May 2026 – Listen Here

There are, I think, a thousand versions of Robin Hood.

The outlaw.
The strategist.
The fox in Lincoln green, slipping laughing through Sherwood beneath cathedral canopies of oak.
The devoted lover forever reaching for Maid Marian across danger and distance alike.

Ballads paint him dashing.
Theatre makes him charming.
Cinema grants him arrows, swagger, rebellion, and impossible precision beneath moonlit branches.

But none of those stories linger long enough upon the unnerving reality of standing before a man carved so thoroughly from myth that your own pulse forgets itself for a moment.

This is the story I wish to tell.

Not the legend.

The man.

_________

Robin Hood arrived precisely on time.

Not a moment early.
Not a moment late.

And cradled within one enormous hand – absurdly gentle for a man built like a fortress gate – rested a tiny offering from his beloved forest. A potted little thing with two uncertain stalks and hesitant leaves stretching upward as though still deciding whether the world itself could be trusted.

I beamed instantly.

Truly beamed.

My mind had already wandered halfway across my apartment, musing for the perfect patch of sunlight worthy of such a gift.

He stood there watching me with those dark hawk-like eyes, broad shoulders nearly swallowing the doorway whole, possessing the sort of presence that might calm frightened children without a single spoken word while simultaneously persuading wicked men to reconsider every decision that had brought them there.

Broad.
Indomitable.
Steady.

There are some men who enter a room.

And there are others who alter the atmosphere of it entirely.

Robin Hood belonged firmly to the latter.

A beard shadowed his jaw ruggedly, untamed as the edges of Sherwood itself, while the loosened collar of his shirt revealed dark curling chest hair that only deepened the impression that the forest had shaped him personally from bark, shadow, oakmoss, and storm clouds.

And yet – we were shy.

That was the delicious surprise of it all.

It is one thing to be fearless through glowing screens and daylight messages where imagination may roam riotous and unchecked.

I fluttered my lashes.
He crooked a grin.
His voice rolled low as distant thunder somewhere beyond the trees.

And suddenly we were laughing softly together as though trying not to startle whatever strange enchantment had gathered between us.

Music drifted through the apartment while we settled upon the couch.

Then closer.

Then closer still.

Until I found myself straddling his lap upon the couch, music murmuring low and velvet-smooth somewhere behind us while his mouth claimed mine with heated curiosity, every slow shift of my hips drew me over the hard, aching length of him trapped beneath rough denim restraint, and gods… I adored it. The sheer solidity of him. The way his body seemed built from oak and storm-dark iron. Formidable enough to ruin, yet holding me with such startling care that my entire chest tightened beneath the contradiction of it.

Because that was the dangerous thing about him.

Not merely the strength.

But the restraint of it.

His hands wandered my waist with deliberate hunger while I moved against him in slow, thoughtless rhythm, the friction drawing stormfire lower and lower inside me until it unfurled molten beneath my skin. I could feel him fighting the confines of denim each time I pressed down into his lap, thick and insistent and impossible to ignore, and the sensation alone nearly made my thoughts scatter.

The straps of my dress slipped from my shoulders one by one beneath wandering kisses.

His beard grazed my skin in rough, delicious passes.

His lips hovered over the curve of my throat before he lowered himself further, mouth trailing over the buxom fullness of my breasts as though acquainting himself with them were sacred work rather than simple desire. Not hurried. Not greedy. Reverent in a way that made my pulse stumble helplessly behind my ribs.

He nuzzled softly first – slow, exploring – before his mouth closed in lingering kisses that left heat blooming everywhere he touched. I remember threading trembling fingers through thick hair, the entire room reduced to pulse, denim, wandering mouths, and the devastating gentleness of a man who understood precisely how imposing he was.

And when he finally lowered me back onto the couch cushions, parting me with patient hands and tasting me with almost unbearable tenderness, it was not ravenousness that undid me.

It was the care.

The way this broad, magnetic creature handled me like something precious while I came apart beneath him anyway.

The world beyond us began dissolving shortly thereafter.

Kissing.
Laughter.
Urgency.

My boldness startled even me when I seized his hand and drew him toward the bedroom as though Sherwood itself had finally succeeded in luring me deeper beneath its shadowed canopy.

He followed with that war-seasoned, dark-eyed amusement of a man entirely aware of what he did to women.

The rogueish.

The wolf among greenwood legends.

And gods help me, I went willingly.

Clothing fell away piece by piece like abandoned armor scattered across the forest floor after battle.

And gods – the size of him.

Not merely physically, though certainly that too, but the entirety of his presence. The breadth of his chest beneath my palms. The astonishing strength coiled through his arms. The rough heat of his body as I pressed tentative kisses across newly bared skin, learning his scent and essence, my lips wrapped around his adamantine cock, while he rested, relaxed on my slate-colored pillows like some unassailable creature.

I was relieved to sense the eagerness growing between us.

The way my hesitation began slipping from me in increments.

The roughened catch in his breathing whenever my mouth lingered too long became its own intoxicating encouragement. My tongue teasingly tracing him while my hands explored lower with growing confidence, and gods… my Inner Goddess was entirely in her element then – preening beneath every visible fracture in his composure.

The dark, hungry gaze fixed upon me made molten need coil low in my stomach.

Every reaction became its own private victory.

Every flutter beneath my touch another stolen prize lifted straight from the king’s treasury.

By the time I finally brought him trembling toward the edge, his self-command had frayed beautifully around the edges, ironstead hands tightening fiercely against the sheets while my own pulse fluttered with wicked satisfaction.

Then came that first devastating thrust.

Not hurried.

Not careless.

A slow, burning stretch that stole the breath clean from my lungs and forced my eyes shut beneath the sheer overwhelming fullness of him.

My body instinctively curled beneath him at once, legs winding around his waist while his larger frame settled over mine completely – surrounding me with weight, steadiness, gravity. His beard whiskered softly against my cheek as thunder rolled distantly beyond the windows.

And in that moment, I understood why legends had been written about men like him.

Not because they wielded bows or blades.

But because being gathered beneath them felt dangerously close to surrendering yourself to myth itself.

And once caught within the pull of it, I finally understood how women wandered willingly into Sherwood and forgot the safer road home.

My arms wrapped a little tighter around him.
My cheek pressed against his breast.
My head tucked beneath the blanketed shelter of his beard.

And I shattered.

One august leg braced on the maple floor beside the bed while the other anchored against the mattress, his body driving into mine with measured force that unmade another coherent thought inside my skull each time he moved. I clung helplessly to the headboard while thunder murmured somewhere beyond the windows, low and distant, but inside the room, another storm had already taken hold. 

His breath broke hot against my temple.

The mattress shuddered softly beneath us.

The sheer force of him drove pleasure through me in relentless waves until my body no longer seemed entirely my own.

Outside, rain peppered the darkened glass.

Inside, another tempest answered it.

Again.
Again.
Again.

Wave after wave until thought itself fractured apart into sensation – into fever, pressure, trembling ruin, and the unbearable feeling of being held together and destroyed by the same pair of hands. 

I thrilled at his release, a private triumph stolen from Sherwood’s most notorious bow-sworn. The sound he made against my throat nearly undid me all over again – low, roughened, unguarded in a way that felt impossibly intimate from a man otherwise built so thoroughly of control.

Afterward, we collapsed together onto the bed in a tangle of overheated limbs and damp skin, the room rich with the lingering evidence of indulgence. My cheek rested against the broad plane of his chest while the old radio murmured softly somewhere nearby, its music threading together with the steady ticking of the clock as though the night itself had settled into a slower rhythm around us.

For several long moments, neither of us moved.

I merely traced idle patterns across burnished skin while he gathered me closer with the lazy ease of a man deeply satisfied.

Then, after a time, he tilted his head toward me with wicked amusement flickering beneath heavy-lidded eyes and confessed – voice gravel-rough from everything we had done to one another – that given only the briefest reprieve, he would be more than capable of beginning again.

Gods of Olympus.

The shameless delight that unfurled through me at those words nearly made my Inner Goddess preen outright.

Because some women lose themselves to poets, and others to kings – but I, apparently, could be thoroughly dismantled by a woodland rogue carved straight from forbidden ballads. 

And so we did.

Not with the frantic curiosity of before.

This time slower.

Time ceased behaving normally after that.

I rose above him moon-drunk, wild-hearted, entirely beyond salvation now. My fingers spread across the breadth of his chest, clutching him as though he were the only earthly thing capable of anchoring me while I moved upon him beneath the storm-lit dark.

The world narrowed to candleglow while rain jeweled the windows beyond us.

Mmmm.

The expression on his face then.

Obsidian eyes glittering with unmistakable masculine delight each time my hips rolled against him, watching me come gloriously apart astride his body beneath the whirling fan.

Every movement drew another fractured sound from my throat.
Every grin upon his mouth grew slightly more sinful.

And somewhere beneath the boiling skies, I realized with feminine satisfaction that the legendary archer was enjoying this every bit as shamelessly as I was.

Every breathless rise carried me nearer some celestial edge where thought dissolved into silver and lightning.

I felt magnificent.

Not delicate.

Not fragile.

A goddess astride the ruin of her own restraint, hair tumbling wildly around my shoulders while pleasure climbed higher and higher until it became almost unbearable to contain inside mortal skin.

Then suddenly – that sharp, impossible crest.

My spine arched.

My mouth parted soundlessly.

And liquid warmth gushed between us in helpless abundance, trailing down the curves of his hips while astonishment flashed hot across my face almost as quickly as ecstasy itself.

“Oh gods – I’m sorry – ”

The apology escaped in pieces, mortified laughter tangled with lingering aftershocks as I buried my face briefly against his chest, entirely unprepared to reveal that particular secret. But instead of recoiling, instead of embarrassment or uncertainty, his grin only widened.

Wider.

Wolfish.

Positively delighted.

His hands slid up my thighs with unmistakable relish, and the look he gave me then carried the telltale arrogance of a man who had just discovered he could bring this mortal to the gates of heaven itself with his body alone.

Which, naturally, only made my Inner Goddess lift her chin higher.

There were languid moments rich with sweetness – foreheads pressed together while our mouths explored one another lazily between laughter and breathless little gasps.

Later, tangled beneath rain-murmured darkness and tangled sheets, he gathered me against him from behind until I was entirely enclosed within the vast shelter of his body once more.

One heavy arm curved around my waist.

His beard brushed the back of my shoulder. Kisses on the nape of my neck.

Every measured thrust, every sinful collision of our bodies, the sharp smack of skin against skin, sent another delicious shiver along my spine as we moved together with growing abandon, surrendering further and further to the scandalous possibilities of the evening.

I could feel the strain in him building again.

The uneven catch of his breathing against my goose-flecked flesh.

The way his fingers tightened at my hip whenever my body drew him deeper.

And heavens… the building pressure of it nearly undid me more thoroughly than anything earlier had.

Not spectacle.

Not conquest.

This.

The darkened room.

The steady ticking clock.

His enormous frame curled protectively behind mine while my body welcomed him again and again with helpless groans until at last he buried his face flush with my shoulder and gave himself over entirely, a low broken sound escaping him as release coursed through him for the second time that night.

_______________________

We shared a bottle of water, lounging upon the couch between lingering kisses.

His fingers hooked at my waist and drew me nearer until I melted once more into his lap, my thoughts honey-dazed after the evening’s relentless pleasures. With practiced ease, he shifted me until my legs draped over the broad crook of his arms, his mouth wandering idly along my throat while visible amusement deepened each time another involuntary shudder passed through me. 

Then suddenly—

motion.

He rose from the couch with me gathered effortlessly to his chest as though carrying women through hidden woodland corridors belonged naturally among his many forged talents.

I laughed breathlessly, startled by the ease of it, clutching at his shoulders while the apartment blurred around us in fragments of thunderlight and shadow.

The hallway.

The velvet-hung windows.

The unmistakable architecture of a battle-forged chest, immense and oak-solid beneath my breasts.

My back met the only blank wall of my bedroom, and I gave a startled gasp at its sudden coldness, and his mouth captured mine with such singular focus that every coherent thought fled at once. Between us, the mushroomed crown and rigid girth of his desire against my abdomen drew another helpless sound from deep within my chest while the hallway dissolved into hazy, shadow, and spinning disarray.

I was carried to the bed and laid carefully against the sheets, foolishly assuming that marked the end of my encounter with the wall. But it proved only a brief reprieve while he paused long enough to sheath himself before gathering me upward once more, my legs hooking instinctively over his arms as though my body already understood his intentions before I did.

My back met the austere wall again moments later.

Another startled groan escaped me.

And gods – the sheer exhilaration and ripe novelty of it. 

The pulse of music filling the air.
The sustained rhythm as he ruthlessly drove into me.
The impossible strength required to hold me there while his mouth stole every coherent thought directly from my skull.

I cried out.
Not from embarrassment.
Not from fear.
But from sheer excess.

Pleasure overflowing its mortal container.

Nectar gushed everywhere while astonishment and ecstatic disbelief tangled together inside my mind so completely that I could do little more than cling to him and cry brokenly against his mouth as he carried me toward the bed once more with entirely too much masculine smugness glittering in his darkened eyes.

The night dissolved after that into tangled sheets, wandering hands, not-so-hushed moans, and bodies finding one another again and again in increasingly improper arrangements.

Above me.
Beneath me.

I adored wriggling against him with shameless eagerness, my body endlessly seeking more as his hands tightened firmly at my hips, guiding, driving, thoroughly intent on drawing every outrageous sound he possibly could from my lips and body.

By the time the third release finally overtook him, his forehead dropped briefly against my shoulder, chest heaving beneath the aftermath. A deeply self-satisfied grin threatened helplessly at my own lips, entirely bewildered by his endurance.

Three times.
Gods above. Sherwood’s protectors were apparently built from considerably sturdier material than ordinary men. 

The triumph radiating from my Inner Goddess afterward could very well have lit a beacon for a fortnight.

And somewhere amidst the disheveled sheets, blissful surrender, and candlelit aftermath, I realized what my body had truly been starving for during the long hours of an ordinary day.

Not merely pleasure. Relief.

The dizzy freedom of disappearing briefly inside indulgence so complete that the rest of the world simply ceased to matter.

No schedules.
No burdens.
No careful carrying of the world upon my spine.

Only candlelight.
Robin Hood’s arms around me.
The delicious recklessness of forgetting responsibility for one fleeting, enchanted evening.

By the time the weather finally threatened in earnest, we lay panting and glistening amid the aftermath, flirting shamelessly despite euphoric exhaustion. Contagious amusement still lingered unmistakably in his darkened eyes.

There was still mischief.
Still temptation.

Had the hour been kinder and the weather less ominous, I suspect Sherwood’s merry lord might very well have ruined me all over again.

But legends belong partly to the road.
To the forest.
To the arms of the beloved Maid Marion.

So eventually he dressed.

Pressed lingering kisses to my mouth.
Promised to send word once he returned safely to Sherwood Forest.

And then he was gone.

I locked my door afterward with one enormous sigh curling through me from head to toe, equal parts exhaustion, lightheartedness, and distinctly feminine victory.

Just one glorious evening with Sherwood’s favorite archer, who stepped out of legend long enough to leave my cheeks flushed, my limbs boneless, and my Inner Goddess unbearably self-congratulatory before vanishing once more into the forest where he belonged.

Until next time, XO. Elsie