Page 41 of Running Feral

“Did I touch you somewhere you didn’t like? Or too hard, or do something that hurt?”

I think about it, my mind percolating like sludge, but I can’t think of anything, so I shake my head ‘no’.

More thinking.

“Was it because I rolled on top of you?”

I involuntarily hiss in a breath, and Gunnar nods. We both realize it at the same time. Even as the thought hits me, I can feel the ghost of his body weight on mine, crushing me into the mattress.

Which isn’t right. He wasn’t crushing me; he was barely leaning on me at all. But apparently that part of my brain decided to be way, way, way out of pocket and take its paranoia to the extreme.

“Okay. Okay,” he repeats, almost to himself. “That makes sense. I won’t do that again.”

Gunnar pauses and looks at me—really looks at me, holding my gaze as if he’s trying to inject me with whatever weird zen he seems to be full of.

“What do you want to do now?”

Ugh. Choices. Why is he giving me choices? I’m not good at organizing my thoughts at the best of times. This feels like a punishment.

I can’t gather enough words together for a sentence, so I shrug. Then I make sure to tug at his shirt, so he knows I don’t want him to go any farther away, which pulls a small smile out of him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Do you want to try to sleep some more?”

I shake my head. Fuck that. Like I need the extra nightmares.

“Do you want to get up and go do normal-people things until you can reset?”

Again—ugh. This time I answer with a whine that I hope is more adorable than annoying, throwing myself toward him and rubbing my face all over his shirt. It’s practically wrecked at this point from all my manhandling and I’m a little proud of myself.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips, and he puts both his arms around me, letting one of those warm palms smooth up and down my back.

“Ok, we’re not getting up yet. I’m out of ideas. Do you wanna just lie here? Snuggle?”

I snort, because the word sounds ridiculous coming out of his beardy, manly mouth. But it’s also pretty sweet.

Climbing up the last few inches of his body, I press my mouth against his. It’s chaste, but I don’t let him pull away. After a few seconds of tension, we both relax into it.

Eventually, we end up exactly where we were before—lying on our sides, clinging to each other while exploring each other’s mouths. His thick leg is in between mine and I’m riding it like a desperate teenager, while he’s making these deep, reality-shifting, mind-numbingly hot moans every time I touch him basically anywhere.

Once the arbitrary panic has finally fled my body, my hard-on is back in force. All my thoughts of embarrassment are gone, and I’m chasing that high from before. Gunnar is hard too, although I notice that he’s being very careful about where he touches me, and to not hold himself too close against my body.

I hate it. I understand it, and the kindness behind it is kind of heart-wrenching, actually. But right now, I just need to come, and I want him to be holding me when I do.

“More,” I beg in between kisses. “Touch me again, please.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod, looking him in the eye as our breath mingles between us.

“Please.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Only a flicker.

Then it’s replaced by resolve. Gunnar rolls onto his back, leaving my heart lurching after him like I’m being abandoned. But his hands quickly reach out to grab me. Even from the awkward angle, he lifts me so easily. In a few seconds I’ve been rearranged to straddle his lap, while he scoots up until he’s half sitting, propped against the headboard.

“How’s this?” he asks, while he grabs my ass with one hand and encourages me to grind against him.

“Hnng.”

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