"Take a gamble that love exists..."

     But it was too late. You already found yourself in one of the pages. You study the sketch, your cheeks turning hot. There you were, come to life in the jagged lines of graphite. It was a strange sensation to see yourself, the lines of your profile, from the perspective of another through his drawing. It was even stranger to see he’d drawn the rest of your body in a state of moderate undress, in nothing but your bloomers and your undershirt, which is all you and the other camp girls wore to sleep in this stifling summer heat. 

     “My god, Arthur,” you shrieked with an accusatory giggle.

     “Give it back. Now.”

     “How roguish of you. This is me!”

     He finally caught up to you and angrily snatched back his journal. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” His voice was low, angry, dangerous. It only made your smirk grow.

     “Is that really how I look in my underclothes?” you said.

     “That was private.”

     “Come to think of it,” you purred, “I don’t think I have undergarments in that style. You must have drawn that from your imagination, hadn’t you?”

     “You got a hell of a lot of nerve—“ he started, but you cut him off, stepping closer to him.

     “You think about me in my undergarments often, Arthur?” you asked him, taunting. 

     He froze in place. You took advantage of this and stepped closer to him, close enough that your chest brushed against his stomach, close enough to see the outraged lines between his furrowed brows, the indignant shine in his blue eyes. He made a deep, growling sound from the back of his throat, and your breath hitched in response.

     “You better quit talking now, or you’re gonna regret saying a damn thing,” he said. 

     You shook your head condescendingly. “Don’t try to pretend like you haven’t thought about me unclothed. Entirely unclothed. You have thought about that, haven’t you?”

     You watched his throat move up and down as he swallowed and scrambled to think of a response to your accusation. “Don’t test me.”

     “It’s a simple question.”

     “Christ…”

     “Well, do you?” you prompted.

     At last, he answered your question with a deep reluctance. “‘Course I have,” he grumbled. The admission made your toes curl in your boots and brought a satisfied smirk to your lips.

     “See, that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

     “You better wipe that smile of your face,” he snapped. 

     Your smile only grew. A challenge. At the same time that the tips of his ears started to grow pinkish, his eyes started to darken with something deep, primal.

     Before you knew it, he had backed you into the nearest tree trunk, pressing his body against yours. And then your smile truly was gone, because he was suddenly enveloping his mouth over yours. He held your face roughly and kissed you with an angry reverence that zapped away any resolve you had left to continue teasing him. Every nerve ending in your body seemed to switch on as waves of desire coursed through your veins, from your head all the way down to the pit of your stomach, continuing down to your toes. You moaned, despite yourself, and it was met with a furious rumble from somewhere deep in his chest.

     “Aught to teach you a lesson not to take things that ain’t yours,” he said when he broke away at last. You were too stunned to reply, and he took advantage of your breathless state to drag his hands roughly down your neck to your chest, cupping your breasts through your blouse with an insatiable hunger. You felt so small beneath his towering body, being touched by his massive, warm hands, that the only sound that you could make was desperate whimper.

     Arthur attacked the source of the sound with a rough kiss to the base of your throat. His stubble against your heated skin, combined with the scrape of teeth and the harsh suction of his lips, made your knees threaten to buckle. As though he could sense that you had grown uneasy on your feet, he situated one of his muscled thighs between your legs. Now, properly pinned between the tree and his body, you were all but weightless on your feet, the majority of your weight distributed to his leg beneath your hips.

     “Arthur,” you gasped, clutching his broad shoulders for leverage. He smelled so good, so distinctly of him, that unmistakable combination of salt and tobacco and leather. He continued to ravish your neck with a series of kisses and sucks and bites that you were sure were going to leave marks—and you would wear those marks with pride, because fuck, you finally got Arthur to break for you, after all these weeks of coy glances and lighthearted teasing. To think he was just as down bad for you as you had been for him, and to find out now, in this way.

     “Bet you’re sorry now for snooping,” he growled against your skin. Then he slowed his movements, just enough to pull back and gaze at you meaningfully. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

     You understood this as a test; he was asking if you wanted this to continue.

     “Don’t regret it at all,” you smiled.

     He seemed satisfied with this answer. As he kissed you again, this time much deeper, more deliberate, you could all but feel the waves of frustration and embarrassment and desire rolling off of him. 

     “Such a pretty thing you are,” he drawled as he brought his hands lower and lower down your sides. “Such a goddamn tease. You enjoy driving me mad, huh?”

     When his hands found a resting place on your backside, he pressed them into you, driving your weight even more down onto his leg. Even separated by layers of clothing, you could feel the heat of his leg seeping through the fabric of your skirts. You gasped, your hips bucking on their own accord into him. Arthur chuckled in deep satisfaction at this and gripped your hips fervently, encouraging the movement.

     The friction between your legs caused a rush of heat to pool in your core. You whimpered and ran your wayward hands through his unruly golden hair as he bit at your earlobe and continued to move your pelvis against his thigh. You were more aroused than you’d expected, and you could feel the beginnings of a gushing wetness from between your legs. Already, the thought of Arthur soon discovering just how wet you would become was making your cheeks flush with humiliation.

     But soon, you had little room for any other feeling but overwhelming arousal as Arthur brought his lips back to yours and spurred your hips to move faster. What had begun as languid rocking had now morphed into desperate thrusts. You couldn’t get enough. The solid muscles of his thigh tucked beneath you, the groping hands down your spine and ass, the warm wetness of his tongue dancing against yours… He grunted in surprised approval as the little sounds from your throat increased in frequency and volume, signifying your impending climax.

     “You dirty girl.” He met your eyes, his steely gaze meeting yours, which must have been wild with need. “Gonna come right here in the woods on my thigh? Go on… Show me what you look like when you come. Let’s see if it’s the way I imagined it.”

     That was all it took for you to topple over the edge. Hot, coursing ripples of pleasure emanated from your cunt. Your desperate whines and grunts became gasps and moans. He grasped you tightly, talking you through it, encouraging you with words of “that’s it” and “ride it out,” which only served to make the pleasure that much more intense and drawn out by a series of residual shudders and quivers you swear he’d be able to feel against his leg through his trousers.

     By the time you’d come back to your senses, you’d nearly toppled over with lightheadedness. Grinning with delirium, you dragged your gaze over his coiled body until you caught his own gaze and found that he was not smiling at all. In fact, he looked as tense as a cord of rope stretched to its limits, like he was about to snap. Like he wanted to pounce on you.

     You kissed him sweetly. Now that you knew you could kiss him, you couldn’t help yourself. He was too goddamn delicious. Then the kiss deepened, and you planted both feet on the ground, dragging him back over to the campfire without breaking the kiss.

     “What?” he murmured.

     “Let’s go where there’s better lighting,” you breathed. 

     “Why?”

     “So you can compare your drawing to the real thing,” you said, and started to remove your clothes.

~~~

     But it was too late. You already found yourself in one of the pages. You study the sketch, your cheeks turning hot. There you were, come to life in the jagged lines of graphite. It was a strange sensation to see yourself, the lines of your profile, from the perspective of another through his drawing. It was even stranger to see he’d drawn the rest of your body in a state of moderate undress, in nothing but your bloomers and your undershirt, which is all you and the other camp girls wore to sleep in this stifling summer heat. 

     “My god, Arthur,” you shrieked with an accusatory giggle.

     “Give it back. Now.”

     “How roguish of you. This is me!”

     He finally caught up to you and angrily snatched back his journal. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” His voice was low, angry, dangerous. It only made your smirk grow.

     “Is that really how I look in my underclothes?” you said.

     “That was private.”

     “Come to think of it,” you purred, “I don’t think I have undergarments in that style. You must have drawn that from your imagination, hadn’t you?”

     “You got a hell of a lot of nerve—“ he started, but you cut him off, stepping closer to him.

     “You think about me in my undergarments often, Arthur?” you asked him, taunting. 

     He froze in place. You took advantage of this and stepped closer to him, close enough that your chest brushed against his stomach, close enough to see the outraged lines between his furrowed brows, the indignant shine in his blue eyes. He made a deep, growling sound from the back of his throat, and your breath hitched in response.

     “You better quit talking now, or you’re gonna regret saying a damn thing,” he said. 

     You shook your head condescendingly. “Don’t try to pretend like you haven’t thought about me unclothed. Entirely unclothed. You have thought about that, haven’t you?”

     You watched his throat move up and down as he swallowed and scrambled to think of a response to your accusation. “Don’t test me.”

     “It’s a simple question.”

     “Christ…”

     “Well, do you?” you prompted.

     At last, he answered your question with a deep reluctance. “‘Course I have,” he grumbled. The admission made your toes curl in your boots and brought a satisfied smirk to your lips.

     “See, that wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?”

     “You better wipe that smile of your face,” he snapped. 

     Your smile only grew. A challenge. At the same time that the tips of his ears started to grow pinkish, his eyes started to darken with something deep, primal.

     Before you knew it, he had backed you into the nearest tree trunk, pressing his body against yours. And then your smile truly was gone, because he was suddenly enveloping his mouth over yours. He held your face roughly and kissed you with an angry reverence that zapped away any resolve you had left to continue teasing him. Every nerve ending in your body seemed to switch on as waves of desire coursed through your veins, from your head all the way down to the pit of your stomach, continuing down to your toes. You moaned, despite yourself, and it was met with a furious rumble from somewhere deep in his chest.

     “Aught to teach you a lesson not to take things that ain’t yours,” he said when he broke away at last. You were too stunned to reply, and he took advantage of your breathless state to drag his hands roughly down your neck to your chest, cupping your breasts through your blouse with an insatiable hunger. You felt so small beneath his towering body, being touched by his massive, warm hands, that the only sound that you could make was desperate whimper.

     Arthur attacked the source of the sound with a rough kiss to the base of your throat. His stubble against your heated skin, combined with the scrape of teeth and the harsh suction of his lips, made your knees threaten to buckle. As though he could sense that you had grown uneasy on your feet, he situated one of his muscled thighs between your legs. Now, properly pinned between the tree and his body, you were all but weightless on your feet, the majority of your weight distributed to his leg beneath your hips.

     “Arthur,” you gasped, clutching his broad shoulders for leverage. He smelled so good, so distinctly of him, that unmistakable combination of salt and tobacco and leather. He continued to ravish your neck with a series of kisses and sucks and bites that you were sure were going to leave marks—and you would wear those marks with pride, because fuck, you finally got Arthur to break for you, after all these weeks of coy glances and lighthearted teasing. To think he was just as down bad for you as you had been for him, and to find out now, in this way.

     “Bet you’re sorry now for snooping,” he growled against your skin. Then he slowed his movements, just enough to pull back and gaze at you meaningfully. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

     You understood this as a test; he was asking if you wanted this to continue.

     “Don’t regret it at all,” you smiled.

     He seemed satisfied with this answer. As he kissed you again, this time much deeper, more deliberate, you could all but feel the waves of frustration and embarrassment and desire rolling off of him. 

     “Such a pretty thing you are,” he drawled as he brought his hands lower and lower down your sides. “Such a goddamn tease. You enjoy driving me mad, huh?”

     When his hands found a resting place on your backside, he pressed them into you, driving your weight even more down onto his leg. Even separated by layers of clothing, you could feel the heat of his leg seeping through the fabric of your skirts. You gasped, your hips bucking on their own accord into him. Arthur chuckled in deep satisfaction at this and gripped your hips fervently, encouraging the movement.

     The friction between your legs caused a rush of heat to pool in your core. You whimpered and ran your wayward hands through his unruly golden hair as he bit at your earlobe and continued to move your pelvis against his thigh. You were more aroused than you’d expected, and you could feel the beginnings of a gushing wetness from between your legs. Already, the thought of Arthur soon discovering just how wet you would become was making your cheeks flush with humiliation.

     But soon, you had little room for any other feeling but overwhelming arousal as Arthur brought his lips back to yours and spurred your hips to move faster. What had begun as languid rocking had now morphed into desperate thrusts. You couldn’t get enough. The solid muscles of his thigh tucked beneath you, the groping hands down your spine and ass, the warm wetness of his tongue dancing against yours… He grunted in surprised approval as the little sounds from your throat increased in frequency and volume, signifying your impending climax.

     “You dirty girl.” He met your eyes, his steely gaze meeting yours, which must have been wild with need. “Gonna come right here in the woods on my thigh? Go on… Show me what you look like when you come. Let’s see if it’s the way I imagined it.”

     That was all it took for you to topple over the edge. Hot, coursing ripples of pleasure emanated from your cunt. Your desperate whines and grunts became gasps and moans. He grasped you tightly, talking you through it, encouraging you with words of “that’s it” and “ride it out,” which only served to make the pleasure that much more intense and drawn out by a series of residual shudders and quivers you swear he’d be able to feel against his leg through his trousers.

     By the time you’d come back to your senses, you’d nearly toppled over with lightheadedness. Grinning with delirium, you dragged your gaze over his coiled body until you caught his own gaze and found that he was not smiling at all. In fact, he looked as tense as a cord of rope stretched to its limits, like he was about to snap. Like he wanted to pounce on you.

     You kissed him sweetly. Now that you knew you could kiss him, you couldn’t help yourself. He was too goddamn delicious. Then the kiss deepened, and you planted both feet on the ground, dragging him back over to the campfire without breaking the kiss.

     “What?” he murmured.

     “Let’s go where there’s better lighting,” you breathed. 

     “Why?”

     “So you can compare your drawing to the real thing,” you said, and started to remove your clothes.

~~~