Chapter 1
The crunch of pine needles under my hiking boots was the only sound, a rhythmic percussion in the thick, afternoon quiet of the forest. I’d wandered far from the main trail, seeking solitude, the pressure of the city finally driving me out into the Whispering Pines preserve. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth and sun-warmed resin.
That’s when I heard it. A sharp, breathy gasp. It was utterly out of place. I froze, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. It wasn’t a sound of alarm or pain. It was… something else. Something primal.
I crept forward, each step deliberate and silent, using the thick trunks of ancient pines as cover. The sound came again, followed by a low, masculine murmur. God, were people out here? Peering around a broad oak, I saw them. A man and a woman, locked in a passionate embrace against a fallen log. They weren’t teenagers. They were my age, late twenties, utterly consumed by each other. Her back was pressed against the mossy wood, her head thrown back in ecstasy as his mouth travelled down the elegant line of her throat. Her fingers were tangled in his dark hair, not pushing him away, but holding him closer. Her hiking shorts were pooled around one ankle, his jeans bunched at his knees. The raw, unfiltered hunger between them was a physical force in the clearing. I should have turned away. I should have given them their privacy. But my feet were rooted to the spot, a hot flush spreading through my veins. This was their secret. And now, it was mine.
I’m a watcher.
The thought was a lightning strike, terrifying and exhilarating. My pulse thrummed in my ears, a counter-rhythm to her soft, pleading whimpers. His hands were on her bare thighs, gripping them, spreading them wider as he knelt before her. The air thickened, heavy with the musk of sex and pine. “Please,” she moaned, the word cracking with desire. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He buried his face between her legs, and her entire body arched off the log, a silent scream etched on her beautiful face. I could see the precise moment her pleasure crested, the way her stomach clenched and her toes curled inside her boots. I felt it with her, a sympathetic clench deep in my own core. I was molten, my own breathing shallow and quick. I pressed my thighs together, a feeble attempt to quell the aching pressure building there. My fingers itched with a need to touch, to mimic what I was witnessing. He rose, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue. The intimacy of it was devastating. Then he turned her around, bending her over the log. Her hands scrabbled against the rough bark for purchase. He positioned himself behind her, his gaze drinking in the sight of her offered to him. “You like being watched, don’t you, Elara?” his voice was a rough, possessive growl that sent a fresh shockwave through me. He knew. Somehow, he knew I was there. The realisation was a bucket of ice water and fire all at once. My hiding spot felt suddenly exposed, flimsy.
“Yes,” she cried out, her voice muffled against the wood. “Yes.” He was doing this for me. The exhibitionism was part of their game, and I had become an unwilling, yet desperately willing, participant. His eyes, a startlingly pale blue, flickered from her body directly to the shadows where I stood. He held my gaze for a heart-stopping second, a dark, knowing smile playing on his lips. He was inviting me. He thrust into her, a single, powerful movement that made her shout into the quiet forest. I gasped, my hand flying to my own mouth to stifle the sound. I was no longer just watching. I was complicit. I was arouséd beyond any rational thought. The rhythmic slap of skin on skin, her choked cries, his guttural groans—it was a symphony of abandon. I could see every detail: the flex of his powerful back muscles, the way her whole body jolted with each of his thrusts, the sheen of sweat making their skin glow in the dappled light.
My own hand slipped under the waistband of my leggings, my fingers finding the slick, throbbing heat there. I mimicked his rhythm, my eyes glued to them, my pleasure inextricably linked to theirs. He drove into her, harder, faster, his control fraying. “Come for me,” he commanded her, his voice raw. “Come for our audience.” Her climax was a violent, beautiful thing. She shattered, her cries echoing through the trees, her body shaking uncontrollably. The sight of it, the raw permission in his words, tipped me over the edge with her. A silent, seismic orgasm ripped through me, my knees buckling as I bit down on my knuckle to keep from crying out. Stars exploded behind my eyes, my body convulsing against my own hand. He followed moments after, his own release, a sharp, guttural roar that seemed to shake the very leaves above us.
For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged, shared breathing—theirs from exertion, mine from the aftershocks of a stolen climax. He slowly pulled out of her, staying close, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, a low, sated sound. Then he did the unthinkable. He turned his head, those forbidden blue eyes finding mine once more in the shadows. He didn’t smile. He just looked, his gaze intense, penetrating, seeing everything. Seeing the damp spot on my leggings, the blush on my cheeks, the wild want still lingering in my eyes.
He held up a single finger, a silent command to wait. Elara straightened up, leaning into him, completely spent and oblivious. She nuzzled his neck as he helped her back into her shorts.
“That was incredible,” she murmured, her voice husky. “It’s not over yet,” he replied softly, his eyes still locked on me.
