Page 11 of Drawn By Dragonblood
“Being off-grid these days is easier than most think,” Elijah said, pushing up to his feet.
I tore my needy gaze off him and glanced over at Jon, who had tilted his head back to look at the man standing over us in a show of dominance that wasn’t as threatening as it ought to be.
A flicker of something I couldn’t name passed over Jon’s face, but it was far from trepidation or even anger. He’d claimed to be straight as long as I’d known him, but…
I glanced down.
Jon was hard, a wet spot at the clear outline of his swollen cockhead firmly pressed against his jeans.
Swallowing a gasp, I couldn’t help the pulse that clenched my pussy, causing an ache to radiate through my core.
“Want to take him up on his offer?” Jon asked me even though his gaze fixed on Elijah as though he was unable to tear his eyes off the man.
Mouth dry, I attempted to swallow and failed.
My gaze collided with Elijah’s atop Jon’s head, the moisture in my body pooling between my thighs at the barely restrained primal urge to claim residing in his eyes.
Fantasy. Not real, I told myself firmly even though my inner voice shook in time with the jitters inside my belly.
The man could prove to be a danger to my marriage if I didn’t get my head screwed on properly. Forcing my eyes downward, I slipped my hand into Jon’s.
“It’s up to you,” I managed to whisper, leaving the decision to him as I always did since I refused to be responsible for causing heartache again.
My husband finally turned his focus on me, studying my face. Did he see the war raging inside me? My fearful hesitation and hungry desire to say yes? Did he notice both?
Blue eyes, darker than Elijah’s but no less potent in intensity, peered into mine. The world slowly faded around us as I wove myself in the cocoon of the comfort Jon and I had shared for as long as I could remember. I found myself smiling as I always did when drowning in Jon’s love.
His unexpected double-dimpled smile made my shoulders relax even though sexual tension and energy lay heavy over our camp. There was no way in hell Jon would gift me that grin if he’d been jealous.
“Let’s go.” Jon squeezed my hand and stood, pulling me up beside him.
My heart thumping at the prospect of spending more time with the alpha god who had snuck up on us, I rolled our sleeping bag with shaking hands while Jon put out the fire. In five minutes, we started southward behind Elijah, his wide shoulders and sure strides leading us forward.
We didn’t follow a trail, but I didn’t sense any wariness from Jon who walked behind me.
“You’ve lived out here your whole life?” Jon asked as I fought to keep my focus on the ground rather than the flexing ass encased in jeans ahead of me.
“Yes. I’ve explored every inch of this forest and these peaks.” Elijah swept his hand from east to west.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Elijah turned his head slightly, allowing me a glimpse of his strong profile. The straight nose, the full lips, and that sexy as hell soul patch beneath the lower I wanted to lick and capture on camera called to me on a deep level.
I shook my head against the otherworldly urge to crowd closer to his energy and focused on picking my way over rocks and tree roots.
Unease should have prickled the hairs on my neck over a complete stranger in the middle of government land claiming to have a house close by and offering to shelter us from a storm. My mind should have gone to what anyone would have thought—the guy must be a psycho mass murderer, luring us into his lair where he would chain us up, torture us...
Lust slickened the inside of my panties in a fresh drench of arousal rather than fear curdling my stomach. I bit on my lower lip to keep a moan contained.
What the actual hell?
Had Elijah put a spell on us? Drugged my libido with pheromones to lure unsuspecting victims like my sexy book boyfriends in the paranormal romance books I devoured?
Jon appreciated the aftereffects of my losing myself in stories, but that was fantasy.
Shivers wracked my body regardless of the truth, causing goose bumps to erupt over my skin.
Make-believe, I told myself yet again, focusing on Elijah’s tight ass. He was nothing but a hot guy with empathy for strangers in his mountains. A kind man who wouldn’t hurt a fly even though the muscle mass barely contained by his tight hoodie suggested he could take on a dozen Jons and still be standing—alone—when the smoke cleared.
The wind intensified as we descended a steep slope, neither of us hesitating to follow Elijah. We headed westward through a valley, sprinkles falling from the dark sky and dampening our clothing. A well-worn path with man-made rock steps once more took us higher into the mountain.
