Chapter 27 Nate
NATE
Morning light slanted through the windows, spilling across the old timber floor. The storm had passed. No rain on the roof, no wind rattling the windows. Just the faint tick of the stove cooling and the quiet rhythm of Maya’s breathing, warm and steady against my skin.
She was still out. Curled into me like she’d been poured there, one hand flat against my chest, her injured leg still hooked over mine where I’d placed it last night. Her hair was a mess, dried in waves that fanned across my shoulder and smelled like rainwater and smoke.
Maya’s fingers twitched against my chest. I covered her hand with mine, pressing her palm flat. Her breathing shifted. She burrowed closer, her nose cold against my neck, and made a soft, quiet sound of contentment.
I traced the ridge of her knuckles with my thumb and stared at the ceiling, and I just let it be.
She stirred a few minutes later. A slow, heavy surfacing, her body shifting against mine before her mind caught up.
I held my breath as her fingertips traced a lazy, aimless path down my chest and across my stomach, like she was still half in a dream.
Her hips pressed closer, and a soft sound escaped her lips.
I gripped her hip under the blanket. “Maya.”
“Mm.” Her lips were warm against my pulse point. Then she stilled, her breath catching. Her eyes opened, hazy and unfocused, sharpening as consciousness flooded in. A blush crept across her cheeks that said she knew exactly where she’d been heading.
“Hi.” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“Hi.”
Her fingers curled against my skin. “I was having a really good dream,” she whispered.
My body stirred at the confession. “Yeah? What about?”
“You. Obviously.” Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “It’s always you.”
The air thickened as her gaze lifted back to mine, heavy lidded and sultry.
“Kiss me, Nate.”
I did. Deep and unhurried, the way the morning deserved.
Her mouth was soft and warm, opening under mine with a sigh that I swallowed whole.
Her hand slid back up my chest and curled around my neck, her fingers threading into my hair, and I sank into it.
The taste of her, the heat of her skin against mine, the quiet sounds she made when I changed the angle and kissed her deeper.
Her hips pressed into me and I pulled her closer, the gentle, unyielding pressure pulling a gasp from her lips.
“Nate,” she whimpered.
I eased her onto her back, scanning her face for any sign of pain, ready to stop at the first wince. Her expression radiated pure want, raw and open, her lips swollen from the kiss and her eyes dark and liquid.
“Your ribs,” I said.
“Are fine.”
“Your ankle.”
“Doesn’t need to be involved.”
A breath of laughter left me. I braced myself on one arm above her, my other hand resting on her stomach.
Her hair fanned across the pillow, the blanket pushed down to her waist, her chest rising and falling in shallow pulls.
Even with the bruises blooming on her side, she was so beautiful it made me ache.
I kissed her again. Her jaw, the hollow beneath her ear, the curve of her neck. Slow. Deliberate. Her fingers dug into my shoulder when my mouth found the spot where her neck met her collarbone. The moan that slipped out of her was low and unguarded and went straight through me.
My hand moved slowly down her stomach, giving her time to stop me. Over the soft skin below her navel, under the waistband of her underwear, and between her legs. She was already soaked. The heat of her against my fingers punched the air out of my lungs.
“Oh god,” she gasped, her fingers snapping around my wrist like a vise, holding me exactly where I was as her head tipped back against the pillow.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured against her mouth.
Her grip on my forearm tightened as I found a rhythm. Teasing circles on her clit, deliberate pressure, learning what made her breath catch and then using it against her. Her hips rolled into my hand, instinctive and urgent, and a sound tore out of her, raw and beautiful, making my blood sing.
I pressed hot kisses to her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast above her bra. Her fingers raked through my hair and pulled, and the sting of it only made me want to give her more. I pressed harder, changed the angle, and her whole body jerked.
“Oh god, Nate, right there. Don’t stop.”
Her breathing fractured into something desperate, each exhale a broken sound that she couldn’t hold back. I built her up relentlessly, then backed off a fraction, before giving her everything again. I pushed until she couldn’t take another second.
“That’s it. Give it to me.”
Her back arched off the mattress as her whole body went rigid, the orgasm crashing through her in waves that rippled under my fingers. Her face pressed into my neck and the sound she made lanced through me. A sigh. A shudder. My name, broken down to a single breath.
I held her through it. My hand still gentle, easing her down, my lips against her hair.
“So fucking gorgeous,” I murmured.
Her fingers loosened on my forearm, leaving half-moon imprints in my skin that I’d carry for the rest of the day.
Fine by me.
Her breathing steadied gradually. She shifted back to look at me, her eyes glassy, her cheeks flushed, her expression so soft and open that my heart turned over in my chest.
“Good morning.” The smile that spread across her face was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.
I kissed her forehead. “Good morning.”
She traced her finger along my jaw, her touch light and wondering, and tucked herself back against my chest. I pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and rested my chin on top of her head.
The seconds turned into minutes. I could have stayed there all damn day, but eventually, her breath caught when she shifted her weight.
I stroked her hair. “Hurting?”
“Yeah.” She let out a regretful sigh. “As much as I could stay here till Christmas, every fucking thing hurts. I need to move.”
“Right.” I eased out from under the blankets. “Stay put. I’ll get the fire going.”
I pulled on my jeans and shirt from the chair. Both dry now, stiff from the heat of the stove, but warm. Once the fire was giving off a good amount of heat, I turned back to Maya.
“Now let’s get you dressed.”
“I can do it.”
I just looked at her.
She gave in with a sigh. “Fine.”
I grabbed her things from the other chair and crouched beside her.
Every inch of skin I covered was skin I’d had my mouth on twenty minutes ago. My knuckles grazed her stomach as I fastened the button at her waist, and her breath hitched. The look she gave me from under her lashes almost made me undo everything I’d just done up.
“Coffee?” My voice came out a little raspy.
“God yes. I need the bathroom first, though.” She grabbed the edge of the sofa and pulled herself up, testing her weight on the good foot. Then she took a tentative step toward the bathroom, listing sideways like a ship in a crosswind.
I moved toward her. “Let me help.”
“Absolutely not.” She held up a hand without looking back. “There are exactly zero scenarios in which you help me pee, Nate. That’s a hard line.”
I raised both hands in surrender and turned back to the kitchen.
I had two mugs of coffee ready by the time she hobbled back. Too much sugar in hers, because I’d watched her make it enough times to know.
We settled on the sofa, her feet across my lap, mugs in hand.
Maya’s gaze drifted around the room. “There’s something about this place, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, there is.” The hut wasn’t much to look at, but it had a weight to it. A steadiness. It had been here long enough to accept exactly what it was.
We were just draining the last of our coffees when the radio on the table crackled to life, breaking the quiet of the morning.
“O’Hare. You read me?” Brody’s voice cut through the static.
I set my mug down, got up, and grabbed the handset. “Yeah, Brody. I’m here.”
“Status update?”
My gaze landed on Maya. “Both okay. Maya has a sprained ankle, and some bruised ribs. The quad is out of commission.”
“Copy that,” Brody said. “We cleared the main access track at first light. The route from Fogarty’s to the southern gate is open whenever you’re ready to head out.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Glad you went out there,” Brody added before he clicked off.
Yeah. Me too.
I set the radio down and set about tidying up. I folded the blankets, heaved the mattress back onto the bed frame, and damped down the stove. When everything was squared away, I walked over and crouched beside the sofa.
“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen.” I rested a hand on the armrest next to her hip. “I’m going to get you to the truck and take you to get looked at. And you’re going to let me, without arguing.”
“I don’t argue.”
I quirked a brow at her.
She replied by rolling her eyes. “Fine. I sometimes argue.”
“You argued with a filing cabinet last week. I heard it from the break room.”
Her mouth fell open. “That cabinet had it coming.”
“I bet.” I held my arms out. “Come on.”
“You want to carry me again?”
“Unless you’d rather crawl.”
“Such romance.” But she looped her arms around my neck, and when I scooped her up, she settled against my chest with a small, satisfied hum that landed behind my ribs.
At the door, she looked back over my shoulder, her gaze sweeping the small room. Her lips curved in a soft smile, like she was tucking the memory away somewhere safe.
I pushed the door open with my boot. Morning air rushed in, cool and clean, carrying the sharp, washed-out smell of a world scrubbed new by the storm.
“Ready?”
She took a breath and nodded. “Ready.”
I carried her out, and the door swung shut behind us.