Page 57 of Into the Mountains
So polite. I don’t think either of us are sure what to say. My body chooses this moment to convulse into another bout of shivers despite warming up with the dry clothing.
“Are you still cold?” he asks, quietly.
“Maybe, a little,” I admit. I’m not that cold, but the idea of getting closer to him is too enticing this time to allow myself to ignore it.
“Come over here.” He motions to his spot on his sleeping bag that has a few extra blankets thrown on top. At my questioning look, he adds, “I run cold at night.”
My hand comes into contact with his as I reach out to him, and our fingers lace together as he tugs me down to the blankets. If there were ever a time I’d feel like something was a dream instead of reality, this might be it. We lie down, my back to his front, Elias adjusting the blankets to cover us both. Once we are situated, he pulls me closer until there’s almost no spacebetween us and I think face to face may have been the better option here.
The heat from his body cascades between us in waves. I can feel my skin thawing and I hate how comfortable I feel next to him.
“Are you warmer?” he asks, his hand moving up and down my arm, creating more warmth.
I close my eyes and try not to focus on his hand and where I wish it would go. But the more I try to shift my focus away from him, the more it goes to his hand and how the pressure feels against my skin. That part of my brain fails to ignore the tightness low in my body.
“Much warmer,” I whisper. There’s a twitch against my ass and a hardness that’s unmistakable. Neither of us says anything about it, but my body acts before my brain has a chance to catch up with what it’s doing and presses up against the length of him. Muscles clench together as he tenses up and briefly stops his movements.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
“I don’t know.”
Without saying anything else, he starts trailing his fingers again, but this time, they go lower on my body. Lightly down my arm until he reaches my elbow. He lets them explore further, brushing the curve of my hip and down my outer thigh and back up again.
My breathing steadily becomes heavier as my body reacts to his touch and for a moment, I think about all the things I was scared of before. About the fear I let take over so many times in the past. Sitting up, I turn to face him and when I do I can see the heat in his eyes. He follows me until he’s on his knees facing me. Another thought breezes in that it’s surreal to see him in front of me again…like this. Both of us on our knees again fifteen years later. Reaching out, he grabs a strand of hair and lets it fallbetween his fingers, his thumb coming up to trace my jaw. With his finger, he tips my chin up before leaning down to my lips.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s obvious. Both of us seem unsure of what’s about to happen.
“I…I don’t know,” he admits. And it’s that admission that makes me back away an inch to really look at him. To make sure this is something he wants, too, before we go any further.
“Do you want to?” I ask.
“Do you still hate me?”
“Yes…no…I don’t know.”
“Do either of us know anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just tonight then? For old time’s sake?” Something flashes on his face, but it disappears before I have a chance to figure out what it is.
“It won’t change anything,” I say, placing a hand on his hip and roughly tugging at his sweatpants until they reach mid-thigh.
“It won’t change anything,” he agrees with a hardened stare. He follows my lead and grabs the hem of my—well, his—sweatshirt and pulls it over my head without being gentle. Thank whatever godly imminence is out there. I don’t think I could handle gentle. At least, not from him. Not right now.
Peeling off his own sweater, we both sit for a moment in silence as we stare at one another. His eyes roam everywhere and once they land on my breasts, my nipples harden and he takes a sharp inhale.
“As gorgeous as ever.”
“None of that sentimental shit.” If we do that, my heart won’t stand a chance.
“Deal with it.” The sternness in his voice takes me by surprise, but the swoop I feel down below tells me I like it. When I don’t say anything, he fidgets with his pants and boxersuntil he’s completely naked in front of me. All I can do is stare at the length of him. He’s not small, but he’s not huge either. He’s average in a way that would still be satisfying as long as he knows what he’s doing. And I already know that he does. In a low voice, he says, “Now crawl over here and suck my cock.”
My body heats at the command, but I listen. I’ve never been bossed around in the bedroom before—or in a tent—but if there was one memory I’d want my eidetic mind to encase in the museum up there, I think it would be this one.
I hinge at my hips and start crawling over to him, not that I had to go very far since we were only a few feet apart, but as far as foreplay goes, this works for me. “Eyes on me, love.”
I grab the base of him and look up to find him staring down at me with so much desire in his face, I’m not sure what to do with it. So I start with a stroke from base to tip and watch as his features relax into pure bliss all while he never moves his eyes away from mine. So much for no sentiment. Eye contact is nothing but sentiment.
