Page 25 of Kind of a Bad Idea

I hit the ground with a cry of pain, my breath rushing out of my lungs with enough force to leave me paralyzed.

I’m still on the ground, clutching at my chest beneath the limbs, fighting to suck in oxygen and assess my injuries at the same time, when suddenly Seven is there. He lifts the tree off me and tosses it aside like it weighs nothing at all, his soaked hair flying around his face as he moves.

For a moment, as I lie there in the mud, looking up at him, I can’t help but think how fucking gorgeous he is when he’s filthy and worried about me. But soon, the fact that I can’t breathe becomes my one and only concern.

I roll onto my side, attempting to struggle out of my pack—thinking that maybe getting the straps off will help—but it’s like my chest is caving in. My shoulders curl forward, no matter how hard I try to roll them back, and my fingers are going numb.

“Lie still. I’ve got you.” Seven crouches beside me, quickly freeing the clasp holding my straps together across the top of my chest.

In seconds he has my pack off and is running gentle hands over my neck and ribs to check for broken bones. I try to tell him that I’m okay—I just can’t breathe—but oxygen is required for speaking, as well.

All I can do is wheeze and panic in earnest as my brain begins to ache in my skull and the next inhalation refuses to come.

“In your belly, baby,” he says. “Breathe into your belly.”

He shifts on top of me, guiding my arms up over my head. Pinning both my wrists to the ground with one hand, he brings the other to press lightly against my stomach, just below my ribs.

“Right here,” he says, his worried gaze locked on mine as he gives my belly a gentle shake. “Breathe into my palm. Drop your diaphragm and fill your stomach with air.”

I try, I really do, but my ribs remain locked and the panic is becoming overwhelming. Silent tears stream down my face as my heart threatens to pound through my ribs, and for a moment, I’m certain I’m going to die.

I’m going to die from getting the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be a sad punchline in some medical journal somewhere, like those people who died from hiccups, and my family will never live it down. My mother will have yet another reason to be upset about my weirdness, her black sheep of a daughter who couldn’t even die in a normal way, and Wendy Ann will never forgive herself for her disastrous attempt at playing matchmaker.

Black fuzz creeps in around the edges of my vision and my arms go numb. I realize I’m losing consciousness, but before my eyes can slide closed, Seven’s face is inches from mine, whispering, “Breathe, Binx McGuire. You fucking breathe for me, baby. Right now. That’s an order.”

Then, he kisses me—really kisses me. His lips press against mine, firm and demanding, laying claim to my mouth with an intensity that sends a wave of shock zipping through me from head to toe.

Thank God, the shock wave is enough to set my body free. The vice around my ribs loosens with a spasm. I gasp in a breath, filling the hand Seven still presses to my stomach and then some.

I pant against his lips as he murmurs, “That’s it, there you go. You’re okay. You’re okay now, baby, I promise.”

He releases my wrists and starts to shift away, but I move faster. I curl my fingers around his neck, dragging him back into my arms, and for once, he doesn’t fight me.

He comes to me with a groan, kissing me even harder this time, his tongue stroking into my mouth and his hands suddenly everywhere. His touch is still gentle, concerned, but I can feel the hunger there, too.

This isn’t just fear, this is longing, passion.

He has to feel it, too. He just has to.

I wrap my legs around his hips and flex my muscles, drawing him closer, my hope bolstered by the rock-hard length behind his fly. I moan and lift my hips, thrilling to the feel of him pulsing against me through our clothes.

He wants me, he really does. He wants me and he’s finally done fighting it.

He grinds between my legs, making my breath rush out against his lips as we continue to kiss like we’re never going to get enough. I know I never will. Kissing him is even better than I imagined it would be. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, even while lying in cold mud that smells vaguely of earthworms.

“Fuck, Binx,” he rumbles against my lips in between frantic, hungry kisses. “You feel so fucking good.”

“I want you so much,” I say, shuddering as he continues to fuck me through our clothes. I haven’t made out like this since high school, but it’s indescribably hot. It doesn’t matter that we’re both still fully dressed and covered in mud and soaked to the skin, I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.

This relieved…

This is all I’ve wanted for so long. Just the chance to be this close to him, to show him how much he means to me.

“You’re the only one,” I continue, arching into his touch as he cups my breast though my shirt, squeezing tight enough to send another jolt of arousal rocketing straight to my core. “I don’t want anyone else. I’ll never want anyone else. It’s just you, Seven. Just you.”

He stiffens against me, and I instantly know I’ve said too much.

“No,” I insist, gripping the front of his shirt as he tries to pull away. “No, you can’t run away from me. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”

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