One tight dam breached.
The crisp autumn air nipped at my cheeks as I adjusted the straps of my heavy field vest, the weight of the camera equipment digging into my shoulders. Warren had already started unpacking the GPS device, his boots crunching on the frost-kissed grass as he moved with the ease of someone who knew this terrain like the back of his hand. I pulled my gloves off, flexing my fingers to keep them from going numb, and watched as he wiped condensation from the lens of his own camera.
A recently introduced beaver colony was our assignment. Isolated, upstream, nature reserve rehabilitation. And I scored the divorced dude, slight paunch, hair loss, aged forty-five. Unfair, my fingers in the shower were getting deeper every morning, hoping for a field assignment with six-foot-four, rugby hunk, Tom.
Warren, on the bank, surprised me with—
"That's one wet beaver," he said, smirking as he nodded toward the dam in the distance, where a sleek, brown head popped up before diving back into the water.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smirk tugging at my lips.
"Yeah, yeah, the beaver that knows how to handle wood," I shot back, nodding at the lodge constructed from local birch and mud.
Warren let out a low chuckle, his gaze darkening as it raked over me.
"Yep. Some can handle a decent chunk of hardwood."
I tossed my gloves onto the ground beside the tripod.
"Enough nonsense. You're making more than the valley tree rings tingle."
Before he could respond, I knelt to adjust the tripod's legs, my breath fogging in the cold air. Like all middle-aged guys and modern workplace anti-harassment rules, he'd pull his head in.
However, Warren moved behind me, his presence a warm shadow against the morning chill. His fingers brushed my waist as he reached around to help steady the frame, and the heat of his body seeped through my layers. I could feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against my ass, and I ground back against him just enough to make him groan.
"Fuck, Charlotte," he muttered, his voice rough.
Screw Tom, a girl, even one with two degrees, gets frickin desperate some days. Something snaps, and hey presto, your legs open to opportunity, even outside your self-imposed age range.
I stood abruptly, turning to face him, my chest rising and falling with sudden urgency. His eyes were dark, hungry, and I knew there was no turning back from whatever this was. Without a word, I peeled off my field jacket, letting it fall to the ground before tugging my fleece over my head. The cold was forgotten as his gaze locked onto my bare skin, his hands already reaching for the button of his own jacket.
Our gloves hit the dirt next, followed by boots, socks, pants—everything discarded in a frantic pile as we stumbled toward each other. His mouth crashed into mine, his tongue forcing its way past my lips, tasting like coffee and something darker, something primal. I fisted his remaining hair, yanking him closer as his hands roamed my body, squeezing my tits before sliding down to grip my ass.
"You're so fucking perfect," he growled against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck as he pushed me back against the nearest tree.
"And a great beaver."
Yep, I had my winter pelt, full and fluffy. All muff, ready for the spread.
The bark bit into my shoulders, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the way his fingers were already between my thighs, parting my folds, my cute lipettes under crinkly, curly brown fur, with a roughness that made my knees weak.
"Warren—" I gasped as two thick fingers plunged inside me, coiling just right to make my vision blur.
"Oh fuck, right there! Ooh, yes, just there. Ooh, mmm."
Seems older guys know a G-spot.
He chuckled darkly, his thumb circling my clit as his fingers pistoned in and out.
"You like that, don't you? Like being bent over in the woods, getting your pussy fucked raw?"
"Cut the cute talk, Warren, burrow your pecker in my beaver!"
I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, loud and needy.
My hands scrabbled at his belt, yanking it open before shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock. It was thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip, and I wrapped my fingers around it, stroking him with slow, deliberate movements.
"You first," I panted, pushing him back just enough to drop to my knees in the damp leaves.
His dick twitched as I licked the pre-cum from the slit, savouring the salty taste before taking him deep into my throat. Warren's hands tangled in my hair, guiding me as I bobbed my head, my tongue swirling around his shaft with every stroke.
"Fuck, Charlotte—fuck—"
His hips jerked, fucking my mouth with a desperation that had my pussy dripping. I pulled off with a wet lingering slide, my lips glistening.
"I need you inside me. Now."
He didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he hoisted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed me against the tree again. His cock teased my entrance for a second before he slammed into me, filling me to the brink in one brutal thrust. I cried out, my nails raking down his back as he set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against mine.
The river beside us gurgled, indifferent to the sounds of our bodies slapping together, the wet puck, fuck, puck, the squelch of my pussy taking every inch of him.
Warren's mouth found my nipple, sucking hard as his fingers dug into my ass, pulling me onto him even deeper.
"Harder," I begged, my voice raw. "Fuck me harder."
He growled, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate.
"Orrhgh! Ugghh! Geez, yes! Oh, my! Aahh! Aahh!"
The tree bark scraped against my skin, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure coiling tight in my gut.
My orgasm hit like a deluge smashing a beaver dam, my walls clenching around him as I came with a keening cry, my back arching off the tree.
"Orrrrghhh!"
Sharp as any woodland bird cry.
My lady juices were leaking down my thighs.
Warren didn't stop. He pounded into me through my climax, his own release crashing over him with a groan. His cock pulsed inside me, thick ropes of jizz filling me up as he buried himself to the hilt.
We stayed like that for a long moment, our breaths mingling in the cold air, our bodies slick with sweat, and my jus and his cum.
Finally, he pulled out, his cock glistening as he tucked himself back into his pants. I slid down the tree, my legs trembling, and he caught me before I could hit the ground, pulling me against him.
"Fuck," he muttered, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"We're gonna need a tent next time."
I burst out laughing, swatting his chest. "Next time. As good as that was. A girl aims for a new experience each time in the field. You'll need more than a beaver joke to get my pants off."
Pointing, "Quick, by the lodge."
The beavers were busy on the stream.
We had a job to do. Gloves on, cameras raised. Pointing at beaver.
Oh, the happiest one was the wet furry one, packed away, but still warm, in my knickers.