The trail had vanished an hour ago—swallowed by thick undergrowth and the golden slant of late-afternoon light filtering through the canopy. Maya and Cole had laughed at first, blaming the map app, the wrong turn at the fork, the way they’d been too busy talking to notice. Now the laughter had softened into something quieter, more charged. The forest smelled of pine resin, damp earth, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers. No cell signal. No other hikers. Just them, the massive oak they’d stopped beside, and the sudden, shared certainty that being lost felt right.
Maya leaned back against the rough bark, skirt hiked slightly from walking. Cole stepped close—close enough that she felt the heat of him through their thin hiking shirts. He kissed her slow, deliberate, tasting salt from the trail sweat on her lips. His hands slid under her skirt, palms skimming the backs of her thighs, lifting the fabric higher until cool air kissed her bare skin.
He dropped to his knees on the leaf-strewn ground without a word. Maya parted her legs wider; he hooked her panties aside and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue was warm, flat, lapping long strokes from entrance to clit before circling the swollen bud with precise flicks. She gasped, fingers threading into his hair, hips tilting forward to meet him. He sucked gently, then harder—tongue pressing, swirling, humming low vibrations against her. Her legs began to tremble; one foot lifted to brace against a low root. Cole gripped her thighs, holding her steady while he devoured her—slow, relentless, savoring every shudder, every soft moan that drifted into the trees.
When her knees buckled and her breath hitched into sharp cries, he didn’t stop until she came—hard, hips jerking against his mouth, thighs clamping his head as waves rolled through her. He licked her through the aftershocks, gentle now, until she sagged against the oak, chest heaving.
Maya pulled him up, kissed him deeply—tasting herself on his tongue—then sank to her knees in the soft moss. She freed his cock—thick, hard, already leaking—and took him into her mouth slow and deep. Her tongue swirled the head, tracing veins, while one hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently. She sucked him under the dappled canopy—lips tight, throat relaxing to take him deeper—looking up at him through her lashes as birds called overhead. Cole groaned, fingers tangling in her hair, hips rocking shallowly. She hummed around him, the vibration making him curse softly under his breath.
They couldn’t wait longer. Cole lifted her to her feet, spun her so her back pressed to the massive trunk. He lifted one of her legs around his waist, guided himself to her entrance, and slid in deep in one smooth thrust. They both moaned at the stretch, the heat, the perfect fit. He fucked her standing—slow at first, savoring the way she clenched around him, then harder, hips snapping, bark scraping lightly against her shoulders through her shirt. Maya clung to him, nails digging into his back, whispering his name like a prayer against his neck.
He pulled out only long enough to turn her. She bent forward, hands braced on the oak, ass presented. Cole entered her from behind—deep, deliberate strokes that made her gasp. He fisted her hair gently, pulling just enough to arch her back, while his other hand reached around to circle her clit in tight, fast strokes. Leaves tangled in her hair; moss cushioned her knees when they dropped together onto a soft bed of it. He fucked her doggy-style—harder now, relentless—skin slapping softly, breaths mingling with wind through the branches. Birds sang above, indifferent witnesses to their urgency.
Maya came first—body locking up, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as her walls pulsed around him, milking tight. The sensation pushed Cole over: he buried himself deep, groaning low and broken, pulsing hot inside her in thick, shuddering spurts. They collapsed together onto the moss—her beneath him, then rolling so she lay draped across his chest—both trembling, slick with sweat and release, hearts hammering in tandem.
For long minutes they stayed like that—his arms around her, her cheek against his shoulder, leaves caught in her hair like tiny crowns. The forest breathed around them: wind rustling, distant birds, the slow creak of the oak above. No hurry to find the trail again.
Maya lifted her head, kissed him softly. “We should get lost more often.”
Cole laughed—low, sated—and brushed a leaf from her cheek. “Next time I’m bringing a blanket.”
They lingered until the light turned golden-amber, then rose slowly—clothes straightened, hands linked—and started walking again. The path appeared eventually, as if the forest had decided they’d earned their way home. But the memory of moss, bark, and shared breath stayed with them long after the trees thinned.
