Page 133 of Roughing It

But rather than the truth, I say, “Your arms around me while the sun sets over the lake.”One last perfect memory with you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

hudson

As the sun sets, I think about our first time hiking this same path, that disastrous first day where Blakely had a fit over sore, aching feet. Feet I rubbed and soothed without even thinking of why I was doing it. Already captivated by her. Then I think about the second hike, the sunrise she didn’t film, the one that will always belong to us no matter what else happens.

And then, her asking me to come with her plays in my mind. I asked her to stay, and she countered. But I can’t leave. I can’t. I’ll never be happy in Austin, but if she gives it a chance, Blakely can be happy here. Maybe that makes me a pompous, delusional asshole, but she belongs in Trail Creek. She belongs with me.

More frustrating than all of it, though, is her refusal to talk. To make a decision. She pushed it off, and I let her.

I hold her—watching her watch the sky change. There will never be a sunset or sunrise, a star-strewn sky, that holds a candle to Blakely. New shades dance across her skin, bright orange fading to hot pink and burning to rich violet. I’m struck once again by her beauty. My body reacts on instinct, lipssweeping over the sensitive spot behind her ear, along her jaw, down her shoulders. Blakely’s fingers lace with mine, pulling my arms around her waist. When the final bits of gold disappear I help her to her feet, and we return to the place we’ve shared and made a home for the past month.

The moment she burst into my black-and-white world, a beautiful, bratty, pretend princess, Blakely changed me. She brought color and joy and things I didn’t know I was missing. But I never thought I’d long for her to stay or of how empty my life will be without her loud, frustrating, life-altering presence.

How did this happen? How did I fall head over heels for a woman like Blakely Bradshaw? A woman never meant to be mine. But the thought of her leaving makes me want to tie her to our bed with knots so intricate she can’t break free. I draw her closer, her breath hitching as I brush my hands up her back and down her sides.

“It’s your last night. Tomorrow you leave. No more tiny one-room cabin for you, Princess. Unless?—”

She silences my attempt at bringing up the looming threat of tomorrow, pressing her fingers to my lips. The shudder she gives when I nip at the pads makes my dick twitch. But when she stays quiet, I frown—willing her to say something. Anything.

Kissing her knuckles, I pull her hand away. “I’ve tried to figure out how to make you stop talking for the last month, and now you go silent on me?”

“Don’t call me Princess.”

There she is—my Spitfire.

She unbuttons my shirt. Her lips travel from my neck to my collarbone, before stopping over my heart. Can she hear my desire, my love, with every beat? It’s ridiculous, the effect this woman has on me.

Her hands travel lower, skimming my thighs with the tipsof her fingers. When she ghosts over my cock, I stop her. It’s my turn. I take my time. I want her scent, her flavor, her touch burned in my brain.

But more than that, I want her to be mine. Forever.

“Stay,” I mumble against her neck between open mouth kisses.

“It’s not fair to say that while your hands and lips are on my body, Bear.” She deflects my attempt to talk about tomorrow, and instead, pulls me to our bed. The place where I’ve come to know her inside and out over the last month.

I can’t wait another second. My hunger for her overwhelms me, and I crush my lips to hers in a bruising kiss. I swallow her moans, my tongue coiling with hers. Breathlessly, I pull away before blazing a path down her jaw to her neck, the rough edges of my teeth scraping against her skin, eliciting shudders from her body.

My mouth moves lower, down her sternum, nipping at the skin between the valley of her breasts before taking one of those perfect pink nipples and working it with my tongue and teeth until she’s arching up from the bed. I know the signs of her body, how much is too much. I have a motherfucking PhD in Blakely Bradshaw.

“Fuck me, Blakely, you have the best tits.” Cupping her breasts reverently in my rough hands, I push them together before nuzzling my face against her hard nipples, worshiping her body as befitting a goddess.

I push a knee between her legs, teasing her before pulling away. “So eager. We have all night. Need you to be patient.”

Like a petulant child, she shakes her head and pouts. “My bratty Blakely, you better watch that lip, or someone’s gonna bite it.”

At my words, she pushes her bottom lip out further and stomps her foot into the mattress for good measure. Oh, she’sgetting a spanking. I nip her plump lip and give her inner thigh a sharp slap.

“Hudson. I need you.”

“And I told you to be patient. If you’re a bad girl, I’ll keep you right on the edge, aching to come, dripping and desperate until the sun comes up.”

Her panted pleas for more drive me lower. She’s writhing and mewling as I nibble the back of her knees and my fingers creep up her thighs. When my fingers ghost over her pulsing pussy, she bucks her hips.

With a smirk, I pin her to the bed, locking her beneath me. A piece of me longs to draw this out, to make her beg, but another part wants nothing more than to give in. To spend the night buried in her, tasting her, fucking her, pleasing her until we’re both too tired to worry about what dawn will bring.

“I plan on savoring you. Especially if this is our last night together.” The pain of that thought tempers my lust briefly before it comes roaring back.

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