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Chapter Twelve

Fallout

Erin

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SLEEP CRASHED OVERme after the high, its intensity so great that when I stirred from its grasp, I couldn’t immediately recall how I had succumbed to it. I remembered the weight of the pleasure as it robbed me of breath. It was greater than anything I’d experienced without the use of my vibrator, but then—where there should have been the solace of Eli’s touch, or maybe even pillow talk—there was nothing.

Nothing.

My brow creased. How could there be nothing? Something must have happened in the aftermath.

Had we talked? Murmured words in the aftershocks that my foggy brain couldn’t remember? I didn’t know, and when I tried to recall, all I could recollect was the scent and strength of him.

I still knew nothing about Eli, how the hell we were going to get out of the abandoned cabin, and worse, no idea if Chelle was alive.

Guilt ricocheted in my chest at the thought of my friend. I’d welcomed him into the bed and assented to pleasure while she could have been out there, freezing in the wilderness.

What had I been thinking?

Swallowing down the nausea threatening to rise at my complicity, the answer hit me squarely in the face—Ihadn’tbeen thinking.

I’d recognized how attractive Eli was from the beginning, but I’d never have allowed myself to give in to those feelings. It was only the sheer enormity of my predicament when he’d found the cabin—my exhaustion and the grim knowledge that we didn’t have enough wood to keep warm—that had worn me down and lubricated the wheels of my consent.

My eyes flitted closed.

The dream I’d had about Chelle before I’d woken screaming, where she’d accused me of being a whore, had turned out to be a dark prophecy. When push had come to shove, I’d reveled in the climax he’d offered without so much as a thought to Chelle, or even for the man who’d delivered the crescendo. In the end, despite how much he’d turned me on and my soul-shattering release, I must have fallen straight to sleep. He hadn’t forced himself on me—a quick squeeze of the muscles between my legs confirmed that—and he hadn’t made any other demands. I’d seemingly taken what he had to offer without so much as a thank you.

Gulping down my rising shame, I couldn’t decide what troubled me the most. The fact that hours had passed, and I still didn’t know where or how Chelle was, or the slutty memory of permitting his caresses while selfishly exulting in them.

I shouldn’t have cared what he thought of me—shouldn’t have needed his approval—yet the reality remained that I did. The idea that he might be angry or upset knotted concern deep in my belly. Eli had done nothing but help me. He’d even offered to warm me once the fire had died, and what had I done in return? I took the orgasm he gifted and slipped straight into unconsciousness.

Not that it isn’t what men have done for centuries.

I cringed at the sorry performance, knowing my exhaustion was to blame. I’d never known a day like the one I’d just lived through, and despite the solace I’d found in his arms, I hoped I never would again.

Tuning into the room around me and concentrating on what I could hear, I attempted to focus. His rhythmic breathing sounded from behind me, reminding me of the way I’d behaved and compelling me to edge away onto the cold portion of the bed. I didn’t have a plan as I shuffled from the sheets and allowed my sock-covered feet to hit the cold, hard floor. All I knew was that I’d made a series of mistakes. I should never have let Chelle leave us, should never have permitted Eli to join me in the bed, and absolutely shouldn’t have allowed him access to my body.

Yet, I’d done all three things, and I had to live with the consequences.

Tugging my underwear back into place, I rolled down my clothing. Dawn was breaking on a distant horizon, letting the first beads of light radiate through the cabin’s dark windowpanes. The dim illumination lit a portion of the bed, revealing the top half of his bared, muscular body. My gaze raked over his expanse of pectorals, the sight doing nothing to quell my wretched emotions.

He was gorgeous—a quiet, deep thinker who was good in a crisis and just happened to have an incredible body tucked away under his clothes— but however good he looked, I didn’t know what to do next. Was it better that I dressed and left, that I slipped away and took my chances alone, or should I wait for him to rouse and deal with the fallout? Perhaps I could pretend nothing had happened between us and carry on as we’d been before.

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