotted earlier. My lungs burn, thighs slick with exertion and arousal. I can hear him closing in, crashing through the undergrowth like a force of nature.

I scramble up the rocks, finding a small ledge partially screened by hanging branches. Pressing my back to the stone, I try to quiet my breathing. Below, his footsteps slow. He’s tracking again, deliberate now.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he calls out, voice echoing off the stones. “That sweet, desperate scent cutting through the eucalyptus. You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?”

Heat floods my face—and lower. I bite my lip to stay silent.

He appears at the base of the outcrop, shirtless, jeans riding low on his hips, the bulge obvious. His eyes scan upward and lock on my hiding spot almost immediately. “Found you again.”

This time he climbs slowly, giving me time to anticipate. When he reaches the ledge, I don’t run. I launch myself at him instead, wrapping legs around his waist, arms around his neck. We tumble together onto the flat stone, a tangle of limbs and laughter and growls.

He ends up on top, pinning me beneath him. “No more running,” he warns, but his eyes sparkle with pride. “You’ve lost enough.”

His hand slides between my thighs, fingers stroking through my folds. I gasp at how easily they glide—I’m soaked. He circles my clit with devastating precision, then sinks two thick fingers inside me. I cry out, hips bucking.

“So tight. So ready.” He pumps slowly, curling to hit that perfect spot while his thumb works my clit. My nails dig into his shoulders. The winter sun warms our skin, but the heat between us is volcanic.

I fumble for his jeans, popping the button and shoving them down. His cock springs free—heavy, thick, flushed dark. I wrap my hand around him, stroking from base to tip, thumb smearing the bead of precum. He groans, low and ragged.

“Inside me,” I demand, voice breaking. “Now.”

He doesn’t make me beg twice. Positioning himself, he thrusts in deep in one powerful stroke. We both moan at the stretch, the perfect fit. He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping, claiming me on the open ledge where anyone could theoretically see. The risk only makes it hotter.

Each thrust drives me higher. His mouth finds my neck, sucking marks into my skin. One hand pins my hip, the other plays with my breast, pinching the nipple just right. I meet him thrust for thrust, legs locked around him, heels digging into his ass.

“Harder,” I gasp.

He obliges, pounding into me until the slap of skin echoes through the hills. My orgasm crashes over me without warning—waves of pleasure ripping through my body, clenching around him. He follows moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a guttural groan.

We collapse together, panting, sweat-slick despite the chill. For long minutes, there’s only the wind in the trees and our slowing heartbeats.

Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling me against his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare back. “You put up one hell of a fight.”

I smile against his skin. “I let you win. Mostly.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Liar. Next time, I’m tying you down first.”

“Promise?” I tilt my head up, catching his gaze. The predatory spark is still there, banked but ready.

“Count on it.” He kisses me slow and deep, then helps me up. We gather scattered clothes—some too torn or dirty to bother with fully. I pull on his shirt instead, the hem brushing my thighs. He leaves his jeans unbuttoned, looking every inch the satisfied hunter.

We make our way back toward the car, hand in hand, the bush whispering around us. The city feels a million miles away. Here, in this primal stretch of hills, we’ve carved out our own wild world.

But as we reach the clearing, he stops, turning me to face him with that familiar wicked grin.

“Five-minute head start?” he murmurs, already scanning the paths again.

I laugh, already backing away, heart racing anew. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you.” He closes his eyes, counting.

I bolt into the trees once more, bare feet flying over the earth, his shirt flapping around me like a battle flag. The hunt never really ends. And I wouldn’t have it any other way!