Chapter 195: Chapter 195- Aren’t you a Bish?

He stopped.

“’I need to pee,’” he said.

The group stopped.

“’We’ll wait here,’” Celia said.

He looked at the group. The specific, brief assessment.

Then moved off the path into the undergrowth, the green closing behind him.

Nara, after approximately three seconds, followed.

They all watched her go.

“’She’s—’” Aisha started.

“’Yes,’” Celia said.

“’Should we—’”

“’No,’” Celia said.

The group stood on the path. The forest morning around them — the birds, the specific wet-green smell of the canopy after a night of humidity, the somewhere-close sound of water that was probably the freshwater source he’d actually been looking for.

Preet leaned against a tree.

“’His stomach,’” she said.

Everyone looked at her.

“’When he was — above me. The mating press one.’” She was looking at the canopy. The specific, detached tone of someone reporting on an experience from a considered distance. “’His stomach was against my thighs. And I could feel his abs. Even then. Even — in the middle of everything. I noticed that his abs were—’” She stopped. “’Which is not the thing I should have been noticing.’”

“’That’s what you noticed,’” Gia said.

“’Among other things.’”

“’Like what,’” Aisha said. Her voice coming out before she’d cleared it for departure.

Everyone looked at her.

Her face went pink.

“’I’m just—’” She looked at her hands. “’I just want to — information is useful.’”

They all looked at Preet.

Preet looked at the canopy for another second.

Then: “’It felt like being full,’” she said. “’Like — properly full. The way you feel after a meal that was exactly what you needed. But everywhere. Not just—’” she gestured vaguely at the relevant region “’—there. Everywhere. My hands felt it. My—’” She touched her chest. Her collarbones. “’Everything. Like a frequency that goes through the whole body, not just the part that’s receiving.’”

Silence.

The forest.

The birds.

“’And the—’” Aisha’s voice. Very quiet. “’His—’” She looked at her hands. “’His size. Did it — was it—’”

“’It is not possible,’” Preet said, “’to convey what that size is like without context. You understand five inches. Six. Maybe seven. You do not understand—’” She looked at Aisha directly. “’Until you don’t understand it anymore.’”

Aisha’s thighs pressed together.

She looked at the undergrowth where he and Nara had disappeared.

A sound.

The specific, soft sound of voices. And then — below the voices — a different sound.

Familiar.

Becoming familiar.

“’They’re—’” Meijin said.

“’Yes,’” Celia said.

The group looked at the undergrowth.

“’Should we—’” Gia started.

“’We absolutely should not,’” Preet said. Then, after two seconds: “’But we’re going to.’”

Behind the tree line, ten feet off the path.

Nara had followed him.

He had been standing with his underwear down, one hand at the bark of a tree, the other at the task. He’d heard her. Had turned his head slightly. His cock, mid-task, hanging in the dappled forest light.

“’Hey,’” she said.

He finished. Shook. Pulled up his underwear. Turned.

He looked at her.

“’Something you needed,’” he said.

Nara was standing three feet from him. The morning forest around her, the filtered light. The specific, open quality of her face — not the composed, calculating face, not the face she deployed in the camp. This face.

The face she hadn’t planned to show.

“’I’m sorry,’” she said.

He said nothing.

“’About this morning. What I said to Preet.’” She looked at the ground. Then back at him. The specific, effortful quality of someone maintaining eye contact against their preference. “’It was—’”

“’Mm,’” he said.

“’You don’t have to be — you don’t have to—’” She stopped. Breathed. The specific, hard breathing of someone standing at the edge of a vulnerability they have not planned to approach and have approached anyway. “’Do you not like me anymore?’”

He looked at her.

The purple eyes.

“’Do I look bored?’” he said.

“’You spent all night—’”

“’Yes,’” he said.

“’And you said she was the best—’”

“’I said what I said,’” he said. Specific. Clean. Not an apology. Not a reassurance. The simple acknowledgment of the thing that had been said.

Nara’s jaw worked.

“’That’s it? That’s all you—’”

His hand found her cheek.

Not the slapped one. The other one. The specific, cupping warmth of a palm against a face, his thumb near the corner of her mouth.

“’You look like a woman who needs a good fuck,’” he said.

The sentence landed in the forest between them.

Nara breathed.

Once.

“’Yes,’” she said. The word coming out in the specific register of someone who has stopped managing. “’Yes. I do. I need a — just don’t — don’t abandon me. Fuck me. I need—’”

She was already moving.

Turning. Her hands finding the tree trunk in front of her, both palms flat against the bark. Her back arching in the specific, deliberate arch of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing and is presenting herself for it without equivocation.

Her underwear — she pulled it to the side herself. Didn’t wait. The fabric gathering at her hip, the strip of it pulled against the inner thigh, the specific, undisguised offering of someone who had decided that dignity was a different conversation for a different time.

Her ass, in the morning forest light.

He looked at it.

“’Gia was talking about her boyfriend,’” he said, conversationally. The specific, easy register of a man who has found a comfortable topic and is pursuing it. He stepped toward her.

“’She said—’” Nara breathed. “’She said he was — small. Two minutes, she said.’”

He entered her.

PAH.

“’HNGH~♡—’”

The sound went into the bark her face was pressed against.

“’Two minutes,’” he said. His hands at her hips. Not holding — spreading. His thumbs at the inner curve of each cheek, pulling them apart, the specific, proprietary grip of someone doing a thorough job.

PAH. PAH.

“’AHN~♡♡—’”

Her boobs, inside her shirt — the cup of her bra containing them through the first few thrusts and then, as his pace found its committed rhythm, the flesh moving at a speed that the cup’s structural capacity had not been designed for, the soft weight of her shifting with each impact, the fabric of her shirt pressed and releasing.

“’She wants to try this,’” Nara said. The words coming in the gaps between his thrusts, each gap measured in fractions of seconds. “’Gia. She—’” PAH “’—HNGH~♡— she was watching all night. She’s interested.’”

“’Mm,’” he said.

“’You should fuck her,’” Nara said. The words shaped around another moan, the specific, giving-information quality of a woman who is using sex to stay relevant, using what she knows to stay in the position she wants to stay in. “’She has — she’s — ’” PAH! PAH! “’AAAHN~♡—she has this way of standing. Like everything is organized. I think she would—’”

“’You’re cruel,’” he said.

“’I know,’” she said immediately.

PAH! PAH!

“’HNGH~♡♡—’”

“’You were watching all night,’” he said. Not a question.

“’Yes.’”

“’All four of you.’”

“’Yes.’”

PAH!

“’They were—’” Her face pressed against the bark. The specific, friction-marked skin of a cheek that has been against rough surfaces recently. “’They were touching themselves,’” she said. “’By the end. Celia. All of them. They were — watching you and—’”

“’And you,’” he said.

“’And me,’” she said.

PAH! PAH! PAH!

“’AAHNGH~♡♡—’”

He leaned.

His mouth at the back of her neck. His chest against her back. The specific, covering quality of his body over hers, her sandwiched between him and the tree.

“’You’re a selfish bitch,’” he said.

“’Yes,’” she said.

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