Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SIX WEEKS LATER
Trinity
I snowshoe back to Lincoln as fast as I can—which is not very fast, honestly. Snowshoes are bulky and there’s still two feet of snow on the ground.
“We got a rabbit!” I hold up the animal my snare caught, grinning like I just won a coveted prize.
Linc’s wide smile makes my heart race even faster. “My mouth’s watering already. We’re having meat for dinner tonight!” He pumps his fist. “Great job, gorgeous.”
I soak up his praise like a dried-out sponge. It has to show on my face. Surely actual hearts appear in my eyes when he calls me gorgeous . And when he praises me in bed? My body doesn’t just hum; it sings like a Southern gospel choir—loud, unapologetic and crying out my thanks to all that is holy.
“Here, I’ll put it on the porch.” Linc reaches for the rabbit. “We’ve got snow sprints to do.”
It takes all my energy to keep smiling because snow sprints . When the snow storms calmed down around three weeks ago, Linc developed a daily outdoor workout plan for us. He said it would help him return to the ice immediately when we get out of here, and it’s also been good for my anxiety.
If you define “good” as exhausting me to the point that I fall asleep quickly because my body is too worked out to worry, that is.
“Let’s up it to five down and backs today,” he says when he snowshoes back over to me.
I scoff. A “down and back” consists of us snowshoeing all the way across the long clearing in front of the cabin and back to the edge of the woods. And Linc doesn’t just want us to do it—he wants us to do it quickly .
“You do remember that the only exercise I got before ending up here was walking from my office to the train station or Starbucks?”
“You’ve reminded me at least eighty times. You’re getting better at this every day.”
I force a smile. Considering I fell twice and ended up wheezing on day one, it really wasn’t hard to get better.
“Come on.” He leads the way. “Your heart will thank you.”
“My butt muscles may pull a switchblade on my heart, though. Just sayin’.”
He arches a brow, a grin playing on his lips. “You’re pretty sassy for a woman who was woken up with two orgasms and breakfast in bed.”
That’s not an unusual way for me to wake up these days, and it definitely helps soften the downsides to being here, like running out of coffee two weeks ago.
“I’ll do my best,” I promise. “It’s good that you know CPR.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not gonna die, Trin.”
We start our first snow sprint, my breath making a cloud in front of me. It’s cold, but when we’re bundled up, it’s no longer so cold it’s painful to be out here. My ankle is completely healed. I think Lincoln’s trying to build up my stamina so when spring comes, we can consider packing up supplies and hiking to civilization.
It’s been more than two months since our plane crashed. This remote cabin seems like a place where very little changes, but that hasn’t been true for me.
I still think about work sometimes, but it’s no longer with a sense of panic that all my years of hard work were for nothing. I’m here and work is there, and I can’t change that.
My anxiety is still there, but I’m coping with it. Linc meditates with me every morning, and our workouts are helping a lot, though I haven’t admitted that to him. We don’t have unlimited food here, but since we’ve been supplementing it by hunting small game with snares, I don’t stress about running out. Now that I can walk and we have plenty of supplies, I’m confident we can make it out of here when the weather clears enough.
The biggest change of all has been between me and Linc, though. We’ve become closer than I’ve ever been to anyone, and I’ve left all my sexual insecurities behind.
It turns out I can strip down and straddle a hot man’s face in broad daylight, and it’s fucking incredible. It’s ironic that I’ve been far more intimate with Linc than I was with either of the men I had intercourse with. He’s helped me discover a side of myself I didn’t know existed.
“Let’s go, Trin!” he calls from a few feet in front of me.
My unenthusiastic groan comes out with one of my massive exhales. Linc has incredible stamina—he’s a pro athlete. I swear he’s actually enjoying this.
“Let’s pick it up,” he encourages.
If I had the breath to spare, I’d laugh. I must look ridiculous, red-faced and bundled up, huffing and puffing my way through knee-deep snow in my snowshoes.
Lincoln was so excited when he found those damn snowshoes in the storage room. I was, too. Past Trinity had no idea those shoes were actually instruments of torture.
“Think about your favorite song and let it push you,” he says.
It reminds me that the entire world is moving every day while we’re out here in this place where time doesn’t really exist. Artists are releasing new music. Newscasters are reading the latest headlines. Chicagoans are trudging through slushy gray melting snow to get to work and dinner and parties every day.
That was me before the plane crash. I lived my entire life on a schedule. I had my routine timed out perfectly, waking up at six fifteen on weekdays to get into the office. My workdays were scheduled out from the moment I walked in the door until I left in the evening. And then calendar reminders on my phone would tell me what time to meet colleagues or friends for drinks, when to pick up my dry cleaning and groceries—even phone calls with old friends were something I had to book time for in my schedule.
There’s no schedule here. Every day is wide open.
Somehow I make it through five down and backs, and then Linc cleans the rabbit while I put on a Feist record and collapse onto the love seat.
Linc’s right—I am getting better at exercise. If only I could reward myself with a chocolate shake.
While I work on making a stew with the rabbit, rice and canned beans and veggies, Linc fills the tub with water and I add bubbles. While the stew simmers on the hot plate, he gets in the tub and I sit between his legs, my back against his chest.
This is my favorite part of every day. Though we get more sunlight than we did when we first got here, we still spend more time in darkness than we do in the light. Every day, when the sun goes down, we put on a record and take a bath with just the light of a small lantern on the kitchen counter. It never stops being the most romantic thing I’ve ever done.
“What would you be doing right now at home?” I ask Linc.
I feel his hum against my back. “In March? Practicing. Working out. Maybe watching a show if I’m not on the road.”
“Like The Bachelor ?” I tease, craning my neck to make eye contact with him.
“Already told you, I’m not ashamed. The guys all know not to fuck with me when I’m watching it. That and Survivor .”
“I like that you like The Bachelor , and you’re secure enough in your manhood to admit it.”
“Keep teasing me and you’ll be choking on my manhood soon,” he says lightly.
I laugh. “Oh, please. Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
He slides his hand over my upper thigh, his other arm banding around my waist. I lean my head back against his chest, closing my eyes.
As his hand slowly moves closer to my inner thigh, I clench in anticipation. My body knows when Linc touches me, fireworks follow. Every single time.
I moan softly as he slides his fingers over and down, the pad of his middle finger gliding over my clit.
“Always ready, aren’t you?” he murmurs in my ear.
“I could say the same for you.” I wiggle my bottom slightly and he groans, his erection pressing against my back.
“It’s impossible to see your hot body and not be hard as fuck.”
His words send desire swirling low in my belly. Linc has changed the way I see myself. I never thought I was sexy until I started hearing him tell me pretty much every day that I am.
He reaches the hand around my waist up to lightly pinch my nipple. I arch my back, my exhale ragged.
“Such a hot little thing,” he murmurs in my ear, his breath hot. “I love watching you come.”
I pull my knees up to allow him greater access as he circles my clit. I’m building toward an orgasm when he moves his hand down, putting two long fingers inside me.
I watch as his hand moves, moaning loudly when he grazes my clit. I move my hips shamelessly, desperate to increase the contact.
“Fuck my fingers, gorgeous.” He squeezes my nipple harder this time, and I skate on the edge of release. “Get this sweet pussy off.”
I shatter into a thousand pieces, crying out his name with my release. He keeps working his fingers until I relax against him. Then he kisses my temple and wraps his arms around me.
We lie in silence for a few minutes and I stroke my thumb over his knee. The record ends and I feel his stomach rumbling through my back.
I sit up and turn around. “Ready to wash?”
“I prefer you dirty.” He winks and I feel a flutter in my stomach.
This is our ritual—he shampoos my hair and then I shampoo his. Then he washes my body and I wash his. We rarely make it out of the tub without both of us coming at least once.
Tonight is no exception. Once we’re both clean, Linc stands up in the tub. Before he can step out, I get to my knees and put my hands on his ass, looking up at him.
“Fuck, babe.” He runs a hand over my hair. “Are you serious?”
Instead of answering, I take him deep into my mouth to show him how serious I am. He groans loudly, moving his hand to the back of my head to grab a handful of my hair.
Even though he wore me out earlier with the workout, I always have enough energy for this. Hearing him react to what I’m doing makes me feel like an absolute goddess .
He tries to hold himself back, but soon he’s pumping his hips, fisting my hair as he moves in and out of my mouth.
“You want it?” His voice is strained.
I can’t answer, so I just moan my enthusiasm and in a few more seconds, he groans and comes in my mouth. I swallow it greedily.
Though I do fantasize about sex with him, what we have is incredible and it’s enough for me. If we have to be stranded alone in a remote cabin, this is a hell of a way to pass the time.