Page 55 of Wrecked
He smiles softly, highlighting that dimple I love so much. “What else…”
Tilting my head back, I inhale deeply. “The rain,” I say, as it pelts against our makeshift shelter.
“That’s my girl. One more, baby.”
I lean forward, pressing my mouth to his, tasting our shared breath as I lick at his bottom lip. He opens for me, and our tongues slide against each other slowly. He takes his time tasting me, as if I’m his favorite flavor.
Finally, I pull back.
“Nate,” I finish.
And I can finally breathe again.
The tingling in my hands finally subsides. Nate looks at me with so much love and compassion, it’s almost painful to endure his gaze. “You remember the five, four, three, two, one method,” I state, realizing he was helping me through the process.
He’s the one who taught me.
“Emmy still has panic attacks,” he states. “Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing…one thing you can taste.”
I look up at him beneath my eyelashes and smirk. “I didn’t have a lot of options.”
“I’m a willing sacrifice.” He winks, his smile highlighting his dimpled cheeks.
“Noted.” I laugh, feeling a lot warmer than I was seconds earlier.
After several seconds of silence, Nate leans back, palming my face. “I have somethingthose peopledidn’t have,” he says, bringing us back to my comment before I had a panic attack.
“What do you have?” I ask, assuming he’s going to mention his survival skills.
“A reason.”
“A reason?” I ask, mildly confused.
“A reason to succeed. A reason to make this work. A reason to survive.”
“What’s your reason?” I whisper.
He looks me in the eyes, his intense stare showing me the truth of his next words. “The same reason I’ve always had, Pip.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “So, tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Fire, shelter, water…” My stomach lets out the noisiest, most embarrassing rumble I’ve ever heard. Nate snorts. “And food. Time to go hunting.”
The thought of food has my stomach gnawing and twisting at the same time. “But no baby animals.”
He smiles gently. “Okay. No baby animals.” He reaches over and grabs the pile of sticks and yucca fibers he brought into the shelter.
“What’s that for?”
“Time to get to work. What do you remember about basket weaving?”
CHAPTER 28
NATE (SENIOR YEAR, HIGH SCHOOL)
Sunday mornings are my favorite mornings…
Especially when I wake up to a certain green-eyed beauty grinding her ass against me.
