Page 53 of My Hexed Honeymoon

I reach out and drag a couple of knuckles down her cheek, marveling at how soft she is. “Morning, gorgeous.”

One corner of her mouth kicks up in a crooked smile—a stark contrast to how she looked at me before we came on this trip and hiked our asses off. “Hey,” she murmurs, a hint shyly.

Last night I carried her into the tent, stripped her of her clothes and slipped on my oversized T-shirt, and tucked her next to me to pour more warmth and comfort into her. She’d about hiked herself to exhaustion, blistered and sunburned and dehydrated to unacceptable levels. Until I took her choice of resting away, tucking her next to me and kissing her forehead before telling her that I’d take care of everything else—her only job was to sleep.

The way she sinks her teeth into her lip and looks me up and down, however, says she’s nice and rested. And recalling our first sweaty session in the tent between the sheets. Or in this instance—what happens in the sleeping bag stays in the sleeping bag—and I never want things to turn chilly ever again.

I’m just also not sure how realistic that is.

She lifts herself up on her elbows, which only draws more attention to the fact that she’s still braless and pantsless in my tent. Her smooth legs slide against my harry legs and there’s no subtly adjusting this time.

My cock’s standing at full attention in a pitch of its own.

Talia doesn’t seem to notice, sitting up in a rush and glancing around her at everything besides me, and now I’m just offended. “Am I running late? Is the rest of the Supernatural Adventure Club awake already?”

“Again, I don’t sleep,” Riven answers, their voice drifting from somewhere near the fire pit—the same fire pit I wouldn’t mind feeding them to.

“Well, you might wanna get lost,” I say, slipping a hand beneath the hem of Talia’s shirt to palm one of those glorious breasts I haven’t been able to stop staring at all morning. “It’s about to get noisy in here. We’ve got an heir to make.”

They make disgusted noise. “I’ll go hunt for my breakfast, as listening to you fumble around as is last on my list of fun activities. But try and leave me, Moon-mutt, and I’ll be sleeping between you tonight.”

Joke was on them. If I convinced my bride to let me carry her for at least part of the way, we’d be out of these woods before that. “Yeah, yeah. Go drink your blood latte like a good little parasite.”

I perk my ears and wait a few beats. When I’m sure the vampire’s gone, I slide my hand to the center of Talia’s stomach to rest, not rove.

Don’t get me wrong—I want to make her scream my name so loud Riven hears it across the valley. But, oddly enough, fucking her breathless isn’t my first thought.

Wanting her safe is.

“How do you feel?” I ask, locking my gaze on hers to catch the real answer, not the one she might try to pass off. “After yesterday and whatever happened in there?”

“Uh…” She shrugs a shoulder. “Complicated.”

Well, that’s confusing as hell, and her expression isn’t giving anything away.

“I don’t mind complicated. I’m a real saint like that.” I draw a halo over my head in case she needs help seeing it.

“Right now, I think I’d rather have a devil.” She switches from cagey to vixen and runs a finger down my chest, so we’renot done with that topic, but who am I to refuse a request like that?

“That can definitely be arranged,” I say, her banter enough to tell me she’s okay.

At least okay enough for me to make a home between her thighs, and then I’ll figure out how to fix the rest.

“Oh, can you do that without going full fur and fangs?” she asks saucily.

“Yeah, that’s the easy part.” I take a risk, attempting to chase the last of the worry that’s not quite clearing the green of her irises. “The hard part is jutting against your leg.”

“I noticed,” she says, and we both glance down at the evidence of my situation.

“It’s noticeable.”

Talia’s giggle fills the entire tent, lighting me up from the inside. Then she throws a leg over my waist and straddles me, and I grunt—failing spectacularly to play it cool.

I jerk my chin at my oversized T-shirt. “Take it off. This isn’t a PG-13 movie.” I pause immediately after issuing the bossy joke. “You’ve seen a few of those, right?”

She laughs again, that warm, addictive sound I want to hear every day. “Yes, and little secret?” She toys with the hem of the shirt, lifting it a torturously slow inch at a time. “I snuck my heavily restricted laptop into bed to watch R-rated movies while my mom was asleep sometimes. I might’ve picked up a few moves.”

“Honey, I’m afraid I’m going to need you to show them to me,” I say, rising up to kiss her and help rid her of that shirt a little faster.

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