Chapter 10
Renleigh
It’s been years since I did this—slept on the hard ground. I have so many fond memories of camping trips with my sister and dad, but this . . . this is miserable.
I’ve tossed and turned for two hours. The giggles from the tents across the clearing have stopped.
The two couples have either fallen asleep, or they’re .
. . busy. The hum from Adler’s speaker is still low, but I haven’t heard his voice singing along for at least an hour.
I’m likely the only one awake. And I swear it’s because of this poor excuse for a sleeping bag.
I may as well have layered a few paper towels on the ground to sleep on.
It couldn’t possibly be the guilt.
No. Not guilt. Nah. Nope.
I’m sure Hunter is comfortable in the truck.
He’s inside. On a leather bench seat. He may as well be on some fancy couch in an apartment.
Yeah. I’m sure he’s sleeping just fine. Way better than I am.
He’s probably actually sleeping. I guess that’s good since he’ll need to drive in the morning. How close is morning?
I pull my phone from my backpack pocket where it’s plugged in to my charger. It’s just after midnight, so I can’t really say it’s morning. But it’s the next day. I made it over the hump into tomorrow.
Go me!
I still feel guilty, though.
Shit.
It’s the thoughts I’m having.
Not the ones about forcing myself to sleep. Those are just excuses I’m telling myself.
No. I feeling guilty because of the mental torture I’m trying to bury and rewrite. I want to do something bad. Not bad bad. Just bad idea kind of bad. And I’ll regret the decision by morning, I know I will. Hell, I might regret it minutes after orgasm.
But I do want it.
I want him.
In this fucking tent.
Fucking me.
I bury my face in my hands and laugh silently at what I’ve become.
Get it together, Renleigh. You’re a twenty-four-year-old sexual being. You’re single. You’re in a tent out in the wilderness, albeit not totally alone, but for all intents and purposes . . . you’re alone. With a hot professional athlete.
Who clearly wants to fuck you.
Just let him, for Pete’s sake!
I kick off the top flap of the thermal-lined sleeping bag and get to my feet.
Shaking out my hands and feet, I let the cool air spike my courage.
I run my fingers through my hair, combing the wavy ends and resting them over my shoulders.
I’m wearing a double XL pale pink sweatshirt and equally baggy gray sweatpants.
It’s my go-to pajama choice, and it seemed practical when I shoved it in my backpack fifteen hours ago.
Now, though? I feel pretty fucking frumpy.
I stare down at my legs, then bend to pull the elastic up my calf on one leg before rolling the waist band so it sits below my belly button. I feel like I’m wearing a fleece innertube.
Gah!
I pull my pants down and dance my way out of them, kicking my feet free so I’m now wearing nothing but the calf-high tube socks with pink stripes across the top to match my favorite sweatshirt.
Okay. This might be sexy.
I pop my hip out and turn my knee in, practicing what I’d like to think is a rather coy pose.
Demure, as that influencer says. I run my fingers through my hair one more time, scratching at my scalp to give my locks a bit of body, then shove my feet into my warm boots.
One more deep breath and exhale, and I unbutton the tent closure and step out into the starry night.
“Jesus,” I whisper, hugging my body as the breeze cuts right to my bare legs. Goose bumps rise on my skin.
“Can’t sleep?”
I jump at Hunter’s voice, and it takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the landscape and moonlight. He’s sitting on his tailgate, leaning back on his palms while his legs dangle. He isn’t asleep. And he isn’t inside the warm cab.
“Why are you out here?” My inner thoughts pour out before I think to answer his question. “And yeah. Can’t sleep.”
He raises a hand.
“Guilty. Turns out, I’m really bad at camping.”
I laugh quietly and step toward him. My arms are still wrapped around my midriff, and I’m so cold and nervous that I’ve nearly forgotten about not wearing pants. Hunter quickly reminds me.
“Well, fuck me.” He plasters his palm over his mouth and jaw while his gaze fixes on my bare legs.
“I got hot. I’m not now, though. Clearly,” I say through a shiver.
“Yeah, I can see that. Also, you’re still hot. Just . . . different hot.” He laughs quietly at his own joke as his gaze lifts to mine.
I stop a few feet out of his reach, my chest tightening with fear of rejection—and a bigger fear of acceptance, which leads to a whole new rabbit hole of emotions. But it also leads to feeling something . . . anything. For just me. Satisfaction and appreciation.
Pleasure.
Hunter sits up tall and crooks his finger, motioning me to him.
“Come here.”
I bite my bottom lip. Cliché, but what the fuck. I’m going with it.
“Hi,” I utter, my voice soft, my hands cold.
I unfurl my grip on my sweatshirt and reach forward to take his waiting hands. He holds them out as his gaze scans down my body.
“You took your pants off because you were cold, huh?” His eyes flit up to mine as he bites his bottom lip, his fucking adorable smirk pushing a dimple into his cheek.
I shake my head.
“No.”
His lip comes loose as his grin widens.
“Why did you take your pants off, then?”
I step between his legs and guide his hands around my body, urging them lower until his palms cup my ass.
“Oh,” he groans.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, lifting myself on my toes. He drops his chin and tilts his head just enough that our mouths line up perfectly.
He nips at my top lip, and I nearly jump to catch his. He toys with me, though, lifting his head and smirking at me with playful hunger in his eyes.
“Confession?” His eyes narrow on mine, the curve of his mouth remaining unchanged. There’s a mischievous side to his expression. And it’s sexy as fuck.
“Hmm?” I lift my chin again, wanting to feel all of his mouth on mine. The warmth. What I predict will be strong lips. His tongue.
“I borrowed that tent from Roddy, knowing full well it was meant for one. And I kind of hoped . . .”
He bites the tip of his tongue and smiles, a downright bashful look in his eyes.
“What did you hope for, Hunter Reddick, number one draft pick?”
He nips at my upper lip again, and his hands slide up my back, under my sweatshirt, lifting the fabric up my spine and exposing my nearly bare ass and midriff to the night air. Rather than kissing me hard like I want, though, he holds me in this infinite purgatory of almosts.
It’s intoxicating, and the longer I stare into the deep blue of his eyes, the more I want to stay here on the verge of feeling something. Because the edge is powerful. It’s enticing. It’s like getting away with making bad choices without fully accepting consequences.
“I hoped,” he begins, his bottom lip full and open with his intensifying breath as his gaze drops to my chin and then my chest.
“Yes?” I whimper.
His fingertips scrape around my rib cage, his knuckles brushing against the sides of my breasts, then roaming to the hard peaks of my nipples.
I arch toward him, gasping. If Adler isn’t really asleep, he’s getting a full show right now.
At the very least, an audio porn. But fucking hell, what is this touch of Hunter’s? It’s literal temptation.
“That you,” Hunter continues, his hands forming around the fullness of my breasts as his mouth inches closer. His tongue swipes at my upper lip, and I shudder as his thumbs rake over my nipples.
“Would let me,” he says, his lips brushing against mine with his words as his thumbs and fingers position themselves to pinch my hard buds.
“Fuck you,” he finally says, rolling my nipples in his vise grip, pinching them so hard that the ache and pleasure filter to my toes and I pool between my legs.
His mouth covers mine, and I grip the front of his hoodie in my fists, pulling him toward me.
His hands move from under my shirt to either side of my jaw, holding my mouth to his as he drops from the tailgate to his feet.
He walks me backward while we kiss, and I feel for the edge of the tent when I know we’re close.
I peel the flap back and dip inside, breaking our kiss just long enough for Hunter to follow me in and push the opening closed enough for privacy.
His hands fly back to my face the moment he turns back to face me, and mine gather the front of his hoodie, along with the T-shirt underneath.
I push the material up the center of his chest, and he breaks our kiss long enough to pull his shirts over his head and toss them to the ground.
“You’re fucking unreal,” I say through a giggle as my hands splay along his hard muscles. His obliques are so tight, and his chest and abs move with his laughter in response. My sister will be so proud of me when I tell her about this.
“I work out a lot,” he chuckles, lifting my chin with his index finger and sucking my top lip between both of his.
“Your turn,” he says, pulling the hem of my sweatshirt up my body. I step back enough to raise my hands in the air and let him undress me. My tits are basically missiles at this point, swollen and hard, begging to be devoured.
“Goddamn,” Hunter breathes out, dropping his mouth to my right breast as his hands swoop to the small of my back, lifting me to him.
My hands fumble with the button on his jeans, but I get it undone and quickly work down his zipper before sinking my hand inside his pants and cupping his hard cock under his boxer briefs.
“Oh, fuck . . . yes. Yeah, just . . . yes.” His words are wrapped in nervous, quiet laughter, which emboldens me as I begin my descent.
Hunter gathers my hair as I press kisses to his chest then stomach, finally situating myself on my knees before pulling his jeans and boxers down to his thighs so his cock springs forward.
“Renleigh, you don’t have to—”