Capsized and Resized

The river glittered beneath the late afternoon sun, lazy and glass-smooth where it curved around the forested bend. Birdsong echoed from the canopy above. The air was warm, humid, rich with the scent of pine and distant water. It was the kind of place you couldn't get to without effort. No cell service. No roads. Just wild beauty, deep woods, and the soft sound of current moving.

Lily stepped out of the SUV and stretched, her arms rising overhead, long and lean in a white tank top that clung to her torso, damp with sweat from the ride. Her shorts rode up slightly, showing off smooth, sun-kissed legs and the gentle round of her ass. She adjusted the sunglasses on her face and looked around at the dense trees and winding trail that led down to the riverbank.

"This is incredible," she said, mostly to herself.

Jake was already unloading the gear, efficient as always. "If we make camp before sunset, we'll be in great shape," he said, glancing back at her with that easy, earnest smile. Lily smiled in return, warm but distant. She loved Jake. She did. But his excitement about waterproof bags and trail mix was not exactly doing much to stir her blood.

Then she felt it--that shift in the air, that invisible pull. A presence behind her.

Marcus.

He stepped down from the backseat of the other car with a slow, practiced ease. His broad shoulders rolled as he stretched, and the tight black t-shirt across his chest looked like it was trying not to tear. Cargo shorts hung low on narrow hips, thick thighs moving with lazy grace as he walked around the vehicle to grab a pack.

Lily turned--casual, not too fast--and got her first real look at him in motion.

Goddamn.

He was even more massive than she remembered from the few photos Jake had shown her. He had that kind of effortless confidence, like his body was something the earth had built itself. His skin gleamed in the sunlight, smooth and dark and warm-looking. His face was calm, unreadable. But his eyes--when they passed over her, briefly--held something.

Not overt. Not inappropriate.

But aware.

Lily felt her stomach tighten. A little flicker low in her belly.

"Hey," he said simply, setting the pack on the ground with one hand. His voice was deep, smooth, but quiet. Controlled.

"Hi," she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "We finally meet."

Marcus gave her a small nod. "Been meaning to for a while. Jake talks about you a lot."

"Hopefully good things."

"Only good things," he said, and smiled--just enough to show the corner of his mouth. Not a full grin. Just enough to make her feel like he was holding something back.

Jake clapped him on the back. "C'mon, man. Let's get the kayaks down there."

Riley bounded out of the other vehicle behind Marcus, colorful hair pulled into two messy buns. "You guys can do the heavy lifting. Lily and I are gonna scope out the campsite."

"Deal," Lily said quickly, grateful for the moment to move--to shake off whatever just passed through her like a jolt.

But she felt it. That awareness. That weight behind his gaze.

And worse--she felt her body responding.

As they made their way down to the riverside, laughing, working, preparing for the night ahead, Lily couldn't help but sneak one more glance at Marcus as he bent to lift a kayak.

The muscles in his arms flexed. The fabric of his shirt stretched taut over his back. And something about the way his shorts shifted made it impossible not to notice--he was big. Not just tall, not just broad.

Big.

Lily swallowed and looked away fast, cheeks warm.

It was going to be a long, interesting weekend.

-----------

The campfire crackled softly, casting shadows that danced across the trees and played along Lily's bare thighs. She sat cross-legged in a low camp chair, a tin cup of wine in one hand, her other arm draped loosely over her knees. The firelight painted her skin in a warm, flickering bronze, catching on the subtle sheen of sweat still clinging to her after the hike.

She was striking in a way that snuck up on you.

Not loud. Not flashy. But magnetic.

Her body was slim, athletic--built from movement and quiet discipline. A yoga teacher's grace in every shift of her posture, every stretch of her limbs. Her tank top clung to her torso, thin from use, damp in places from exertion. It revealed a flat stomach, toned but not hard, with that one beautiful line down the center that made Marcus's jaw flex the first time he noticed it.

Her breasts were small, perfectly shaped beneath the thin cotton--no bra, no need. Her nipples pressed gently against the fabric now, catching his attention like a whisper against his skin. Her ass was a peach of a thing, tight and high, emphasized by the way her shorts hugged her hips and pulled ever so slightly when she crossed her legs. No exaggerated curves--just that lithe, elegant tension of a body that was meant to move.

And she moved without realizing it. Adjusting, flexing, teasing in the way only someone completely unaware of their effect could manage.

Marcus noticed.

He noticed everything.

She wasn't looking at him now, too busy listening to Riley's ramble about river safety and tequila. But he watched the firelight dance on her collarbones, the curve of her neck, the lazy flick of her ankle where it bounced in the air.

Jake leaned close to her, brushed something from her thigh, and Marcus's eyes narrowed just slightly.

Lily smiled at Jake, a fond smile--but absent. Her eyes drifted again. Just a flicker.

And when they met Marcus's gaze across the fire, the breath caught in her chest.

There it was again. That dense, electric silence between them.

Something she hadn't asked for.

Something she couldn't deny.

The morning mist hung low over the forest like a secret waiting to be told. The river, once glassy and serene, now had a restless current, dark and fast, rushing with the weight of recent rains.

They launched just after sunrise--two kayaks slicing into the river's surface, gear packed tight, spirits high. Jake and Riley in one boat. Marcus and Lily in the other. It had made the most sense. Lily had never kayaked before, and Marcus was strong, steady, experienced. The protector.

Lily sat in front, legs outstretched, her paddle dipping rhythmically into the water. The air was cool but pleasant, her damp tank top clinging to her back. She could feel Marcus behind her--not just the power of his strokes but the presence of him. Solid. Unshakable. He didn't speak much, but he didn't have to.

They drifted through narrow bends, rocky narrows, and shallow drops. Then came a sharp curve in the river. The current thickened, twisting like a living thing.

Lily heard Marcus mutter behind her, "Tight turn. Stay low."

She braced instinctively--but it came too fast. A jagged jut of rock, a violent tug, and the kayak lurched hard to the side.

"Shit!" she gasped.

In a heartbeat, they were upside down.

Cold, crushing water swallowed her whole.

Lily kicked, panicked, disoriented as the rapids dragged her like a ragdoll. For one terrifying second, she couldn't breathe--then her head broke the surface and she gasped, coughing, flailing, trying to find her bearings.

Strong arms grabbed her--Marcus. He was already kicking toward the bank, dragging her through the current.

Minutes blurred. Wet limbs scrambled up onto slippery mud, hearts pounding, lungs burning.

Lily collapsed on all fours, drenched and shivering. Her chest heaved with each breath. Her clothes clung to her body like a second skin, tank top nearly translucent, shorts hugging her tighter than ever.

"You okay?" Marcus's voice cut through the roar of the river, calm but intense.

She looked up at him. Water streamed from his shoulders and down his bare arms. His shirt was gone. Torn away or ditched--either way, his body gleamed with wetness, every muscle carved like it had been poured into him.

"I--I think so," she said, breath shaky.

He scanned the river. No sign of Jake or Riley.

But in the distance, bobbing far downstream, their second kayak appeared for just a moment--upright, intact--but impossibly far away. Then it vanished around a bend.

"They're alive," Marcus said. "That was them."

Lily nodded, relief and adrenaline crashing together inside her. "Can they stop? Get back up here?"

Marcus shook his head, already moving to grab the waterproof bag that had miraculously washed up with them. "Not a chance. Current's too strong. They're gone miles down by now."

"What do we do?" she asked, wiping soaked hair from her eyes.

"There's a ranger hut nearby," Marcus said. "If it's still standing, we can make it there. Warm up, dry off. Then figure out a route to hike downriver."

She hesitated, still on her knees. The forest felt colder now, like the trees were watching.

"You trust me?" he asked, his voice low.

She looked up at him.

"I do."

--------

By the time they reached it, Lily could barely feel her hands.

The ranger hut was tucked into a shallow fold in the trees, half-swallowed by moss and brush, forgotten by time but still standing. The roof held. The walls were intact. It was just one small room, a faded wooden door hanging crooked on its hinges, but it was shelter.

Marcus shouldered it open and pulled Lily inside.

The air was still cold--icy--but without the wind and mist, it felt almost bearable. A small cast-iron stove sat in the corner. A narrow bed frame--bare but usable--was pushed against the wall. Dust and old leaves littered the floor, but none of that mattered.

"We have to get these clothes off," Marcus said, voice low but firm.

Lily didn't argue. She was shaking uncontrollably now, teeth chattering, soaked to the skin. Her tank top clung to her like wet paper, her shorts even worse. Her body felt numb. There was no space for embarrassment. Not here. Not now.

Marcus had already stripped off his shirt, which had been little more than a wet rag anyway. He reached into the waterproof survival bag slung over his shoulder--the only thing they'd managed to salvage--and pulled out a handheld emergency radio. It blinked weakly but glowed green.

"Still works," he said. "That's something."

He set it on a rickety table and went straight to work--checking the stove, clearing the debris, pulling together dry bark and sticks from inside the hut's small supply box.

Lily's hands trembled as she peeled off her top. It made a wet slap as it hit the floor. Her sports bra went next. Cold air brushed across her bare chest, her nipples instantly taut, almost painfully hard.

Her shorts were next, then her soaked underwear, clinging like a second skin. She stepped out of it all, nude and goosebumped and trying not to think about the man across the room.

But Marcus noticed.

He noticed as he worked, silent and steady, gathering tinder, striking a flint with smooth, practiced movements. He didn't gawk. Didn't comment. But his gaze lingered just long enough on the curve of her ass, the soft line of her stomach, the delicate sway of her breasts--small, proud, cold-peaked.

Then the fire sparked to life.

Just a flicker. Then a glow. Then heat.

Lily crouched in front of it, arms around her chest, legs folded in. Her bare skin began to burn from the inside out as the warmth reached her bones. But she was still shaking.

"You're not warm enough yet," Marcus said quietly.

She looked up.

He was naked now.

Completely.

His dark skin gleamed in the firelight, dripping with water and heat. His body was massive--not just in height or width but everywhere. Carved shoulders, thick arms, a torso like a sculpture. And that thing--hanging between his legs, heavy, thick, ridiculous. It bobbed slightly as he moved. She had to blink. It didn't seem real. The size of it. The sheer presenceof it.

And he wasn't even hard.

Aren't guys supposed to... shrink when they're cold? she thought, dazed. That thing is soft--and cold--and still bigger than Jake at his hardest.

A hot, guilty throb pulsed low in her belly, deeper than heat. Shameful. Curious. Arousing.

She couldn't look away.

Marcus crouched behind her now, arms wrapping around her from behind. His heat hit her like a furnace. His chest to her back. His thighs to her thighs. And--God--his cock nestled thick and warm between the cheeks of her ass, not hard, but still heavy enough to make her eyes widen.

Her breath hitched. Her nipples stiffened even more.

She felt his hands slide gently down her arms, his palms large and calloused, warming her slowly.

"This okay?" he asked, his voice a rumble at her ear.

She hesitated--but only for a moment.

"Yes."

And the word left her lips like a surrender.

--------

"Yes," she whispered.

Her voice was soft, raw, barely more than breath. But it was the only answer Marcus needed. He stayed behind her, arms wrapped tight around her shivering body, his chest pressed to her spine, his hands resting low on her stomach.

The fire crackled beside them, its glow painting the walls in shifting light. Her skin began to come alive again--first tingling, then warming, then burning. She was aware of everything now: the firmness of his body, the slow rise and fall of his breath against her back, the weight of his cock nestled--still soft, but impossibly heavy--between the cheeks of her ass.

She shifted, just slightly. His cock moved with her.

And... thickened.

Her breath caught.

He hadn't meant to press. Hadn't pushed. But it was there, growing fuller, resting between them with slow, deliberate heat. Her body responded before her mind could reason it--tense, flushed, wet.

Then, without speaking, she turned in his arms.

Her skin peeled softly from his, cold giving way to warmth. She curled inward, pressing her chest to his torso, her face resting against the hard slab of his pec. Her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling herself closer.

Her nipples brushed his abs now--firm and defined--and she shuddered at the contact.

His cock, no longer caught between them, now rested thick and warm between her legs, nestled high along the line of her mound. Not hard. But not soft either. It pressed hot and heavy against her pubic bone, a slow throb pulsing from it into her core.

Marcus said nothing.

He just held her tighter.

One massive hand slid up her spine, fingers spread wide, the other resting low on her back. Protective. Powerful.

She should've pulled away. She didn't.

Instead, she exhaled into his skin, letting herself feel the safety in his arms, even as every nerve in her body screamed with forbidden hunger.

Then--crackkk.

Static burst from the table behind them.

Both of them flinched.

The emergency radio lit up, green and flickering, its speaker buzzing with weak signal.

"Lily? Marcus? You there?"

Jake.

Lily scrambled out of Marcus's arms like she'd touched a live wire, her heart slamming in her chest. She crossed the room in three quick steps, grabbing the radio with both hands and holding it against her chest.

"I--I'm here," she said, voice shaking. "Jake, I hear you."

Marcus moved to sit beside the fire, silent again, the warmth of his body already missed.

"Thank god," Jake's voice crackled. "We're safe. We made it to shore maybe ten miles downriver. Lost the boat, but Riley's okay. You?"

"We're okay," Lily said, her eyes flicking to Marcus, who was calmly feeding more sticks into the fire. "We found an old hut. It's dry inside. The radio's working. We're... warming up."

"Jesus," Jake muttered. "Marcus?"

"I'm here," Marcus replied coolly. "She's safe. I'll keep her that way."

"We'll try to hike back toward you in the morning," Jake added. "If we--"

"No," Marcus cut in, calm but unyielding. "The terrain's too steep upriver. Too many cliffs. You'll waste energy or get hurt."

A pause. Jake said nothing.

"We'll come to you," Marcus continued. "We need a day or two to rest. Warm up. Feed. When we move, we'll do it right."

"... Alright. Be safe, babe," Jake said to Lily. "I love you."

"I--love you too."

The radio went silent.

Lily lowered it slowly. The room felt smaller now.  Hotter.

She stood there a moment, naked and flushed, the cool edge of guilt slicing through her arousal like ice water. And yet... She turned and looked at Marcus.

He wasn't watching her. He was moving. Smoothly. Efficiently.  Naked, muscles flexing with every motion, he picked up his soaked pants and pulled them on. They hung low on his hips, still dripping, clinging to the thickness of his thighs.

In silence, he opened the survival bag again, pulling out an old metal tin and a dented mug. He moved to the door, opened it, and disappeared outside.

She stood there, heart pounding.

When he returned, he had a pot of water and a handful of fresh pine needles in one hand, a bundle of dark berries and a single small apple in the other. His skin steamed in the cool air, droplets clinging to his shoulders.

He dropped the pine into the pot and set it over the fire.

"Tea," he said simply. "Vitamin C. Helps circulation."

Then he walked past her again and crouched by the bedframe, securing the tarp from one of their bags as a makeshift sheet. His arms flexed as he tied it off. It would keep out the dirt--but it wouldn't hold heat. They'd have to share that themselves.

He sat opposite her, setting the mug down beside her with the berries and the apple. He split the apple cleanly with his hands, offering her half.

She took it.

The first bite was sharp, cold, but satisfying. Their dinner the night before must've carried them farther than she realized.

"Good thing we ate last night," he murmured. "Tomorrow we'll need more."

He chewed slowly, eyes on the fire. "I'll forage in the morning. Nuts, berries. Maybe set a trap. Rabbit or squirrel would give us a real meal."

She nodded slowly, watching him.

He was calm. Grounded. Naked not long ago. Rock-hard muscle and pure function, now focused on keeping her alive.

She took a sip of tea. It was sharp, fragrant, alive.

She was warmer now. Fed. Safe.

And more drawn to him than ever.

The fire had burned low, now just glowing coals and soft red light flickering across the wood-planked walls. The hut had cooled again, the warmth fading into silence. Outside, the forest murmured with distant wind and the occasional rustle of unseen animals.

Inside, there was only the bed. The narrow mattress. The thin tarp stretched over it. And the two of them--naked.

Lily lay curled on her side, facing the wall, her bare back pressed against Marcus's chest. His arms wrapped around her loosely at first, one tucked beneath her neck, the other resting across her waist. His breath was steady, slow, soft against her shoulder.

She felt him.

All of him.

The length of his body against hers--hard muscle and impossible heat--and lower, that thick, pulsing pressure pressing into her ass. She didn't dare look. Didn't need to. It was unmistakable.

He was hard. Fully hard.

And huge.

It rested heavily against her, curved slightly upward, the wide head nudging just below the small of her back. Even without seeing it, she could feel the weight of it. The thickness. The sheer scale. Her breathing hitched the first time her hips shifted and she realized the truth.

He was bigger now--fully erect--than anything she had ever even dreamed of inside her.

Jesus...

He didn't move. Didn't grind, didn't thrust. Just existed behind her, his cock a hot, hard brand between their bodies. He was giving her the chance to shift away. To create space.

She didn't.

In fact... she pressed back. Just a little.

Her thighs parted, unconsciously at first, just enough to feel more of him against her. He didn't react--but she felt his breath slow, deepen. He was awake.

She lay there in the dark, her chest tight, her nipples stiffening again from the proximity, the memory of his touch earlier still imprinted on her skin. Her mind spun with guilt, with heat, with questions she didn't want the answers to.

Is it wrong if I don't stop this?

If I let him hold me like this?

If I let myself imagine what it would feel like... inside me?

Her pussy ached. Quietly. Deeply. That pulse between her legs steady and warm and undeniable. She hadn't felt like this in so long--not even with Jake. This wasn't just arousal. It was...  need.

She wanted to reach back. Just to touch it. To wrap her fingers around him and see how much she could take. To feel the heat, the weight, the promise.

She didn't. But her hand twitched. Her thighs pressed together.

Marcus's arm tightened around her waist, just a little.

Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just... protective. Present. A quiet I know. She swallowed hard.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

And when sleep finally claimed her, it wasn't gentle.

It came with the image of Marcus above her, his huge cock sliding between her soaked thighs. Her head thrown back, his hands gripping her hips, stretching her slowly, relentlessly--resizing her until she couldn't take any more.

And even then... She'd beg for more.

--------

Lily woke to the soft, orange glow of dawn filtering through the cracks in the hut's wooden walls. The fire had died down to embers, casting a faint warmth that barely reached the edge of the bed. The room was still. Quiet. Her skin, bare against the tarp, tingled from the chill.

She was alone.

The first thing she noticed was the emptiness behind her--Marcus's body no longer pressed to hers. The second was the sensation between her legs.

Her thighs were sticky.

She shifted slightly, a faint ache in her hips reminding her just how tightly she'd pressed herself into him during the night. His cock--God, that cock--had been hard for hours. She'd felt it throb, felt it twitch, even felt it swell once or twice as her own body answered its heat.

She'd tried not to move. Tried not to want. But she hadn't succeeded.

Her core was still wet. Still pulsing.

A quiet moan escaped her lips, low and shameful, as her fingers brushed her inner thigh and caught the evidence.

She sat up slowly, the tarp cool against her skin, and looked toward the door.

He was gone. But not far.

Through a crack in the wood, she saw him--outside in the pale morning light, crouched low near a fallen log.  Shirtless. Always shirtless, thankfully.  His back glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, muscles shifting beneath smooth, dark skin as he worked with slow, deliberate movements.

He was building something.

A trap.

Thin branches bent, a rock positioned, a small loop of cord stretched taut between his fingers--one of their shoelaces. He moved like he'd done it a hundred times before. Focused. Silent.  Dangerous in the most primal, masculine way.

She couldn't look away.

There was no pretending anymore.

Lily wasn't just attracted to Marcus. She was drawn to him--magnetized by his strength, his stillness, his complete lack of insecurity. He didn't need her attention. He didn't try for it. And somehow that made her want to give him everything.

Her nipples hardened as she watched him.

Her hand drifted to her stomach, just lightly. She thought of his hands there. His mouth. The way his body felt against hers. The way his cock had rested against her, as if it belonged there.

As if it would always be there.

She swallowed, pulled in a shaky breath, and stood. No clothes. No shame. The air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. She moved to the fire, stoked the embers with a long stick, coaxing a little more warmth into the room.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open.

Marcus stepped inside, silent, a handful of gathered berries in one hand, a small metal canteen in the other.

His eyes moved over her slowly. Not hungrily. Not even surprised.

Just... acknowledging.

She didn't cover herself. Didn't flinch.

He handed her the berries without a word.

"Water?" he asked, his voice rough from the morning.

She nodded.

He uncapped the canteen and offered it to her. Their fingers touched.

It was barely more than a brush, but her stomach fluttered hard. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. He noticed--but said nothing.

"I set a trap just off the clearing," he said. "We'll check it later. I'll find more when the sun's higher."

She nodded again, chewing a berry. Tart, sweet, grounding.

He moved past her, crouched at the fire, added a few dry twigs, then blew gently on the embers. The flame flickered back to life, catching on the curve of his jaw, the stretch of his spine, the cut of muscle along his back.

She sat down beside him, naked and still quiet, and watched him work.

"You slept?" he asked, without turning.

She hesitated. "Eventually."

He gave the faintest grunt of acknowledgement.

Lily looked into the fire, but her thoughts were a storm.

She wanted to ask him what he felt. If he'd been hard all night on purpose. If he'd wanted her to turn and take him. If he was waiting for her to break first.

But she didn't ask.

She just stayed close. Listening to the fire. Watching his hands.

And aching.

The fire crackled low behind them as Marcus stood and stretched, the morning light casting his body in long lines of shadow and sun. His torso moved like sculpture come to life, powerful and calm. Lily watched him from her place near the fire, legs tucked under her, her body warm but still raw with unspoken heat.

"You've still got mud on you," he said, glancing over at her.

She blinked. "What?"

He nodded toward her hip. "There. And your leg. Some on your arm too. Probably more in your hair."

Lily glanced down. He was right--faint streaks of dried brown clung to her thigh and ankle, a pale smear across her ribcage. She could feel the weight of her hair, still tangled from their tumble in the river, bits of grit and pine clinging to it.

"River's just down past the clearing," Marcus added, grabbing the canteen. "It'll be cold. But clean."

She stood without a word, brushing off her thighs as she followed him. Still nude. Still flushed. And still helpless to ignore the way her eyes drifted to the faint swing of his cock as he moved through the trees ahead of her.

The sunlight cut through the canopy in beams, dust and dew floating in the air. The sound of the river returned--soft now, calmer--and soon they stood at its edge, the current whispering past smooth stones and green reeds.

Marcus stepped into the shallows first. The water reached his shins, then his thighs, his body rigid for a moment as the cold bit into him. But he kept going. Controlled. Steady.

Lily followed, gasping at the first shock of chill against her ankles.

"Fuck--it's freezing."

"You'll adjust," he said, water up to his waist now, droplets sliding down his chest like glass.

She waded deeper until it touched her thighs, her stomach, her nipples stiffening from the cold and not just the water.

"Turn around," he said gently.

She did, wordlessly.

He came behind her, close but not pressed, and dipped his hands into the river. Then he began--slowly, methodically--washing her back.

His fingers brushed along her shoulder blades, down her spine. Over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. He didn't linger. He didn't tease. But the pressure of his touch was impossible to ignore.

She closed her eyes.

He cupped her hair next, wetting it thoroughly, his fingers combing through the knots and debris with patience. Every time his fingertips scraped her scalp, she shivered. Not from cold--from the intimacy of it.

"Lean back," he said, voice low.

She did.

He rinsed her hair, guiding her carefully as if she might break. When she stood again, water poured from her in rivulets. Her nipples were like pebbles, her skin gleaming, her thighs quivering slightly.

Then--his hands found her arms. Then her legs. He crouched behind her, washing the backs of her knees, her calves, her feet.

And then... higher.

His hands paused at the inside of her thighs, just short of her sex. His thumbs hovered there, just brushing the softest, most sensitive skin.

Her breath hitched.

But she didn't move.

Didn't stop him.

He didn't go further. Just held there a moment longer than he should have. Just enough to let her feel what he wasn't doing.

Then he stood, slow and massive behind her.

She turned.

She saw him.

His cock was hanging heavy, wet and thick, swaying just slightly with the movement. Not hard. But fuller than it should've been. And so close she could almost feel its heat.

Her eyes flicked up.

He was watching her.

She swallowed. "Your turn," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded once.

She stepped toward him.

Her fingers were trembling as she lifted them to his chest, brushing away bits of leaf and dried earth. She washed him as he had her--arms, shoulders, back.

But when she reached his stomach, her hands slowed.

His abs were tight. Flexing.

And just beneath her fingers, his cock began to stir.

It lifted. Thickened. Slowly. A heartbeat. A breath.

She stopped.

But didn't step back.

They stood in the river, the sound of water around them, her hand inches from his hardening cock, her mouth open but silent.

Then, with a shiver, she turned.

"We should get warm."

His voice was hoarse. "Yeah."

They walked back in silence, wet, flushed, naked.

The hut was still and warm, the fire now steady again. Lily stepped inside, arms wrapped around herself. Her skin prickled from the walk through the trees, cold water drying on her bare body.

Marcus followed her in, quiet, steady. She stood near the fire, trying not to shake.

He came up behind her. Close. Just like the night before.

His hands found her arms--warm, wide palms rubbing softly up and down. Then her shoulders. Then her back.

His hands slid lower, slower, tracing the curve of her spine.

She inhaled, body swaying forward slightly as he pressed his palm into the small of her back, spreading heat.

Then--his fingertips brushed the top of her ass.

Not low. Not inappropriate.

But enough.

She froze.

He didn't move them away.

He just stayed there, his hands large and warm, rubbing small, slow circles.

She exhaled, slowly, shakily.

Then leaned back into him.

He held her. Silently. Like she was something precious and breakable.

She felt his cock brush her lower back again--warm, heavy, not quite hard, but present.

She didn't pull away.

She didn't want to.

They stood there in the firelight, her skin against his, bodies drying, minds unraveling.

And they both knew--

Tonight, she wouldn't just lean back.

She'd let him in.

--------

The sun had climbed higher, casting golden beams through the gaps in the hut's wood. Smoke from the fire curled lazily into the still air. Lily sat on the floor with her legs drawn up, body warm from the flames, skin clean and glowing from the river wash.

She was staring into the fire when the radio crackled to life again.

"Lily? Marcus? You there?"

Jake's voice.

It hit her like a soft slap--more of a reminder than a shock. She blinked, pulled herself upright, and reached for the device on the table.

Marcus didn't move. He was by the door, sharpening a stick, eyes on the forest beyond.

She held the radio close. "We're here."

"Good," Jake said. "Everything okay?"

She hesitated. "Yeah. We're okay."

"You sound tired."

"Didn't sleep great," she lied. "It's colder here at night than I expected."

"How's Marcus holding up?"

Her eyes flicked to him.

"He's... been great. Really."

Marcus glanced over his shoulder briefly but said nothing.

"We're gonna try to move out tomorrow," Jake said. "We found a passable trail. Should meet halfway if all goes well."

"Right," Lily said. "We'll be ready."

"Miss you," Jake added, voice soft.

"I miss you too," she replied--but the words felt like paper in her mouth.

The radio clicked off. Silence returned.

Lily set it down gently, like it might shatter.

She didn't speak for a long moment. Neither did Marcus.

Then he stood, slung his pack over one shoulder, and grabbed the cord tied near the doorframe.

"I'm gonna check the trap."

He came back twenty minutes later, carrying a skinned rabbit by the hind legs. His torso gleamed with sweat. His pants rode low, streaked with dirt and bark. There was blood on his forearms--not gruesome, just real. Honest.

He knelt at the fire and began preparing it like it was nothing.

Lily watched every movement.

He didn't flinch at the mess. Didn't hesitate with the blade. He worked clean, smooth, almost tender. Within minutes the rabbit was stripped, rinsed, and skewered over a makeshift spit.

The fire popped. The scent of roasting meat filled the room.

"Not gourmet," he said, "but it'll keep us strong."

"You're good at this," she said, her voice quiet.

He shrugged. "Been on my own enough to learn what matters."

She tilted her head. "So why aren't you with anyone? Like... really with someone?"

He didn't look up right away. When he did, his eyes were calm, serious.

"Because I don't fake things," he said. "Riley and I... we don't need anything from each other. It works."

Lily frowned. "But don't you want something deeper?"

His gaze stayed on her, steady and quiet.

"I do. But people don't usually choose me when they want safe. I'm not that guy."

He turned the spit, let the fire lick at the edges of the meat.

"I'm not polished. Not the guy you take home to parents. I live simple. I move light. When I give myself to someone, it's not halfway. It's all in or nothing. That's... not what most people want."

Lily swallowed. Something in her chest tightened.

"That's kind of sad," she said softly.

He gave a small smile. "Nah. It's honest. And when it happens... if it ever does... it'll be real."

A quiet hung between them. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Then, after a moment, Lily smirked. "Still, you're kind of the full package. The muscle. The cooking. The wilderness survival. That thing swinging between your legs..."

He looked at her, slow, deliberate.

"Oh, that's what it is? I thought I'd just packed a spare tent."

Lily burst out laughing--an unguarded, full-bellied laugh that made her cheeks flush. She covered her mouth, grinning, shaking her head.

"You're a menace."

"Maybe," he said, smiling just enough to show the edge of his teeth. "But you laughed. That's rare."

She looked at him for a long moment.

And something shifted in her chest. Warmth. Desire. Maybe even... trust.

The fire popped again.

Outside, the sun was dipping lower, the sky edging toward dusk.

They ate quietly, side by side.

And when she leaned into him without thinking, her shoulder brushing his arm, he didn't move away.

He just stayed there.

Solid. Warm. Waiting.

The fire whispered beside the bed, casting slow-moving shadows on the walls of the hut. The night outside was silent, thick with the weight of the forest. Inside, it was only the two of them--and the heat building between their bare skin.

Lily sat on the edge of the narrow bed, her legs drawn slightly in, knees bare and glinting in the firelight. Her body was clean from the river, skin still carrying the chill of the water despite the warmth inside the hut. But the shivering that ran through her now wasn't from cold.

It was from him.

Marcus stood by the fire, naked, his back to her for a long moment. He was checking the wood, steadying the flame. But she could see the way his shoulders moved, the way his body was carved from silence and control.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.

When he finally turned, their eyes locked--and the air thickened like a storm about to break. He didn't speak. He didn't have to.

She didn't move. Not at first.

And then--without any plan, without any thought--she reached for him.

Just held out her hand.

Marcus crossed the room in two slow steps. He took her hand, strong fingers curling around hers, warm and grounding. Then he knelt in front of her.

Lily's breath hitched.

The fire painted his skin in golds and shadows. His cock hung full and heavy between his thighs, already swelling. And now, with him kneeling--beneath her, offering himself--she felt everything inside her tighten.

"I want you," she whispered.

It was the most honest thing she'd ever said.

Marcus's eyes didn't waver. He brought her hand to his chest and pressed it there, over his heart.

"Then have me."

She leaned forward and kissed him--slow at first, but hungry, lips parting, tongues meeting. His hands moved up her sides, over her ribs, to her back, pulling her into him as he stood, lifting her with him like she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bed, laying her down with aching care.

She stared up at him, naked and open and aching.

His body hovered above hers--huge, dark, powerful. She could feel the heat of him between her thighs, the weight of his cock brushing her already slick folds.

But he didn't thrust. Not yet.

He lowered himself slowly, his chest pressing into hers, lips finding her neck, then her collarbone, then down.

He worshiped her with his mouth.

His tongue circled each nipple, slow, firm, making her gasp and writhe. His hands pinned her hips down as he kissed her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thighs.

And then--he tasted her.

His mouth was on her, tongue parting her folds, dragging through her slick heat with a patience that broke her open. He licked her like he loved her--long, unrelenting strokes, until her thighs clamped around his head and she cried out.

She came. Fast. Hard. Shaking.

But he didn't stop.

He held her open and kept going, mouth insistent, devouring her until her second orgasm came rolling up and out of her like thunder.

She was gasping, sobbing, trembling beneath him when he finally rose.

And now he was fully hard.

It was beautiful. Terrifying. A thick, veined shaft that curved upward with weight and power. She could see how her body had coated it with slick. Could see the hunger in his eyes.

He crawled over her again, bracing himself above her with a look that said, I will break you if you ask me to.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," she whispered.

Then she smiled.

"But I want you anyway."

He kissed her again--and then he pressed in.

The head of his cock pushed at her entrance, and her body responded instantly--clenching, resisting, trying to yield and hold back at the same time. She groaned, already full, and he was barely in.

"Marcus..." she gasped.

"I've got you," he said, voice thick. "Breathe. Let me in."

She did.

He pushed deeper--inch by slow inch. Her body stretched, adjusted, fought, and then gave in. She felt split, filled, branded. Every nerve ending alive with the sensation of him invading her.

She grabbed his back, then his ass, fingers digging in as he sank deeper still.

He was careful. Controlled.

Until he bottomed out.

Lily's breath fled her body.

She was so full she couldn't even speak. Her walls fluttered around him in disbelief. Her legs trembled. She couldn't remember where she ended and he began.

He held still, buried to the base, head buried in her neck.

"You're taking me so fucking well," he growled, and her entire body responded--grinding against him, gasping for more.

He began to move.

Slow at first--deliberate thrusts that had her crying out, digging her nails into his back, hips rolling up to meet his.

Then deeper.

Then faster.

He fucked her like a man starving. Like he couldn't help himself. Like he'd waited years for this moment and wasn't wasting a second.

Each thrust hit a place inside her that made her legs kick, her voice break, her hands clutch at him like she was drowning.

She came again. Harder.

This one shattered her.

Tears welled in her eyes from the sheer overwhelm--from the stretch, the pressure, the connection. She couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop moaning his name.

And still--he didn't stop.

He flipped her onto her side, pulled one leg up, slid in again deeper, and she screamed.

"Yours," she gasped, tears streaking her cheeks. "All yours. You're in so deep, I can't--"

"You can," he said. "You were made for me."

Then he flipped her again--onto her hands and knees.

Her elbows nearly gave out from how much she was shaking, but he was there. Holding her up. Guiding himself into her from behind and driving it in with one powerful stroke.

She sobbed.

And begged.

And came again.

And when he came--deep inside her, hot and hard and pulsing--she felt it everywhere.

It filled her.

It changed her.

And afterward, when they lay tangled together, his chest against her back, her thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, she realized something with terrifying clarity:

She didn't want to leave this hut.

She didn't want to leave him.

Not now.

Not after this.

Still tangled. Still pulsing. Still full of each other.

The fire fades to embers.

The air cools.

But their bodies stay locked--his breath steady against her back, her heartbeat finally slowing in the cocoon of his arms and his heat still buried deep inside her.

They sleep without a word.

No guilt.

No doubt.

Just the truth of what they've done--and the ache of what they'll do again.

--------

Lily woke to the sound of wood shifting in the fire and the soft creak of a body moving near the door. Her eyes blinked open slowly, lashes heavy with sleep and something else. Her body ached--deep in her thighs, her hips, the hollow of her core. A sweet, unbearable soreness.

She was full.

Not just with sensation. Not just with memory.

She was full of him.

She shifted slightly and winced, sucking in a breath through her teeth. Her legs ached from how far he'd opened them. Her nipples were still tender from his mouth. And between her thighs... the soreness throbbed, but not in pain.

No--this was something else.

This was the kind of ache you welcomed.

Marcus stood by the fire. Naked. Moving with that same quiet precision she'd come to recognize in him. He was adding more wood, stoking the flame back to life. She watched him in silence, the curve of his back, the long stretch of muscle in his thighs, the cut of his arms.

She felt it again--the slow, low pulse of need. Even after everything.

Even after what he'd done to her last night.

Especially because of it.

He turned and saw her watching.

His face softened.

"Morning," he said, voice low and warm.

She smiled sleepily. "Morning."

He walked over, crouched beside the bed. His hand slid gently over her hip, then up her side, palm warm against her bare skin.

"How're you feeling?"

She couldn't help the little laugh that bubbled up, breathy and quiet. "Sore."

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder, lips brushing the fading mark where he'd held her down the night before. "Good sore?"

She nodded, cheeks flushed. "So good it's stupid."

He smiled at that. "Stay there. I've got tea coming."

She didn't argue.

A few minutes later, he handed her the dented tin cup, steam rising from pine-needle tea. She sipped it, and the warmth spread through her, settling beside the ache.

Marcus sat on the floor next to the bed, leaning back on one arm, watching her.

"We're not leaving today," he said simply.

She looked at him.

Not startled. Just still.

"Riley and Jake can wait," he added. "We'll tell them we move out tomorrow."

Something in her chest softened. Melted.

Not because he was doing it for her--but because he knew. He understood.

She didn't want to leave yet.

She didn't want this--them--to end yet.

She took another sip of tea to mask the way her smile curled.

"Good," she said.

Later, they sat near the fire, Marcus eating the last of the berries he'd gathered the day before. He checked the traps. Found one squirrel. Enough for dinner. He didn't gloat. He just got to work.

And as the morning faded into a slow, sunlit afternoon, Lily held the radio for a moment--then handed it to Marcus.

He keyed it quickly.

"We move out tomorrow. Still resting today. Signal's weak, we'll check in again later."

That was it.

The message was sent. And with it, the rest of the world faded another step away.

Lily exhaled.

And smiled.

Because she still ached. And she was still his.

And tonight... she would ask him to ruin her again.

--------

The day passed softly.

Lily moved slowly, but not from hesitation. From satisfaction. The kind that left her stretched and sweet, her body still singing with the memory of the night before.

She sat near the fire, legs folded beneath her, Marcus beside her, close enough to feel his warmth even without touching. He'd made another pot of tea. The last of the squirrel was roasting on a makeshift spit. The hut smelled like smoke and pine and him.

She couldn't stop watching him.

The way he crouched low to flip the meat. The way his back flexed when he lifted water from the pot. The way his fingers moved with calm certainty.

Everything he did made her want to be touched again.

He felt it, too.

That smolder. That draw.

By late afternoon, she was pressed against him, her cheek resting on his shoulder as they sat in quiet. One of his hands slid over her thigh, idly, fingers tracing lazy lines up toward the crease between her legs. He kissed her neck once. Just once.

And she was already soaking.

She didn't even need to ask.

He lay her back on the floor, beside the fire this time, not bothering with the bed. Her body still ached, but she welcomed the stretch again as he slid between her legs and took her--slow, smooth, so deep her toes curled.

There were no cries. No begging.

Just breath.

Just heat.

Just the sound of her whispering, "Yes... yes," over and over as he moved inside her like he belonged there.

Marcus was inside her when it happened.

She was still laid out on the floor near the fire, her legs spread around his waist, her body flushed from the slow, deep rhythm of his hips rolling into hers. His chest hovered above hers, sweat-dampened and golden in the firelight. Her nails were curled lightly against his back, holding him close, guiding each thrust deeper.

He moved with purpose--but not urgency. Not yet.

Every motion was intentional. Deep. Measured. Designed to make her feel every inch of him, dragging along her walls, stretching her again, sending that now-familiar ache through her core.

And she loved it.

She was drunk on it. Dizzy from the fullness. The weight. The way her body had started to crave the stretch that once terrified her.

Her eyes fluttered open as he shifted, pressing in deeper--his hips grinding against hers in a slow circle that made her whimper into his neck.

And then--crkkk...

The radio buzzed to life.

"Lily? You copy? It's Jake."

She went still.

Every breath in her lungs froze.

Marcus stilled too--but didn't pull out.

His cock pulsed inside her, heavy, hot, twitching with restraint.

Her hand flew to his stomach, instinctive, pressing against the firm wall of muscle like she could push him away with just that.

But he didn't move.

His eyes met hers, calm. Intense.

He waited.

The radio crackled again.

"Lily? You there?"

Her hand trembled. Still resting against Marcus's stomach. Still feeling him--his heat, the iron-hard ridges of his abs, the slow inhale and exhale beneath her palm. The power.

And something shifted.

The instinct to stop him... faded.

She didn't want him to stop.

Her fingers curled slightly.

Then began to move.

Slowly, she traced the lines of his body--down his abs, over the sharp curve of his hip, up the thick muscle of his side. Her eyes never left his. It was awe. Acceptance. A quiet, erotic admission.

I choose this.

I choose you.

Her voice was barely steady as she reached for the radio.

"Yeah," she breathed. "I'm here."

Marcus's hands slid under her thighs, spreading her wider. He didn't thrust--not yet--but he pushed in deeper, burying the full length of himself until she gasped.

"You okay? You sound... winded."

She swallowed hard.

Just as Marcus pulled back--slowly--and began to move again.

"I'm fine," she managed, her voice thin with restraint. "Just... just been walking. Got cold."

Another thrust.

Long. Smooth. Devastating.

Her toes curled.

Jake's voice: "Alright. Still aiming to meet tomorrow?"

Marcus's hands gripped her hips tighter. His pace picked up--just slightly. She felt him swelling again inside her. Her whole body clenched in response.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Tomorrow."

There was silence on the other end.

Then: "I can't wait to see you."

Marcus's mouth hovered by her ear now. His breath was heavy. So was hers.

Lily's eyes fluttered closed. A breathless smile curved her lips as she brought the radio close again.

"Me too," she said softly. "But I gotta go."

"Oh? Everything okay?"

She let her hand slide up Marcus's chest again--slow, sensual, possessive. She felt the sweat, the pulse, the animal heatradiating off him.

Her voice dropped just enough.

"I'm starving."

A pause.

Then, with a smile only Marcus could see:

"And I'm about to get some meat."

She clicked the radio off.

And let it fall to the floor.

The second it hit, Marcus snapped into motion.

No more holding back.

He gripped her thighs, pulled her hips flush, and fucked her like the line had been crossed--because it had. Her moans came fast, loud, shameless. The tension that had lingered all day snapped like a live wire.

She came hard, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream.

And as he kept going--deeper, rougher, each thrust a declaration--she knew:

Jake was behind her now. A memory.

Marcus was inside her--in every possible way.

And that wasn't going to change.

--------

The fire was high.

The hut smelled like smoke and sweat, like sex and wood and heat. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets and slick skin. Lily was on top of him again--her thighs spread wide, knees pressed to either side of Marcus's hips, her hands braced on his chest. His cock was buried inside her, thick and hard and pulsing with every roll of her hips.

She was riding him like it was her purpose.

And it felt like it was.

"Oh my god..." she gasped, tossing her head back, hair falling wild down her spine. "You're so fucking big, Marcus... I feel you everywhere--Jesus--"

His hands gripped her hips, helping her bounce harder, deeper. Her breasts bounced with each slap of skin on skin. Her thighs trembled. Her pussy sucked at him greedily, wetter than she'd ever been in her life.

She was panting now, breathless and sweaty and addicted.

"I've never--fuck--I've never been fucked like this..."

She leaned down over him, her lips brushing his ear.

"Jake could never do this to me."

Marcus growled beneath her, grabbing her ass with both hands and slamming her down on his cock until she cried out.

She gasped, then moaned, and then whispered:

"You're ruining me..."

He flipped her in one motion--like she weighed nothing. Flat on her back now, legs pushed up high, her knees nearly to her shoulders. And then he was driving into her again, hard and fast, each thrust brutal, filling her to the edge of breaking.

"You like this cock?" he growled.

"Yes!"

"You like how deep I go?"

"Yes, fuck yes--don't stop--"

"You ever been fucked like this?"

"No--never--fuck--Marcus, please--"

She clawed at his back, nails dragging down muscle. Her body shook. Her mind was melting. Her voice was hoarse from moaning.

And then--

He pulled out.

She whimpered. "Why did you--"

"On your knees," he said, voice like smoke and command.

She obeyed instantly.

Down on her knees, ass in the air, she turned her head to see him stroking his massive cock in front of her face--wet with her arousal, slick, swollen, gorgeous.

She moaned.

And opened her mouth.

He slid in slow--just the head. Her lips stretched around it. Her eyes watered.

"God damn," Marcus groaned. "Look at you."

She took more.

And more.

Her jaw ached. Her throat opened. Her spit dripped down her chin.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, cock in her mouth, and smiled around it.

She loved this.

She was his.

She pulled off with a gasp, spit stringing from her lips to his cock. "I've never sucked anything like this..."

He chuckled darkly, brushing her cheek. "I know."

"I love it," she said. "I love your big black cock, Marcus. I love how it splits me open... how it makes me feel."

He pulled her up and kissed her hard, then bent her over the bed, pressing her face into the sheets.

And then--he took her again.

From behind.

Deep.

Rough.

His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her back onto him with every brutal thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. Her cries were loud now--guttural, broken, hungry.

"*Yes--yes--yes--*fuck me, ruin me--"

"You're mine now," he growled.

"Yes, I'm yours," she sobbed. "I'm your slut. I love this cock--I need it--I need it more than I ever needed Jake--"

He slammed into her harder.

She came screaming.

Her orgasm ripped through her, her whole body locking up, soaking him. She collapsed forward, shaking, but he didn't stop.

He lifted her, brought her to the wall, held her up with her legs around his waist--and fucked her standing, fast and deep and unrelenting. Her nails dragged down the wall. Her head fell back. She was babbling now--half words, half moans.

"Too big--so good--so full--Marcus--don't stop--never stop--"

And when he came--deep, hot, flooding her again--her eyes rolled back.

Her body trembled.

Her voice broke.

And then silence fell.

Heavy. Breathless.

He held her there against the wall, still inside her, both of them soaked and shaking.

When he finally pulled out, she felt hollow.

She slid to the floor, gasping, cum leaking down her thighs.

Her voice, barely a whisper:

"I'll never be the same..."

Marcus crouched in front of her, one hand on her cheek, brushing hair from her face.

"You weren't meant to be."

And she smiled.

Because she didn't want to go back.

Not after this.

--------

The fire was out.

Smoke still clung to the air, curling in lazy ribbons that rose toward the rafters and disappeared.

The hut was quiet now. Just the sound of wind in the trees. Leaves brushing wood. And the slow, steady rhythm of breathing--two bodies tangled on the floor in the pale blue hush of morning.

Lily woke slowly.

Her legs were draped over Marcus's thigh, her back to his chest, her ass pressed against his lap. The ache in her hips was deep, constant, satisfying. Her pussy was swollen, tender, still slick from the night before. Cum trickled faintly down the inside of her thigh.

She felt marked. Owned. Loved, in some feral, unspoken way.

He was already awake.

She didn't need to look to know.

His hand was on her stomach. His lips brushed the back of her shoulder. His cock--soft now--rested against her ass, heavy and warm. She hadn't stopped feeling it since he'd first buried it in her two nights ago. She didn't want to.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn't have to.

She sat up slowly, every muscle reminding her of what they'd done. She winced a little. Smiled at that. The soreness made it real.

Marcus sat up behind her, stretching, his back a map of ridges and shadows. He pulled on his pants wordlessly. Started packing.

No promises.

No heartbreak.

Just the finality of this part of their story ending.

Lily dressed slowly, eyes on him the whole time. Every time he turned, every time their gazes caught, her chest clenched a little harder.

This was goodbye.

Not forever, maybe.

But to this place.

To the version of her that had arrived here untouched, unsure, still clinging to a life that no longer fit.

She laced her boots.

Marcus handed her the radio.

"You want to let them know we're on the way?" he asked, voice soft.

She stared at the device in her hands.

Then clicked it on.

"Jake?" she said. "We're heading down now."

His voice cracked back through the static. "God, finally. I've missed you."

She hesitated.

Then smiled.

"I'll see you soon."

That was all.

She clicked it off before he could say more.

Marcus stood near the door, pack over one shoulder. She walked to him, about to step outside.

But before she could--

He caught her wrist.

She turned, breath caught.

He didn't say a word.

He just pulled her in.

And kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Final.

It wasn't a goodbye. Not really.

It was a seal. A memory. A claim.

She clutched his shirt, her fingers curled tight. She kissed him back like she was still starving for him, like her body already knew it would ache the second he let her go.

When they parted, their eyes met one last time.

No one smiled.

But the knowing in their gaze said everything.

She stepped outside.

The sun hit her skin. The world felt louder now. Sharper.

She didn't look back.

She didn't need to.

Because she felt it in every step she took.

Every echo between her legs. Every throb in her core.

She had been capsized.

She had been resized.

The End.