Chapter 10 Carter #2
I know what he means. We both know why we're here, and it's not for polite conversation or shared meals or getting-to-know-you chats. The heat hasn't fully arrived yet, but it's coming, and we're both very aware of each other's bodies.
"We could eat something," I offer. "I could make dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
"You should try to eat before—"
"Carter." My name in his mouth cuts through the attempt at practicality. "I'm not hungry for food."
Something in me snaps.
I close the distance between us in two steps, my hands finding his hips, pulling him against me. Jamie makes a soft sound and then we're kissing.
This, at least, is familiar. This, I know how to do.
We don't make it out of the kitchen. I lift him onto the counter, step between his thighs, and he wraps around me immediately, his arms around my neck, legs hooking behind my back, pulling me closer. His mouth is hot and demanding.
The counter is the wrong height, but I don't care.
I shove his sweater up, run my hands over the warm skin of his stomach, feel the muscles twitch under my palms. He's already hard—I can feel him through his jeans when I press forward—and he rocks against me with a desperate little sound that shoots straight to my cock.
I get his jeans open. Get mine open. The mechanics are awkward on the counter, but we figure it out the way we always do.
When I push into him, Jamie's head falls back against the cabinet with a soft thunk. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, and he says my name—just once, barely a whisper—and something in my chest clenches at the sound of it.
The sex is a relief. Familiar territory at last. It’s just bodies and heat and the drive toward release. I know this. I'm good at this.
I fuck him on the kitchen counter with the groceries still half-unpacked around us, and for a few minutes, everything makes sense.
Then it's over.
We're both breathing hard. Jamie is still on the counter, and I'm still standing between his thighs.
I pull out carefully. Jamie winces slightly, and guilt flickers through me.
"Well," Jamie says. His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat. "That was..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. I don't know how I'd finish it either. Necessary? Inevitable? Nice?
I step back, tucking myself away, suddenly very aware of the cooling sweat on my skin and the mess we've made and the fact that we just had sex in my dead grandmother's kitchen like teenagers who couldn't wait five more minutes for a bed.
Jamie slides off the counter, adjusting his clothes. He's not looking at me. Neither of us seems to know where to look.
The silence is even worse now than it was before. Before, there was at least the tension of anticipation. Now there's just this hollow, uncomfortable quiet and the knowledge that we have to get through an entire week of this.
"I should probably..." Jamie runs a hand through his hair, which is disheveled in ways that make me want to mess it up further. "I might go take a shower. If that's okay."
"Of course." My voice comes out too formal again, like I'm giving a colleague permission to use the facilities. "The bathroom's down the hall. But—" I hesitate, not sure why I'm saying this except that I want to give him something. A small courtesy.
"There's a bath, actually," I say. "A good one. If you'd prefer that."
Jamie looks at me, really looks, for the first time since we finished.
"Come on," I say. "I'll show you."
I lead him down the short hallway to the bathroom. This is the one truly extravagant thing about the cabin, my grandmother's single indulgence in a house otherwise built for simplicity. She had the rolltop bath installed sometime in the seventies. Said she needed one civilized thing out here.
The tub sits beneath a large window that faces east, toward the mountains. In the fading afternoon light, the view is a sweep of winter-bare trees and distant ridges, the sky above them going soft and grey with approaching dusk.
Jamie stops in the doorway. "Oh," he says quietly.
I reach past him to turn on the taps, testing the water temperature until it runs hot.
"My grandmother had it installed when she was in her fifties.
Said if she was going to live in the wilderness, she was at least going to have a proper bath.
" I adjust the hot and cold until the temperature feels right.
"The water pressure's decent. Takes about ten minutes to fill. "
Jamie is staring out the window. Something in his expression has softened. He looks younger suddenly, less guarded. "It's beautiful."
"The sunrise is better. If you're up early enough." I straighten, stepping back to give him space. "You can see the mist rising off the valley. My grandmother used to sit here with her coffee and watch it burn off."
The words feel too personal. I don't know why I'm sharing this.
Jamie doesn't need to know about my grandmother's morning rituals, about the quiet hours I spent here as a child listening to her hum while the bath filled.
He's here because he's in heat and he needs an alpha, and I'm here because apparently I can't stay away from him no matter how many reasons I have to try.
"Thank you," Jamie says. Still formal. Still polite. "For... all of this."
I don't know what all of this encompasses. The bath? The supplies? The fact that I dropped everything and drove three hours to a remote cabin to help him through his heat? The fact that despite everything between us, I couldn't say no when he asked?
"Towels are in the cabinet," I add. "Take as long as you need."
I step out of the bathroom. The door closes behind me with a soft click.
I stand in the hallway, listening to the water run.
I should do something useful. Get the fire going perhaps. I need something to occupy my hands and stop me from thinking about Jamie on the other side of that door, stripping off his clothes, lowering himself into the hot water.
Instead, I stand there like an idiot, staring at the closed door.
The water keeps running. I can hear the splash and trickle of Jamie settling into the bath, the small sounds of someone getting comfortable. I imagine him sinking into the heat, letting his muscles unclench, looking out at the mountains while my touch washes from his skin.
His heat will hit fully soon, and then it won't matter that we don't know how to talk to each other.