Strangers_to_lovers on Knotty Biscotti

New Year’s Resolve

Fri, 02 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0000

“FOUR!” the party chanted in unison.

“Yeah, but what’s your naaaaaaame?” Rhiannon slurred, spilling her drink without noticing.

“THREE!”

“I tol’ ya already! Trystan.” He was gorgeous—square jaw, swarthy, all angles and muscle, with the sort of dark stubble Rhiannon wanted to absolutely grind against.

“TWO!”

“No, you din’t! Tell me!”

The pillar of pure manliness before her stumbled a little and shook his head. “Nah! Tell me yours first!” She imagined climbing him like a tree.

“ONE!”

“Shuddup!” Rhiannon grabbed his shirt with both hands, completely forgetting the champagne she’d been holding only seconds before. “Fuckin’ kiss me!”

The morning sun had the utter gall to shine directly onto Rhiannon’s face, dragging her back to the waking world like she was a toddler at the candy rack and it was her mum.

“Where’s my fuckin’—” her thoughts crashed to a halt. Everything? Aw, fuck. The night came back to her: Cassie’s New Year’s Eve party, the cocktails, the pot, the shots!

… the guy?

She shifted in the county-sized bed and looked around the room. She was completely naked, of course, and dangling from one of the blinds was her shiny pink (crotchless!) panties. Her tiny tube-dress was in a heap by the door to the en-suite bathroom. No sign of her stockings, shoes or coat.

She’d decided a bra would only spoil the fun last night, so at least she didn’t have to find that.

She groaned, piecing more of it together: too many drinks, impending panic over being alone at midnight, that hot guy appeared out of nowhere. Her body ached in the best way; her pussy sore and sticky from whatever wild shit they’d done last night.

Where was the guy?

The fuck was his name?

Were the sheets made of pure cloud or something? She’d never felt anything so soft and smooth against her skin.

“Good morning!”

Whirling as best she could while naked and sitting in the middle of a larger-than-king-size-bed on the kind of sheets Rhiannon imagined literal fuckin’ royalty might sleep on, she pulled the overstuffed duvet up to her neck. For all the good it would do. Memories from last night and their little ‘after-party’ were flooding back to her now and letting him have a good look at her tits in the morning light would be maybe the tamest thing she’d done since meeting—

“Trystan!” Thank FUCK she’d found his name before it got really awkward. “H-hi. Good morning. Hi?” Rhiannon’s head hammered and she thought she wanted to puke, but her tummy also did a girlish little flip-flop at the sight of him standing in the doorway.

He was tall. Fit, but not muscular, with the most perfect little swirl of pitch-black hair on his chest between his pectorals. He wore only a pair of thin, cotton pyjama pants that left no doubt he was going commando. He looked weathered but also perfectly polished.

“You remembered my name,” he said affably. “That’s pretty great.” He chuckled as he entered the bedroom, a Greek statue come to life. “I, um, I made breakfast.”

Holy shit! He’s shy! Rhiannon thought wildly, and the butterflies in her stomach had moved further south.

“It’s just coffee and scones.” He sounded apologetic as he approached the bed, carrying his tray bearing a thermal carafe, two mugs, an earthenware cream pitcher, and a plate laden with golden brown squares embedded with peach chunks and covered in a frosting drizzle.

“I’ll get you a car if—” his comical earnestness after last night threatened Rhiannon with a giggle fit, but she knew that would ruin everything that might come next. Her crotch throbbed with growing eagerness at the thoughts of what might be next.

He was big. She remembered that. Like, gasping-for-air big.

It’d be stupid to leave now, right?

Putting on her most casual, “bad-girl” air, she offered him what she hoped was a lusty smile. “It’s New Year’s Day, where do I gotta be?” She lifted the duvet away from the bed—an open invitation—revealing her modest breasts, small nipples, and raspberry-dotted areola.

Trystan looked shocked, then chuckled, handing her a mug. His eyes raked over her as if he wanted to devour her right there. The coffee burned her tongue, rich and bold; the scones flaky and warm, crumbs and warm peach chunks tumbling down her chest. She licked her lips slowly, watching him watch her.

“Somethin’ I don’t recall from last night,” she began, finishing her scone and washing it down with a mouthful of hot, bitter coffee. “I don’t remember gettin’ a proper taste for myself.” Rhiannon’s fingers brushed the patch of hair on his chest, then slid down, between his abdomen and his pants, finding the thick, wonderful warmth between his legs. “You put it all somewhere else, didn’ya?”

Curling her fingers around him, she squeezed, stroking, fascinated by the feel of his skin. Not clean, not at all; his cock was coated in a sticky, slightly grippy film—her own dried juices. Rhiannon had marked him; he belonged to her now.

The ache surged again, heat pooling between her thighs, her filthy mind already racing. No way was she leaving without round two. She released him, set aside the breakfast, and raked her nails lightly over his abs. “I’m gettin’ down on the floor over there and you’re gonna fuck my pretty mouth. Okay?”

She slipped from the bed, blushing a little herself as she stood fully on display, noting the way his attention settled on her waist, then her hips, then her slit—freshly shaved just before the party last night—and shook her head.

“Nuh, uh. Maybe for dessert.” She knelt on the floor and opened her mouth wide, waiting.

He hesitated again; she didn’t think he was used to taking such blunt direction. She gave him a smirk. “Trystan, get over here and fuck my face!”

She sat on the floor, her sopping wet pussy leaving a smear across the wood, arching her back to present her mouth and modest tits as an offering. She wanted to be below his cock, so he could use her throat from above. The position felt exposed, animalistic—exactly how she craved it—her offering a willing, wet hole and asking nothing in return but to provide primal gratification.

He responded quickly to her second command, shoving down his pyjama pants with the force of a dam bursting. His cock bounced free, already leaking pre-cum. He was thick. And long. With a slight curve toward the tip she didn’t recall from the previous night.

“Oh fuck, yeah!” Rhiannon breathed, then opened wide for him.

He climbed out of bed and took the two steps he needed to be standing right over her. The heat from his dick, the smell of his body, and the lingering scent of their fucking the night before filled Rhiannon with desperate need. She didn’t wait for him to take the lead, instead catching his cock with her mouth and drove it down until he bottomed out at the back of her throat.

“Fuck!” he gasped, sounding utterly shocked. He started to pull back, but Rhiannon drove her nails deep into his ass-cheeks and pulled him hard against her face once more. Tears welled as she struggled to relax, as she pulled him harder still, as she tried to force him down her throat.

Then she felt his fingers in her hair, gripping her tight and she nearly climaxed from that alone.

“Uuuh, kay,” Trystan said, mostly t0 himself, and pulled back—pulled Rhiannon away by her hair—and began pumping into her mouth. The first few strokes were slower than Rhiannon would’ve liked, but the way he was pulling her hair more than made up for it.

She encouraged him with her tongue, rolling and flexing, curling it against the underside, fluttering against the tip each time he nearly pulled out.

“Your fucking mouth,” he groaned as he rammed his cock back in, causing Rhiannon to snort and twist a little on the floor. “Fucking hell!” He slammed against the back of her throat again, and Rhiannon stifled a gag. “Mouth made for dick!”

Rhiannon made a whimpering sound she hoped sounded like agreement, but the way he was thrusting, the way he was slightly pulling her head to one side or the other with each attack, she knew he didn’t need any more encouragement.

“I bet—” thrust “—you got—” thrust “—cock—” THRUST “—in here—” thrust-thrust “—all the—” THRUST “—time!” He was in!

Rhiannon shuddered beneath his rough usage of her mouth and those words. She was holding one tit, squeezing and kneading it, and rubbing her clit furiously with two fingers, but the moment he finally entered her throat, she stopped completely. She gagged once, managed to control it, then waited for the real fun to begin.

“FUCK!” Trystan howled. “Tight!” He managed again, then yanked Rhiannon’s face off his throbbing cock only to bury it back down her throat again. Rhiannon gagged again, snorted again, and went back to masturbating on the floor while he used her head.

Again and again, he pounded her mouth; Rhiannon’s only sounds now were labored, desperate breathing, the wet sounds of her fingering her cunt, and the ‘gwack’ she made as he face-fucked her faster and harder still.

Finally, mercifully, just as she began to fear she might pass out—it was so hard to breathe like this—Trystan let out a growling wail. His smooth, shaven balls rested on Rhiannon’s chin, and he shot load after load of his hot cum directly down her throat. She tried to focus on milking him, but by now, she was cumming as well, sitting in a little puddle of her own sweat, spit, and sex juices.

The sun had left the bedroom, well on its way to its zenith, while Trystan and Rhiannon snuggled once more under the duvet.

“Hey.” Rhiannon’s voice was soft with a hint of mirth.

Trystan said nothing, just made a quiet, questioning ‘mmm’ sound.

“I still didn’t get proper a taste. You’re gonna need to try again.”

Knotty

Leaf Peeping

Fri, 10 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

“My name’s Harper, you can call me Harper.” That joke always got a few chuckles and a few groans, but Harper never gave up on it. I’ll marry the girl who laughs at that one, she’d joke to the other guides, who would invariably roll their eyes and change the subject.

“Today we’re doing the Maple Song Loop. I will be singing later; if I get compliments, I’ll bring you back!” More soft chuckles and she carried on, satisfied. “It’s a green trail, nothing difficult, but it’s about five miles. Expect we’ll be out for about three hours. That means your boots are laced tight–”

Harper kept going, sprinkling in easy jokes and light-hearted banter, but Alex’s attention drifted. It felt so good to be out of the city! Away from her too-large apartment, the noise, the endless bullshit filling her days. This is what I need, she thought. A long walk in the woods, fresh air, and the colors of fall. It renews the soul.

As the guide was wrapping up, Alex struggled to recall what Harper had just said. Harper, what a beautiful name! she thought, then giggled softly at her own silly smile. Maybe she’ll have to rescue me, she mused, a playful thought from her high school fantasies—more than a decade ago now.

“Everyone still okay?” Harper asked the group – eight in total, including herself – as they reached the first lookout. There was a murmur of affirmation and Harper settled into her usual spiel. The view was stunning, but her favourite spot wasn’t on the tour today; too tough for your typical leaf peeper.

Her attention drifted to the woman at the back of the group. She looked outdoorsy in that “fresh off the rack” way; adorable. A city girl really trying to fit in. Only a few years younger than herself, curvy in all the right places, practically giddy with excitement. Harper was pretty sure she’d heard her squeal when the wildlife got so close on this trail.

“Five minutes, then we move on to site two,” Harper finished, as the others spread out, snapping pictures and reading the signage. She approached the woman, who was kneeling and tying her laces. Again. “New at this?” she teased gently, nodding at her untied laces – they’d come undone three times already.

“What? Oh, no! I don’t know what it is about these stupid laces! They won’t stay tied.”

Harper smiled and crouched in front of her, “You’re tying them wrong, City Girl.” Harper’s tone was playful, gentle, friendly teasing. “Mind if I…?”

The woman looked momentarily confused, then blushed prettily and laughed, “Please!”

Harper took the laces, deliberately letting her fingertips brush linger on the back of City Girl’s hand. “You alternate sides, top and bottom,” she explained, showing her how a bow would stay secure or come loose. She looked up into the pretty brunette’s eyes and said, “Let me do the other one.”

“Alex,” the woman blurted.

“Hmm?”

“My name,” she said, surprised at herself. “It’s Alex.”

Now it was Harper’s turn to blush, “Hi, Alex.”

The sun edged toward the horizon as the group reached the trailhead parking lot. They were all rumpled and winded, but each took a moment to thank Harper, most promising to leave positive feedback. Harper smiled warmly, knowing most wouldn’t follow through, but every bit helped.

“This was just what I needed!” Alex exclaimed as the others departed. Harper offered Alex her warmest smile. The last few hours had kept Alex close and Harper had been more than a little charmed by how genuine and enthusiastic this city girl seemed, even when she was clearly struggling with the exertion.

Harper’s gaze sharpened, confident and teasing. “I’m glad,” she said smoothly, wrapping her arms around Alex in a quick, warm hug. She’d guessed Alex wanted more than just a handshake. Alex hesitated for a moment, then returned the hug with vigour.

When they parted, Harper caught the faintest blush and made up her mind. “It’s a shame we don’t get to visit my favourite spot,” she said softly. “You’d love it.”

Alex looked surprised. “Why doesn’t the tour go there?”

Harper’s smile deepened, confident and daring. “It’s not as easy as the Loop. And I wouldn’t take just anyone.”

Alex’s smile became a half-smirk. “Would you take me?”

“Show me your pack,” Harper said playfully but with a hint of seriousness. She inspected the items Alex has packed, nodding at some, frowning at others, then carefully repacked it with a sunny smile. “Alright, you probably won’t die if we get separated.”

A sudden fear washed over Alex; she paled. “Separated?”

Harper laughed and lightly touched Alex’s shoulder. “Relax! We won’t. But y’know… the people who do get lost in the woods are the ones who don’t plan for it.” She took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and deliberately let her chest rise and fall, the crisp morning air making her cleavage look especially inviting. She exhaled slowly, fog curling in the cold air. The day would warm up, but right now, Alex wished Harper had told her to bring a jacket.

They followed the Maple Song Loop a few hundred yards past the first lookout point when Harper pointed into the brush. “That way, that’s our trail.”

Alex peered sceptically at what could possibly be a trail, but could also be a slightly thin part of the trees. She was about to ask Harper for reassurance but the taller woman was already disappearing between the branches.

A short distance into the new trail, Alex caught up. She was relieved to see the path soon became much clearer, marked by a blue diamond trail marker on a tree. “Split Oak Hollow,” Harper called over her shoulder. “My little secret corner of the woods.”

“R-really?” Alex managed, her face already heating from the exertion; this incline was steeper than Maple Song’s gentle slope and the cold morning air made her cheeks burn.

Harper chuckled softly as she glanced back. Alex suddenly felt a pang of self-consciousness, but also a strange thrill—Maybe she really will have to rescue me.

“Don’t worry, city girl, it’s not far.” Harper said, her tone light and teasing.

Alex tried to process her words, but her focus was broken as she realised how much Harper resembled that ponytailed adventurer from those video games.

“What?” Alex gasped, voice breathy and shaky. Are we climbing a mountain? It didn’t look steep!

“About two hundred yards, then it levels out,” Harper said with a playful laugh. She was walking backward—how was she navigating this vertical cliff backwards?!

“Oh–kay,” Alex panted staring at her feet.

“I’m gonna die,” Alex groaned, pressing the heel of her palm hard into her side just below her ribs.

Harper laughed again and moved close – intoxicatingly so – murmuring, “Nobody dies on my hikes. Look.”

Alex looked.

She’d heard a waterfall since they left the Loop, but now they’d arrived. Somewhere above, a river spilled over a cliff, gathered in a pool here, then tumbled over the side and vanished below. Mist rose from the waterfall, catching the morning light; air itself strung with diamonds. Ahead was a sheer drop with a breathtaking view of a wide valley ablaze with red and gold.

Alex felt like she’d stepped into a storybook.

“Worth it?” Harper asked softly, standing very close behind her. When Alex turned to face her guide, no words came, only a nervous mm-hmm.

Harper’s hands rested gently on Alex’s hips, then she leaned in a little closer. Alex was suddenly acutely aware of Harper’s clean, simple scent. Soap, shampoo, beeswax lip balm. Harper smelled … uncomplicated. It was unbearably attractive.

“Okay?” Harper asked softly. Alex didn’t respond with words. Instead, she closed the distance and kissed Harper fiercely, both hands grabbing her behind. Harper’s hands moved slowly from Alex’s hips, slipping under her jacket, up her back until she felt ridges of Alex’s bra through her thin shirt. Alex moaned into Harper’s mouth, pressing her hips hard against Harper’s jeans. Harper didn’t break the kiss, she just paused, lips still against Alex’s, and softly laughed.

“Been holding back, city girl.”

Harper had spread a thick wool blanket over the bare rock, settling herself comfortably with her legs stretched out before her. Alex hesitated for a moment, then knelt down beside her, breath catching.

“Harper…?” she whispered, voice trembling.

Harper chuckled softly, trembling fingers grazing brushing her skin. “Yeah, city girl? Amazing view, huh?”

Alex’s voice was almost a plea. “I want you to see me.” Her heart hammered in her chest, loud and frantic, and she wondered if Harper could hear it. If she hadn’t been so nervous, she might have laughed at the fiery, eager look on her guide’s face.

Harper’s eyes darkened, a slow, knowing smile curling her lips. “I see you,” she purred, low and inviting, before leaning in just enough to ignite the spark.

Goosebumps rose on Alex’s skin as Harper undressed her. Harper was gentle, almost reverent, carefully placing each piece of Alex’s clothing at the edge of the blanket. Her gaze danced over Alex’s body and back to her face, her mouth, her eyes. “Beautiful,” Harper breathed. The cold morning air stung Alex’s skin, but Harper’s touch felt like fire.

Then, somehow, Alex was nude, both hands on Harper’s shoulders. They kissed, messy and clumsy with need, tongues and teeth and loud moans; when Harper squeezed Alex’s buttocks, she shivered all over. Alex somehow maintained the kiss as she shifted on the blanket, straddling Harper’s thigh and pressing herself down on her guide’s denim-covered leg.

Breaking the kiss, Harper gazed into Alex’s eyes as her fingers moved down Alex’s body. She found Alex’s clit, then slid further down along Alex’s folds. Alex gasped and clutched Harper’s flannel shirt as if it were a lifeline, rocking her hips, grinding against Harper’s fingers and her thigh. The contrast made Alex whimper; the icy morning biting her shoulders, Harper’s touch igniting her from within. She rocked harder and was sure she heard Harper oh-oh-ohhh in response.

“Let go,” Harper whispered, steady, confident, fingers deep inside as the morning sun kissed Alex in places it had never before seen. “I’ve got you, Alex.”

She did. Hearing her name on Harper’s lips pushed her over the most wonderful peak. Pleasure ripped through her, sudden and fierce, her body arching, her cry stifled as she buried her face in Harper’s neck. The morning air was sharp in her lungs, her skin flushed and glowing.

When it ebbed, she slumped forward, sweat dampening Harper’s shirt. For the first time, she didn’t care how she looked, didn’t care who she was supposed to be. She was warm, sated, and free.

Knotty