The smell of sunscreen and pine resin clings to my nose as I climb the narrow wooden stairs between the trees. The steps are warm from the afternoon, but the wind sweeping through the crowns cools my bare shoulders. Below me lies the lake, a blue-green mirror doubling the clouds. Above, where the jetty leads into nowhere, he waits.
Our appointment was a single sentence, scribbled on a napkin at breakfast: “Tonight, when the moon rises.” I trembled when I read it, hiding the note in my pocket as if it were a confession. Three weeks of summer vacation at his parents’ holiday house. Three weeks of circling each other like dragonflies over the reeds. Now it’s the last night. Now is the moment.
He sits on the edge of the jetty, legs dangling over the water. When he hears me coming, he turns around, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me pause. No smile, just that probing gaze that seems to read me from the inside. I sit down next to him, the planks cold under my thighs. Moonlight paints silver stripes on his arms, on the slight goosebumps that cover his skin despite the mild air.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual. I nod, but instead I say: “I’m afraid it won’t be like I imagine.” He laughs softly, not mockingly, but like someone thinking the same thing. “Me too,” he admits. “But I still want it with you.”
His hand finds mine, warm and dry. We stand up, and the movement feels like jumping off a cliff. He leads me to a clearing we discovered by chance—a soft bed of moss and pine needles, surrounded by ferns that look like green lace in the moonlight. Here, the world is shut out. Here, there’s only us.
We kneel facing each other, knees in the soft ground. My hands are cold as I unbutton his shirt, button by button, and the tickle of his chest hair against my fingertips sends a shiver through me. I pause for a moment, letting my palm glide over his chest, feeling the curve of muscles and the slight moisture on his skin. He leans forward and kisses me, slowly, exploring, as if wanting to taste my hesitation. His tongue meets mine, and I let my hands slide over his shoulders, feeling the tendons under the warm skin. The kiss deepens, his hand rests on my neck, pulling me closer. I taste the faint saltiness of his lips, and a tremor runs down my back.
Then he lays me back on the moss, gently, as if I were fragile. Above us, the treetops sway, black silhouettes against the bright sky. His fingers search for the hem of my dress, pushing the fabric up, and the cool night air on my thighs is a shock. I lift my hips so he can strip it off, and for a moment I lie naked, covered only by moonlight and his gaze. The air caresses my skin, and I feel my nipples harden under his look.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and I feel the blush rising in me. I pull him down to me, his jeans scraping against my inner thigh as I undo his belt. Awkwardly, we help each other remove the clothes, laughing softly at a stuck button, and the tension falls away from me. His skin smells of salt and something sweet, maybe the morning’s deodorant. As he kneels naked before me, I let my gaze wander over him: the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the light hair on his chest tapering downward. His erection stands clearly between us, and I reach out to touch it. He flinches under my touch, a soft moan escaping him.
We lie side by side, and I feel his arousal against my hip, a warm, urgent promise. He kisses my neck, the spot behind my ear that always makes me tremble, and his hand moves lower, over my belly, through the wet hair between my legs. I inhale sharply as his finger finds me, the touch so precise that I instinctively arch toward him. He traces small circles, slowly, exploring, and I feel the moisture between my thighs increase. My breath grows shallower, and I grab his wrist to guide him.
“I want to feel you,” I say, my voice sounding strange, hoarse. He nods, straightens up, and gently pulls me over him so I’m kneeling on top. From above, I see his features, the tension around his mouth, the glint in his eyes. I guide him to me, the tip grazing me, and I pause, my heartbeat in my ears. For a moment I hover like that, letting the expectation build, feeling the pulse between my legs. Then I sink down, inch by inch. The stretch is a burning instant that brings me to the edge of pain and pleasure. I pause, embracing him with my inner muscles, and his groan is deeper than anything I’ve ever heard. I feel him pulsing inside me, feel my body adjusting to him. Then I move, a cautious circling of my hips, and the friction becomes softer, more fluid, as my body gets used to him.
He grips my hips, helping me find the rhythm, and I forget the fear, forget control. I lean forward, kiss him, and our tongues find a common beat. His hands move to my breasts, stroking the tips, and I feel something tighten inside me, a muscle beginning to dance. I ride him faster, hips circling, and his panting grows louder. The treetops above us dance in the wind, and I feel light and heavy at once.
He turns me over, lays me on my back, and enters me again, this time from above. His forehead rests on mine, his breath mingling with mine. The movement becomes faster, deeper, and I arch toward him, my nails digging into his back. The silence of the night is now broken only by our panting, the soft wet sounds of our bodies, the rustling of leaves beneath us. Each thrust sends waves through me, and I feel the tension growing in my belly.
I feel it building inside me, that wave lifting and carrying me. I open my eyes, see his closed lids, the concentrated furrow between his brows. “Come with me,” I whisper, and he groans, presses deeper, until I feel the explosion within me—a twitching, a flooding that takes me apart and puts me back together. My inner muscles clench around him, and I hear
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