Page 72 of Head Over Heels

“Where did you get these hot dogs? They’rereallygood.”

He laughs. “That’s the camping talking. Everything tastes amazing after a day on the trail. They’re just Oscar Mayer grocery-store hot dogs.”

Seriously, it’s the best hot dog ever.

The sun goes down while we’re eating—thank you, amazingly long Pacific Northwest summer days!—and the air’s cold now. I drag our sleeping bags down near the fire and climb into mine, wrapping it around me waist high. In the dark, it’s like something out of a book, the two of us sitting next to the fire, flames licking bright and cheerful. He gets out the s’mores makings and we spear marshmallows. Predictably, I suck at making s’mores and he has Eagle Scout–level skills. Two of mine go up in flames while he produces golden-brown perfection. He sandwiches it with a piece of dark chocolate between two half graham crackers, opens his mouth wide while I watch, drooling…

Then holds it out to me, intact. “Just kidding. It was always for you.”

Oh, my God, it’s good. I mean, gourmet good. Why don’t they serve this in restaurants more often as dessert? Like a big pan of graham crust with melty marshmallow and chocolate.

“Oface,” Chase says, as I pop the last bite of s’more in my mouth.

His eyes are dark.

“What?”

“You make anOface when you eat something you really love.”

Something about the firelight slows time down, so when he leans in to kiss me I have an eternity to deliciously anticipate.

Chapter 37

Chase

Liv kisses me like I’m essential for her survival, like I’m food and oxygen both at once. Her mouth is sweet with marshmallow and chocolate, and her tongue tangles with mine like we’re wrestling. Something about the challenge of that gets me going, same as when we spar with words. It’s like I have to get the better of her, and in this case, that means I have to kiss her into submission. Kiss her till she can’t remember her name, or mine, or where we are.

My mouth still on hers, I unzip the sleeping bag that’s wrapped around her and spread it under her, easing her down. I release her long enough to open the other bag—

“Come back,” she whimpers.

I spread the other open bag over her and begin undressing her underneath it, pants first. She helps.

“Leave your shirt and your sweater on, but push them up. Take your bra off.”

“Not wearing a bra,” she whispers. “I wouldn’t be wearing panties, either, but my camping guru told me to bring only one pair of pants and I didn’t want to ruin them the first time you kissed me or touched me or talked to me or—”

I kiss her and remove the panties in question. They’re damp, which makes me want to bury my face between her legs, no preliminaries. But I promised I’d eat her out while the cold air pinched her nipples, and I don’t want to deprive her of any part of the camping experience.

I tug the sleeping bag cover up above her waist and she does as told, leaving her shoulders and belly covered but her breasts bare. Her nipples shrink and tighten in the cold. I kneel, bend close, and take them in my mouth, one, then the other, flicking the hard nubs with my tongue. She moans and clutches my head.

“The one you’re not sucking is so cold,” she tells me.

“Keep talking,” I instruct.

“It’s so tight it hurts. And I can feel the tingle all the way down. It’s like there’s a cord and when my nipple tightens, it pulls on the cord and my clit and my pussy feel it too.”

I make a choked sound.

“What is it? Me sayingpussy? I don’t actually think of it that way,” she says matter-of-factly. “I usually sayvagina,honestly, but you saidpussy,so I figured that’s what turns you on. And whatever turns you on turns me on.”

“Convenient,” I gasp around her breast. My hand circles it while my tongue works the tip, and I’m so mindlessly hard it’s all I can do not to rub myself against her thigh, but if I do that I’ll be gone in a few good thrusts.

I crawl under the sleeping bag and reposition myself between her legs, the head of my dick—still clothed in boxers and hiking shorts—so close to the pussy in question that I can feel heat radiating. It’s hot under the covers, so I throw off my sweater and T-shirt, settling my bare chest against her belly and once again turning my attention to her gorgeous breasts. Overflowing handfuls, dark-tipped, incredibly sensitive—

She moans and thrashes, and I can feel her trying to get purchase on me, trying to get what she wants—friction, pressure, something to fill her emptiness. I slide farther down, breathing heat over her skin until I can tease my nose against her slit, the salty scent of her overwhelming my senses. I flick my tongue along the seam, and she cries out. I return my hands to her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, flicking them, while I let my tongue tease so lightly at her mound that it must be driving her fucking mad.

“Chase,” she begs.