21. Kendall
Chapter 21
Kendall
As soon as Ashton’s lips clash with mine, the outside world fades away, and my already-racing pulse goes into overdrive.
His tongue invades my mouth, a prelude for what I want his cock to do. My inner muscles clench, and to call what I am wet would not do my condition justice.
I’m soaking.
Needy.
Greedy for him.
Ripping desperately at his clothes, I free his magnificent erection while he peels my slip from me.
“Glorious,” he rasps, cupping my left breast.
“Don’t get distracted,” I say breathlessly.
Nostrils flaring, he captures my nipples—the right one with his mouth, the left with his fingers.
Holy crap. Can you come from attention to the nipples? Because I feel on the verge of doing just that, but then his erection presses against my sex, and that makes me almost come as well.
“You’re positive you want this?” The question seems to require Ashton to possess an impossible level of self-control.
In reply, I grip his cock and guide him to my entrance, where I’m desperate for it.
His blue-gray eyes are molten as they peer into mine. Slowly, he pushes into me, allowing my muscles to adjust to his girth.
No. That’s not what I need. “Faster.”
With an animalistic grunt, he thrusts all the way.
Yes.
Fuck, yes.
“Harder.” My nails dig into his back, punctuating my demand.
He responds by pistoning into me savagely, the expression on his face that of a starving beast.
Holy fuck. “I’m coming…”
His thrusts intensify.
I dig my nails deeper into his skin as my toes curl and I come so hard white specks dance in my vision. It’s as if lightning has struck my clit and electrified all of my nerve endings.
Without giving me a chance to catch my breath, he keeps going with a hard, steady rhythm that pushes his pelvis against mine at just the right angle, hitting my pulsing clit and making another orgasm coil in my core.
I moan as his pace picks up, and then he grunts thickly and thrusts one final time, so deeply I gasp. I feel him spill inside me, and I go over the edge, crying out his name before we collapse into a tangled heap of naked limbs on the bed.
By the time my panting breaths slow, everything seems quiet.
Too quiet.
“Is the thunderstorm over?” I demand indignantly.
Ashton languidly rises from the bed and peeks out the window. “Yeah. It’s just drizzling now.”
Shit. It’s really over? But that means we’re going to live. I know it’s crazy to be disappointed by that, but I almost am.
If we’re going to survive, I might’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.
At least if I don’t count sleeping with Ashton three years ago as that.
Ignoring the soreness between my legs, I leap to my feet, pull on my pajamas, and look around. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He gives me a pitying look. “There isn’t one. Not in the way you mean. There’s an outhouse nearby.” He gestures at the door.
I gape at him. “What about water? I need to wash up.”
“Ah.” He walks over to his backpack, takes out a towel, and wets it from a giant water cooler bottle in one corner of the room. “I hope this will suffice.”
“Hardly,” I snap. “And it goes without saying: I’m leaving Swamp Sparkle Safari a one-star review.”
He nods. “I might go a step further and show Bubba some martial arts moves that I know.”
“Right, assuming Bubba or Dottie ever come back.” And hey, if they don’t, we still might die here—so there’s that.
As I take the towel from Ashton, my treacherous body reacts to his very naked nearness, but in my body’s defense, he’s semi-hard, again. And exuding heat. And smelling like a sex god.
“Turn away,” I say imperiously.
He smirks. “I’ve already seen all there is to see.”
“Please. Don’t make this worse.”
“Fine.” He shows me his back, and I quickly wash up, then inform him that I’m done.
“So…” he says. “What now?”
My stomach rumbles. “Is there any food?”
He walks over to the water cooler bottle and gestures at a big jar near it. “I hope you like trail mix.”
“I haven’t had it since I was twelve.” I go over there, grab a handful, and eat the nuts and seeds first, followed by the dried fruit and M&Ms.
“I like to eat it all together,” Ashton says and demonstrates with a handful.
Fuck. I just came twice, so why am I finding that so erotic?
“Can you put some clothes on?” I ask when he swallows.
“If you insist.” He drags his sweatpants up his long legs and covers his muscled torso with the shirt he was wearing—and I kind of regret losing sight of it all.
To distract myself, I grab another handful of trail mix. “How long can we survive on this?”
He frowns. “We don’t need to survive on this at all. Bubba and Dottie will come back soon, I’m sure.”
“Just hypothetically. Suppose they were on their boat when the weather changed, and something happened to them.”
“You sure like to keep things light and positive. But fine. That looks like a two-gallon jug, which means thirty-two cups of trail mix.” Squinting, he examines the label on the back of the jug. “It would take between two and four cups of the mix to provide us with enough calories for a day, so in the worst case, we have four days’ worth of food—or double that if there’s a jar just like this one in your cabin.” He then gestures at the water bottle. “This thing is five gallons. We need about one gallon per day per person. Again, if your cabin has the same thing—which is likely—then it’s about five days. And that’s if we’re determined to be well hydrated and fed. If we ration it…” He shrugs.
Crap. “I guess we really won’t die. I told Emma where I was going, so if she doesn’t hear from me for that long, she’ll call the cops.”
“There you go,” he says. “We will survive.” He starts to hum the famous Gloria Gaynor song, and I don’t feel like telling him that the lyrics say “ I will survive,” not “we.”
“Want to go for a walk?” I ask on impulse.
If we stay here, I’m afraid we’re going to end up in bed again, and that sounds like a horrible idea.
He glances at my bare feet. “Like that?”
“No. I’ll wear my wet shoes.” I match actions to words, and he does the same.
“Yuck,” he says as he takes the first squelchy step.
“Yeah, it’s not pleasant.”
We walk out into the fresh air, and much to my surprise, the sky is clear, without even a drizzle of rain.
In fact, there are no clouds at all, revealing the stars in a way you’d never see in a city.
I hear a chorus of frogs in the distance.
And, as if they’d been saving their energy for this very moment, a swarm of fireflies emerges from the swampy woods, forming a majestic display of light as they fade and brighten like twinkling stars.
“Wow,” Ashton says. “Look.” He points at the swamp.
Wow, indeed. The highly advertised bioluminescence illuminates the water, forming a mirror image of the night sky above and creating a beautiful and romantic atmosphere, especially when combined with the frog song, the stars overhead, and the overzealous fireflies.
“Okay, make it two stars,” I tell him. “Maybe three.”
We walk toward my cabin in utter awe.
The only damper on the romantic atmosphere is the mud surrounding my cabin. Well, that and the fact that I don’t want to be in a romantic atmosphere with Ashton.
“You think I can sleep in there?” I ask as we approach.
He grimaces. “It probably smells like a moldy armpit.”
“Thanks for that pleasant imagery. I’d like to check anyway.” Because the alternative is his cabin, which only has one bed.
“Fine.” He rolls his sweatpants up. “If you insist.”
We make our way in, and it doesn’t take me long to decide that sleeping in the flooded cabin is a no-go. I don’t know why the swamp smells like something rotten, but it’s so badthat I’m bound to wake up in the company of vultures.
“It does have sustenance.” I point at the giant bottle and the jar that’s exactly like the ones in his cabin. Walking over, I grab a few pieces of the trail mix. “The food is dry.”
“I told you, we have plenty already,” he says. “Now can we leave before we suffocate from the stink?”
“Yeah.” I let him lead me out, and we walk slowly, enjoying the fresh air and the atmosphere once again.
“See? The boat seems fine.” He gestures toward the pier.
“Let’s hope the one they left on is doing just as well,” I say, not convinced.
He clasps my hand in his big palm, sending zings through my veins. “All will be well. I promise.”
“You can’t know a thing like that.” I know I should pull my hand away, but I can’t bring myself to do so. It just feels too nice.
“Can we talk about something else?” he says.
“Sure. Like what?”
He lets my hand go and faces me. “Like the big question…”
My heartbeat picks up. “What question?” But I think I know what it is.
His blue-gray eyes glint with steel as he confirms my hunch. “Why did you ghost me?”