...I passed a lone pine at fifteen paces and continued on. There had to be more than fifteen species of the pine tree. My decision became more difficult when I passed other large trees at twenty-eight, thirty-five, and forty-three paces, too. Couple that with wondering whether my pace was above or below average in length, and I decided to begin in the middle, near the tree at my thirty-fifth pace, and I dug with my bare hands.

My fingers ached with pine needles wedged beneath my nails, and I couldn’t help assuming Miles had some sort of digging tool in one of his pockets to help with his version of this clue. As sexy as he was, his Boy Scout preparedness was starting to annoy me—because he competed against me, of course.

I’d burrowed a trench at least eighteen inches long, kicking and digging in with the heel of my water sock, and was just about to move onto another tree, when I unearthed another red envelope.

This clue was equally as ambiguous as the first, but it led me to the center of the woods, where a rainbow of envelopes hung from a high branch, well out of my reach.

Good news—Miles’ yellow envelope wavered in the breeze alongside the rest. No one had yet figured a way to retrieve the clue.

Bad news—I didn’t know how to do it either.

“We must stop meeting like this, Robinson.” Miles shouldered past me, carrying in both arms, cradle-style, a log about fifteen inches in diameter and two feet long.

“Indeed.”

He dropped the log upright beneath his envelope. However, when he attempted to stand on the surface, it rocked. It wouldn’t hold his weight. I seriously doubted he could have reached the envelopes with an extra two feet of height anyway.

“Well, fuck me,” he sighed.

Here? Now? Well, we’d certainly done it in places less sanitary. The men’s room at Home Depot came to mind.

“What do you say, doll face?” He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and grinned. “You stand on my back, and I’ll stand on yours.”

“Bend over.”

He gripped his knees, and I took immense pleasure in using his thigh as a foothold before stomping onto his back.

“Easy!”

“Yes.” I tiptoed and reached. “If you’re anything, you’re easy, McClintock.” The bottom of the red envelope tickled my fingertips, but I couldn’t grasp it.

“Ouch! Are you about done?”

“Sorry. And no, I can’t reach.”

“Still?”

I tried again. “Still.”

“You’ll have to get on my shoulders.” He began to stand before I had a chance to jump down, but instinctively, my hands gripped his shoulders and my heels dug into his hips. He reached back, cupped my ass, and gave me an upward shove.

I hiked a thigh over his shoulder, slipped, and clung to his perspiring head. My fingers knotted in his hair.

His strong right hand pressed against my ass, steadying me, and his right shoulder nestled between my thighs. He exhaled a hot breath against my skin, and if I inched any closer to his mouth, my clit would burst with more cream than any dairy farm had to offer. I closed my eyes and bumped closer to the steamy source.

“Damn it, Robinson, the things you do to me.” In one quick maneuver, he twisted my body so I straddled his neck—his mouth buried in my privates.

I reached for the yellow and red envelopes and gyrated against his mouth.

He chewed me through my clothing, making all the primal noises I’d learned to expect from him. His tongue flattened against my clit and massaged.

“Ohhhhhh.” My eyes rolled back. “We don’t have time for—”

“I love this pussy.” He pushed his chin against my hole. “I want to fuck it with everything I’ve got. Fuck, I want to watch three guys fight to get in there. You’re hot. You can take it, you deserve it.”

A shiver ran up my cunt, in prelude to an orgasm. “Miles, we—”

“I know, I know.” He took one last nip before gently placing my feet on the ground. “Rain check?”

I cupped his hard bulge. “Abso—”

He grabbed the yellow envelope and tore it open.

“—lutely…”

Before I’d finished the last syllable, he’d turned away, whispering to himself. Damn him for being so unaffected.

“…not!”