“You know, it’s amazing you lasted this long. After what you’ve been through.”

“You being a smart ass?”

“If I were being a smart ass I’d say something else about your hat.”

Sara tore the hat off her head, “Happy now?!”

“Thrilled.” He muttered as he pried her hand off his arm. Once accomplished, he pushed her skirt up above her scar.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He lied as he ran his hand over her thigh. For once she didn’t feel any pain. Far from it. All she felt was an intense pleasure, although she was doing her best not to enjoy it. The bastard wasn’t even looking at her. He just kept watching his own hand move over her flesh. The other hand joining in to move along the back of her knee and the bit of exposed calf above her boot. She watched his hands too. Marveling at how big they were. They had light scars, faded over time. Nails clipped or bitten down as low as possible without hitting the quick. Tanned from exposure to the sun. And now these tanned scarred hands were slipping between her thighs and slowly pulling her legs apart.

She bolted straight up, but he shook his head, still not looking at her. “Don’t. You’re distracting me.”

Distracting him? Was he serious? She was distracting him?

His right hand moved back to massaging her scar while his left hand went deeper between her thighs. His thumb ran along the seam of her ultra-fancy “Jockey For Her” bikini briefs, for about three seconds before he simply ripped them off. Sara gasped, her body jerking forward. And, before she could stop herself, she slammed her lips against his. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, while his thumb slipped between the folds of her sex. She leaned into his hand and his thumb slowly circled her clit.

Sara moaned into his mouth. Her arm went around his neck, but he pulled back and pushed her away.

If he stops I’m going to wring his big neck, she thought. But instead his hands went under her hips and roughly pulled her to the edge of the cabinet she was on. He crouched down and pushed his head between her legs, and Sara grabbed the sides of the cabinet and held on for dear life.

She knew she should stop him. She knew she should slap his face and limp off, her head held high. She should be home, safe—and alone—in bed watching another episode of “Seinfeld” for the 4000 time. She definitely shouldn’t be here, leaning back, letting a stranger bury his head between her legs and ever so slowly swirl his tongue around her clit, taking up were his finger had left off. She shouldn’t. But she didn’t want to stop him. Instead, she snaked her hands through his brown hair and spread her legs farther apart. And then, to ensure her place as a slut, she arched her back and pulled his head closer into her. She felt him chuckle against her burning flesh and a low growl erupted from her throat.

She felt his big hands gripping her thighs,holding her steady as he worked his tongue around and in her. When he began to swipe his tongue up and down her clit, her growl became a scream as an orgasm tore from her gut and straight up her spine. She gripped his head tighter as the orgasm rolled through her and his tongue kept moving and licking, bringing on wave after wave of killer pleasure. In the same moment, she felt a sharp pain in her thigh where her scar was, but it only lasted a second and was gone. Compared to what she’d put up with the last few months, she barely noticed it.

Panting, Sara leaned back against the wall. Her eyes closed, her fingers finally loosening from his thick hair. He slowly began to pull away but not before he licked the inside of her thigh which, inexplicably, Sara found really sweet.

Sara thought she might go to sleep right there. In this dingy little shack. But the sound of cloth ripping forced her to open her eyes. Zach had taken off his T-shirt and was ripping several strips of material. She marveled at his body. Tanned skin stretched over thick muscles as broad shoulders and chest narrowed into a tapered waist. The bastard simply had no idea how gorgeous he was, or the affect he had on her.

“Looks like I scratched your leg a bit.”

She looked at her thigh but he had already begun wrapping material around it. But she really didn’t give a shit. Right at the moment, she didn’t give a shit about anything.

Until she heard Miki screaming her name a few hundred feet from the shack she was in. The thought of having to explain this to her friends was just too much. Without thinking she snapped to attention, kneeing Zach right in the face. “Oh, sorry,” she muttered absently. She pushed him out of the way, slammed her hat back on her head, and charged out the door.

***

Zach sat on the floor of what even he would consider a hovel. Shirtless. His favorite T-shirt in shreds. His jaw in complete agony from where her knee had slammed into it. And he was busy trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He had one simple mission for himself when he brought her here. To stop her pain. It was killing her. He could see that as plainly as her cute little nose. And he figured he needed to try Marrec’s suggestion of bleeding her. From there he decided that explaining the truth would just scare her off, so he had to distract her some how. Okay. Simple enough. She seemed to be enjoying his hands on her, so why not a little hand job? Couldn’t hurt. 5 minutes out of his day. That was the plan. But the more he rubbed her leg, the more his dick got hard. The more she made that little sound in the back of her throat, the more his dick got hard. And then she kissed him. Like that first night, but she wasn’t drunk. She knew exactly what she was doing and that made it even hotter. She wanted him. And before he knew it, he was on his knees, his face buried in her pussy. He could still feel her hands in his hair and hear that little growling sound she made…