Page 28 of Roughing It

“What are you doing?” We’re still wound together, and she studies me warily.

I’m painfully aware of the hard-on pressing against her hip. Fucking morning wood. And city sirens.

“Your arms are around me.” And mine are still around her, but I don’t point that out.

“What are you implying?” she asks but makes no move away.

We’re locked in a fucked up game of chicken, neither of us willing to give in first.

“You’re on my part of the bed.”

“So you think we’re all snuggled up because of me? If I remember correctly, and I do, you’re the one who crawled into the bed last night.” When I don’t answer her, waves crash in her ocean eyes. “You’re holding me just as much.”

I pull my arms away—losing the battle—and put an inch of space between us. “It’s not like I grabbed your leg in the middle of the night and put it between my thighs.”

“I don’t know, Hudson, maybe you did.”

Her indignant huff puts a burr under my saddle. “I don’t make it a habit of cuddling with city women with more shoes than sense.” As I say it, I roll to my side and shift, giving her my back.

“And I don’t make it a habit of talking to jerks who sleep-hug people without their knowledge.”

Her words drive me to my feet, angry at my body’s reaction to her, frustrated with her for curling into me, annoyed at theuniverse for wanting so much more. My fingers flex, and I fight the desire to cup her chin and shut her sassy fucking mouth with mine. I fold my arms. Better than accidentally giving in. “So does this mean I get a reprieve from your constant nattering?”

“Who even says nattering anymore? Who are you, Davy Crockett?”

I grunt and stomp to the bathroom, leaving her on the bed, sulky and deliciously sleep-rumpled.

To my retreating back, she hollers, “You better not take too long in there!”

The way my dick tries to jump out of my pants, it won’t be long at all. In the relative safety of the only doored room in the cabin, I let out a groan and shoot daggers at my cock. Fucking traitor.

How the hell did Blakely and I end up with our arms and legs around each other? And why did it feel so fucking good? It’s been years since I’ve wanted someone the way I want her. I swear she was safely on her side of the bed when I crawled in a little after midnight. It’s nearly seven now. Did we spend the entire night that way?

I’m not a heavy sleeper, but I’ll be damned if I stirred even once. Not until the scent of flowers and fruit flooded my senses. My hand drifts to my cock, giving it a tight squeeze. I dig in the medicine cabinet before uncapping the lid on a familiar clear bottle.

I work myself, using the lube to ease the rough friction from my touch, but before long, it isn’t my work-worn, oversized paw sliding down the length of my dick; no, it’s a smaller, softer hand. One with pale pink polish that can’t quite close around it. The fantasy takes on a life of its own, transforming to Blakely on her knees, that pouty, petulant, perfect mouthlicking my cock. I grit my teeth and drop my head, my heavy pants bouncing off the walls.

Her glowing skin against my larger body, writhing, sweating, panting. Her puffy lips stretched and swollen around me. Fuck. With a groan, I come, my head falling forward, torn between satisfaction and defeat.

I’ve got to get a grip. Well, the other kind of grip. I flush and wash away the evidence, giving myself a stern talking-to while I brush my teeth. She’s a city woman. She’s not staying, and she’s not interested. I’m making a fool of myself, falling into a trap I swore I never would again. After another round of reminders, I’m ready to tackle whatever the fuck today brings my way.

But as soon as I’m back in her presence, Blakely surprises me.

“Hey. Peace offering?” She has two cups of coffee and a smile. So fucking pretty. She hasn’t added the armor she calls makeup yet. She’s beautiful then, too, but I prefer her this way, effortlessly perfect in her imperfection.

I freeze, thinking about what I did behind the bathroom door. Fuck, I hope she wasn’t there the whole time.

Her grin dims. “This morning was awkward, and we both said some things. Anyway, I don’t want to spend the entire month fighting. So we spooned a little in our sleep; it’s no biggie.”

Our fingers brush when I take the coffee, and I swear she shivers.

I clear my throat and say, “Seeing how you aren’t up to hiking, we’ll get a baseline of your wilderness experience and survival skills.” Something else I should’ve done yesterday before taking her on the hike.

“Fine. I need to get ready.”

She raises a single arched eyebrow at me as if to say,move the fuck out of my way, asshole. So I do.

And thus begins day motherfucking two.

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