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I kissed the head gently and traced my lips along his shaft. His body tightened, a deep sound breaking free as his cock nudged my jaw. I stood, nipping his nipple with my teeth, and he shook, muttering, “Yes, yes, yes,” his hands gripping me hard, nails digging into my skin.

He leaned into me, unsteady, but I kept going. My hand closed around his cock, stroking slowly. I licked his nipple again before moving in for a kiss. Our tongues met, his moans vibrating against me. The kiss was all heat and hunger.

“I’m so close,” he whispered, voice fraying like it might break.

His body tensed, one hand on my hip, the other clawing at my shoulder. I sped up, his precum easing the glide.

His hips forcefully jerked and with a sharp cry, he came. Warm cum hit my hand, my stomach, his stomach, up his chest. I continued kissing him deeply, coaxing out every shudder until he slumped against me.

I slowed, pulling him close, his sweaty skin sticking to mine.

“Stars in my eyes.” His breath was ragged. “Never came like that.”

I sank to my knees again, and he watched, dazed but curious. Smiling, I took his softening cock deep in my mouth, tongue circling the head. He moaned, soft and sated.

Once I’d cleaned his cock, I stood and kissed him deeply again.

“Quite a mess.” He glanced down with a crooked grin.

I laughed, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Should’ve sucked you off like you did me—less to clean up. Still, watching you lose it was totally worth it.”

“What you did was perfect.” He shook his head, awe in his tone. “We’ve got plenty of time for more.” A blush crept up his cheeks.

I stepped closer, hands settling on his hips. “I want more too.”

Relief softened his face, and he smiled. “Let me clean us up.”

He grabbed his shirt off the grass, wiping my stomach, legs and hand with careful strokes. Then he cleaned himself, swiping at the streaks of cum that had landed on him.

“Better?”

I took the shirt from him, catching his puzzled look. “Got some on your back when I hugged you.” He turned, a streak glistening across his spine, and I wiped it off.

We dressed slowly as the pond rippled nearby, dusk settling in.

Walking back to the house, I took his hand, my fingers lacing with his. He smiled, chest bare, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Never talked pasts yet,” he said, “but out here feels right to share something.”

“Oh?” I tilted my head, squeezing his hand.

He stopped and glanced at the pond before focusing on me. “Had my first… thing in these woods. I was thirteen, and a bunch of us were here for a sleepover. We snuck to the far side of the lake, all nerves and fumbling, scared we’d get caught.”

I burst out laughing and he raised a brow. “Sorry, that’s not about your story,” I said, still snickering. “Just picturing a camp here—how many kids would sneak off for their firsts, like us tonight?”

He laughed too. “Tons if my hockey camps were any sign. My first time was here, but camp was wild after—locker rooms, stolen moments everywhere.”

“I missed out, skipping camp,” I said, half joking.

“Maybe we make up for it now?” There was a promise lurking in his eyes.

My pulse kicked up. “Who was that lucky first?”

He started to answer, then grinned, sheepish. “No. Some info has to stay in the past.”

I nudged him, pouting playfully. “Come on, who should I be jealous of? Give me a hint.”

He dodged, shaking his head. “They’d kill me for telling.”