Page 5 of Reckless Harmony

“Yes,” she said, trying hard to remember that despite their mutual hatred, Stark was trying to help her instead of leaving her to freeze to death in his tree.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said.

She wrapped her legs just under his arms, hooking her feet together against his back as he slid his arms around her waist. His face rested against her bare stomach for a second or two, and that unexpected beard made her thoughts go somewhere that was incredibly poorly timed and inappropriate.

“Ready?” He tipped his head back to stare up at her.

She nodded, and he said, “On three, lift your arms straight up in the air, and I’ll pull, all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“One, two, three.”

She lifted her arms as Stark pulled hard on her waist. She gritted her teeth against the pain as the branch slid across her scraped and bleeding back and twisted her head to the right when her sweatshirt got caught on her chin. It slid neatly past her face, and her free-wheelin’ breasts popped out into the cold night air as the inside of her sweatshirt suddenly covered her face. Stark gave her another big yank, and she let her legs slide down a bit to hook around his ribcage. Holy fuck, this was working. This was actually working. She would slide right out of this damn shirt and -

She squealed in pain when she was pulled to an abrupt stop by her hair. Her messy bun had tangled on the end of the branch, and pain danced across her scalp when Stark gave her another hard tug.

“Stop!” she shouted, her thick sweatshirt muffling her voice. “Wait, just…”

Oh, fuck her sideways, Stark gave her another brisk pull, and she dropped a few inches before pulling up tight again. Christ, her scalp was on fucking fire.

“What the hell?” Stark grunted, his hands sliding up her back as she dropped, and oh Jesus Christ and a baby lamb, she could feel his warm breath directly between her breasts which meant he was face first in her tits, and was it possible for someone to die of humiliation?

“My hair!” she hollered. “My hair is caught!”

She twisted her head and body wildly, ignoring the pain in her scalp and her fear that she was about to give herself a giant bald spot. She’d rather have a bald spot than have Stark’s face in her tits for one moment longer.

“Whoa,” he shouted like she was a scared horse. “Stop twisting!”

“Ignoring him, she twisted even more violently, and oh fucking hell, did Stark’s mouth just graze her nipple?

“Stop!” Now Stark’s voice was muffled, and yup, that was definitely his goddamn tongue she felt on her nipple.

Panic and, God fucking help her, just a touch of horniness infusing her body, she made one final twist of her head. She was abruptly and gloriously free, her upper body sliding the rest of the way out of the sweatshirt and leaving behind what she was sure would be a significant chunk of hair, bloody skin, and possibly spinal fluid on the branch.

Stark made a muffled yell as she dropped like a stone out of the sweatshirt. Her momentum knocked him off balance, and his face still pressed up against her left breast, they fell off the chair and into the snow.

She landed on top of him with a hard ‘oof’ and pancakes on a hot fucking griddle, now her nipple was entirely inside of his mouth, and she scrambled off him, ignoring his grunt of pain when one flailing knee slammed into his ribs.

She slapped her arms over her naked breasts, her chest heaving, her breath steaming out in the cold air as Stark climbed nimbly to his feet, and they stared silently at each other.

Rayna didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Molly landed with a soft thud on the chair between them, making an inquisitive meow as she rubbed up against the back of the chair. Rayna snatched up the pregnant cat, pressing her against her boobs like a living, breathing fur-covered bikini. Molly purred loudly, lounging contently against Rayna’s naked chest.

Rayna glanced at her sweatshirt, still hanging from the tree, but decided she’d never liked that particular shirt anyway. She straightened her back, hissing air between her teeth at how that little movement made it sting and burn and gave Stark a painfully formal nod.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at his hands, a scowl marring his perfect face. “Is this blood?”

She stared at the smears of her blood on his hands, but before she could say anything, he had pushed past the chair between them and turned her around roughly.

“Fuck,” he said. “Your back is scraped to shit.”

“It’s fine,” Rayna said.

“It isn’t.”

She shivered when he traced one finger down her back. She pulled away and turned to face him. “Stop that.”

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