Roughing It

12. Blakely

CHAPTER TWELVE

blakely

DAY NINE

Thwack! Thwack!

Grumbling, I rub my sleep-swollen eyes. “Hudson, what’s that noise?”

When he doesn’t answer, I stretch my toes in search of his thigh to poke. I reach as far as my five-five frame will go, but find nothing except cold sheets. What the hell?

Thwack!

This time, the mystery sound makes me jump. It’s rhythmic and harsh, but I can’t place it. Hudson isn’t here or fussing about the racket, so he must be involved, which means I for sure need to figure out what’s going on.

Thwack!

With more of my wits about me, I pad to a window and scan the treeline. Nothing on this side of the house stands out. So I try again, nudging the front door open and peering over the clearing.

And there, like some sort of pagan lumberjack god, stands Hudson Brooks, chopping wood.

I scramble from the door and dash to get my phone. My spidey senses are tingling. Hudson plus an axe is top-notch material. But I screech to a halt because I am in no way, shape, or form camera-ready.

So, like a multitasking fool, I yank a brush through my wavy hair and pull on leggings and a tank top. I shove my hiking boots on with no regard for my feet, and one of Hudson’s discarded flannels tops off my outfit. It’ll do; after all, this live isn’t about me.

Without even pointing the camera at myself, I start talking. “Hey, y’all! I’m coming to you live from my adorable cabin in the woods. And BBs, you are in for a treat today.” I train the phone—and my greedy eyes—on Hudson. I’m rapt with attention as he wipes a gloved hand across his forehead. Tiny beads of sweat glimmer on his skin, and despite the chilly weather, he’s shirtless.

I want nothing more than to trace his skin with my tongue, gathering those drops of salty-sweet sweat. But I’m once again a paragon of restraint. I deserve a cookie for all the damn restraint I’ve shown. With a pout, I settle for zooming in closer than necessary.

“BBs, are you seeing this?” I whisper, not bothering to look at the screen. They are eating this up. Who wouldn’t?

Hudson’s dark hair is disheveled and windswept. He hasn’t trimmed his beard, but it only enhances his rugged looks. He turns his face to the sun for a moment, the rays casting his golden skin in their light.

Another urge strikes me, and I have to ball my free hand into a fist to keep from stalking across the clearing, digging my fingers into his scalp, and kissing the dickens out of him .

My mouth drops open as he swings the axe , splitting a large piece of wood in two.

“Holy shit,” I whisper before catching myself and turning the camera so I’m on screen. With a purr and a giggle, I say, “Daddy’s swinging big today.” From the corner of my eye, I see Hudson’s head shoot up, a hint of pink tinting his bronze skin. He glares at me, so I wink and wave.

“Hudson, say hi to my BBs! They’re very impressed by your big axe .” I make sure to place a heavy emphasis on the words, knowing they will fluster him more and drive my fans wild. Plus, I know first-hand how big that axe really is.

Well, not first hand given that we haven’t done more than kiss since the hot springs. It’s like I’m living in my very own closed-door romance.

Whenever I think we might move ahead a step, Hudson pulls back. It’s been two days of tooth-achingly sweet kisses and chaste touches and nothing else. I’m practically throwing up the bat signal, trying to move us forward, but Hudson holds firm. When I ask him why, he gives me a hug or soft kiss and steers the conversation to other things, or makes me do more terrible knot tying, fire making, or navigation practice—which I’m somehow getting worse at.

The sight of Hudson, so masculine and just rawr, has me squeezing my thighs together. I imagine those rough hands exploring my body, pinching my nipples until they ache—the warm, sweaty scent of him enveloping me.

Yeah… those kisses need to give way to more ASAP.

“Hudson! I said say hi!”

All I get is a frown before he sets another large piece of wood on the block and, again, in a single swing, cleaves it cleanly in half.

“This may be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Send a heart if you agree!” My phone screen fills with hundreds of hearts. This is so going viral.

I step closer to where Hudson works, my heart and the pulse between my legs pounding in tandem. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

His eyes run over my outfit, a flicker of appreciation shining when he sees I’m wearing his shirt. “Technically, I can, but this isn’t a toy. The blade is sharp.” His eyes narrow before nodding at the cabin. “Go get the gloves we bought; your hands are too delicate to do this without protection.”

I squeal, then whisper into the camera, “BBs, hold tight. Enjoy the show while I go get my gear.” Setting my phone on a nearby cord of wood, I angle it so Hudson is in view. For his part, he turns his attention back to chopping wood, and by the time I return with my gloves, the stack has grown considerably.

“I’m ready to try my hand at chopping wood.” I flex my bicep in the general direction of my phone. We should both be perfectly in frame. When I reach for the enormous axe, though, he stops me.

“Need you to do a little legwork first.”

Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Take all the split pieces and stack them by the door.”

The pile at his feet is massive. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“How about you show me how to do it first, then I’ll help pick up?”

“Nope. Stack first.”

My nose wrinkles in distaste, but with a sullen sigh, I pick up a couple of pieces of wood and carry them to the porch. I do this a handful of times until the stack next to the door is knee high.

“Can I be done yet?”

Hudson grumbles but extends his hand, encouraging me to step closer. With a gentleness that belies his size, he snags the hair tie off my wrist and carefully pulls my hair into a messy bun, making sure all the long strands are up and off my neck and back.

“Wouldn’t want your pretty hair to get in the way,” he murmurs.

Sparks dance along the sensitive skin beneath my ear, where his lips graze as he speaks.

“Ready?”

With a resolute nod, I hold out my hand, nearly falling forward from the weight when he places the axe in my grip. Over my shoulder, I call out toward my phone. “Damn, y’all. This axe is heavy! Which makes what we saw this morning even more impressive.” I wiggle my eyebrows and grin.

“Who are you talking to? Me? Because I know it’s heavy.”

Bless his heart. I point my thumb at my phone.

Annoyance tightens his features. “You’re still filming? I thought you ended it when you went inside.”

I screw on a smile and, through clenched teeth, say, “Of course, I’m still filming. Now show me what to do.” Louder so the audience can hear me, I giggle. “Hudson, you big goof, the BBs are waiting!”

When he doesn’t do anything, I widen my eyes in a silent plea of please-move-you-giant-handsome-asshole .

His sigh tells me he’s giving in, but also that I’m going to catch hell for this later. Oh well. Worth it.

Glancing over his shoulder, he pulls us out of the phone’s aim. Then he leans in and nips my ear before whispering, “Don’t think we won’t talk about this.”

Guiding me back into the frame—all while ignoring my little whimper—he places his large hands over mine, showing me how to grip the handle properly. He guides my arms up and over my head, then down, and in a smooth swing, the axe cuts through the air with a whoosh . He repeats the action three more times.

I should pay attention to my actions, but all I can focus on are his arms around my body, the heat of his chest against my back, and the subtle scent of my shampoo mixing with his natural one. I can’t be held responsible when my body reacts, my back arching so I can press my ass against his hips.

“Blakely.” His voice is a low warning, but it doesn’t stop him from rocking his hips. “It’s a good fucking thing this releases a lot of tension.” Then louder, he says, “Ready to try on your own with an actual piece of wood?”

Hudson takes a step back, and I feel empty without the weight of his body against mine. But it also helps clear my head.

Flashing a brilliant smile at my phone, I say, “Okay, BBs! Here I go!”

With a Herculean effort, I swing the axe up and let the weight carry it downward. A third of the wood splits away and falls to the side. I did it.

Dropping the axe, I crash into Hudson, jumping and grabbing his shoulders. “I did it! I chopped wood!”

“Sure did, Spitfire.” His fingers brush against my jaw, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. Despite the phone filming us. Despite the thousands of people watching him with hearts in their eyes. But he just smirks.

Taking a calming breath, I walk over to my phone and smile into the camera. “BBs, I hope you saw that. I’m practically a wilderness expert now.” With a quick goodbye, I sign off and take a couple of steps toward the porch.

“Hold up. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Um, inside.”

“Nope. You said you wanted to learn how to chop wood. ”

“And I did.” I give him my best duh face.

“You cut one piece of kindling. Now get over here and let me show you again. This time without an audience.”

Like a scolded child, I drag my feet over to him. But when he grips my hips and hauls me into position, there’s nothing childish about the feelings he ignites. Hudson’s large fingers walk a path upward, skating over my rib cage, then skating over my shoulders and down the length of my arms until our fingers curl together. He guides my hands, positioning them on the handle.

I swear my heart is pounding loud enough for the people back in Trail Creek to hear it.

He swallows, the sound faint but audible. Then, he steers my swing and helps me put more force into it, so this time, the axe head strikes in the middle and splits the log evenly. Before I can do a celebratory dance, a new uncut piece is on the stump we’re using as the base.

We repeat that same sensual slow dance. His hands skimming my body until our hands clasp together. I’m sweaty and tingling, but the only release comes from the crack of the wood.

When his hands once again follow the path up my back, his hips buck forward, and on instinct, I press back, grinding against him.

“Fucking hell, Blakely.” The axe falls to the ground, and Hudson’s lips are on mine. My kiss is desperate, full of longing and need. I beg for entrance to his mouth, and when he grants it, I run my tongue along his teeth and shiver at the slight prick of his canines.

Hudson lifts me so I can anchor my legs around his waist. His calloused palms slide along the bare skin of my back, and I can’t help but rock against him. The kissing. The touching. The glorious grinding lasts another handful of minutes. If I could just get a little more pressure…

A pained groan leads to my feet landing back on the ground. Hudson’s chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, the black of his blown pupils eating up the green of his eyes. I want him.

Resting his chin on my head, he hugs me before giving me a small nip to my lower lip. “Leave it to me. Cold front’s coming in tonight. Need to make sure we have enough wood.” Then he’s right back to it, the now familiar thwack sound filling the air.

Dazed from his touch, I stumble to the cabin. When the door snicks shut behind me, I lean against the wood to cool off my overheated body. I’m all worked up. The hot and heavy make-out session, combined with the forty-eight hours of teasing kisses and nothing more, has me needing relief.

Now.

My eyes land on the clawfoot tub. In the eleven days I’ve been here, I’ve taken way too many rushed showers. A nice long soak is exactly what I need. Decision made, I turn on the water and set the temperature to my liking. I leave a trail of clothes strewn in my path while I go to grab bath oil from my belongings. Cursing when I trip over my freaking hiking boots, I briefly consider picking up the mess on my side of the cabin, but veto that idea. I do kick my boot for good measure, though.

I add several drops of the fragrant oil into the warm water, inhaling the soft floral scent before stepping into the deep tub.

It’s so quiet, with only the unwavering crack of splintering wood breaking the silence. Grabbing my phone from where it rests on a bundle of towels, I pick my Spicy Night playlist and set it to random. Hozier’s seductive lyrics and voice draw me in, and I let my mind go where it wants—and it wants Hudson.

Hudson chopping wood, shirtless, sweat running down his body. Hudson naked in the shower, his thick cock straining with need. Hudson tasting me, his surprisingly soft lips parting mine. Hudson on top of me, spreading my legs, pushing into me, filling me. Hudson whispering filthy things in my ear while I come on his… axe.

My hands roam my slick body, skimming the valley between my breasts. I toy with my nipples until they bead, then give them a teasing twist before moving lower. Raising one leg, I rest it over the lip of the tub and circle my clit, my hips twitching with each pass. Slipping a single finger in my warmth, I slowly work it in… then out. In. Out. In. Swirl. Out.

Then, I add another.

I continue my daydream, my sexy Bear pinning me to the wall, his rough hands charting the curves of my body, claiming my pussy in his name. The thrilling visual of Hudson’s broad shoulders splitting my thighs, my heels digging into the powerful muscles of his back, has me bucking against my hand, trying to go deeper. My fingers aren’t thick enough, not long enough to give me what I’m searching for. I’m so close, but I can’t quite get there. Frustration threatens to pull me away from the edge. I need more.

Spying the faucet from my half-shut eyes, I wriggle and turn the water back on. I position myself under the steady stream with both legs splayed wide over the sides. Then, I use one hand to spread myself open. The continuous cascade of warm liquid falls onto my clit and couples with my fingers inside me. All it takes is the addition of the images of a certain sweaty, bronzed god’s face buried in my pussy to push me over the edge. I call out Hudson’s name far louder than I intend, but I’m basking in my boneless afterglow, so I can’t be concerned.

“Blakely, are you okay? I heard you scream my name.”

Hudson peers down at me, my hair floating around me in wild tendrils, legs spread eagle. With a yelp, I sit up, splashing water over the edge of the tub and onto his feet.

Frozen in a silent stand-off, we inspect each other—me sitting in lukewarm water looking at him. Him staring at me like he’s seen me naked, which now he has. I lick my lips. Will this be the tipping point for him? Are my wet body, my hardened nipples, the spread of my thighs just hidden from his view enough to make him snap and give me what I want?

Despite his pink-tinged cheeks, he doesn’t hesitate to drink me in, staring at my face and moving lower to what’s hidden beneath the water. I enjoy the heat of his gaze on me until he grabs a towel and wraps it around my shoulders, effectively shielding me from view.

The flimsy weight of the towel feels like a piano settling on my chest. With a nervous laugh, I wave a hand. “Sorry, um, I thought I saw a mouse.”

“Yeah.” Hudson blushes and looks away from me. “A mouse. Sure.” Without another word, he strides out the door. Then I hear the familiar sound of wood being demolished in a single swing.

As Hudson predicted, a cold front comes through—and not just outside. With each passing hour, the temps drop, and by the time the sun sets, it’s in the low teens. Meanwhile, in the cabin we’re sitting at a frosty negative ten, best I can tell. Whether this is because Hudson’s upset about the live spot or embarrassed about my afternoon self-delight, I can’t say.

“Gonna shower.”

“Okay, enjoy.” I smile at him from where I’m curled up on the couch. An unintelligible grunt is his reply. Remind me what I see in him again? Then he pads through the cabin in his boxers, restoring my memory.

While Hudson showers, I take the initiative to make dinner. Growing up the way I did, I counted on free breakfast and lunch at school. Weekends and long breaks I existed on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or dry cereal. Things that were easy to get from the local food bank and didn’t require me to cook. Half the time, the stove and oven didn’t work. So making dinner is way outside my comfort zone, but a peace offering can’t hurt, and it’s too late in the day for apology coffee. I’m hoping we can talk about things—all the things—and maybe move on from kissing to something more.

Or at least get back to kissing.

I stir the lumpy sauce. Some of it’s bubbling, and some isn’t. The noodles aren’t boiling, but they’ve been in the water for ages, so I figure they’re fine.

The shower turning off acts as my timer, and I plate the food. Hudson joins me in the kitchen in a considerably better mood. How can I tell? Well, he says three words to me rather than just grunting.

“Want a drink?”

I nod and take the offered water before sitting. With a deep breath, I say, “So, this afternoon?—”

“What is this?” He’s frowning at his plate while twirling his fork through the noodles.

“It’s spaghetti. Quit changing the subject.”

“No.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“No, this is not spaghetti. This is undercooked noodles with a can of tomato sauce poured over the top. Do you not cook at home?”

“Um, no, actually I don’t. I use a meal service; they deliver all my meals for the week, and I nuke them when I have time or am hungry. But also, we still need to talk about?—”

Hudson cuts me off again. “Give me your plate; I’ll make us something edible.”

Irritation has me narrowing my eyes. He’s clearly refusing to address the masturbating elephant in the room, and he’s insulting the dinner I made. I follow him and watch him dump the food in the trash.

“Hey! I’m sure it tastes fine!”

“Did you try it?”

“No, I didn’t get a chance before you scooped up my plate!”

“I did you a favor.”

“You know what, Bear? I’m not even hungry,” I grumble with my hands in the air. “Make whatever you want.”

I spin and sulk my way to the couch, sinking down with a dramatic sigh. Smug, sexy, know-it-all bastard.

Stretched out on the uncomfortable cushions, I do my best to ignore the delicious aromas. Eventually, though, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I peer over the back of the sofa. Hudson moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, chopping vegetables, mixing something in a bowl, coating some kind of meat in a breading. When he turns around, I dive below the couch back so he can’t see me spying.

“Food’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” My traitorous stomach picks that moment to growl.

“Liar.”

Grumbling a few choice words, I peek back over the couch. “I’ll eat, but only if you agree to talk about what happened today.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I make my way to the table and take a tentative bite of the sweet and spicy chicken. Dammit, it’s delicious. “Thank you. This is great,” I say, shooting him a half smile.

“Hot honey chicken.”

When I raise my eyebrows in question, he huffs and points at my plate. “Hot honey chicken. The meal.”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

He shrugs. “YouTube.”

“Okay, let me be more specific. I want a longer-than-one-word answer. What made you decide to learn about cooking?”

The eye roll he sends my direction is epic. “Mom did most of the cooking while we were growing up, but when we were camping with Dad, we had to fend for ourselves. I spent the first few years fumbling my way through shitty meals, so I figured it was worth it to figure out how to make something that tastes good.”

Once again, things come back to his childhood spent fending for himself and his brothers.

Before I can push the topic any further, Hudson asks, “Want to tell me why you were filming me this morning?”

I snort. “Because I’m a genius.”

Hudson is unimpressed with my answer. “When I whispered in your ear, kissed your neck… those moments were for you and me. Not them.” His eyes linger on me; the same hungry gaze I witnessed this afternoon evident in his expression now. But it’s colored with something else. Anger? Frustration?

“I doubt they saw anything. The way we were standing, your back was to them.”

He sighs. “Not the point.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Princess, it’s a very big deal.”

I frown at the use of that nickname. He only calls me princess when he’s upset with me.

“Do you ever think about anyone but yourself and your numbers?” The harsh words have me sitting up straighter, itching to defend myself.

“Of course I do! I was thinking of you when I was jilling off in the bathtub!” Lifting my chin, I stare him down.

A possessive growl rumbles from his throat. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

“All I know is you know exactly what I was doing when I called out your name. Sorry, not sorry. I’m a healthy young woman. It’s natural. I’m also not apologizing for filming you today.”

I glide my foot up his leg, enjoying the way he shifts as I graze his calf. “It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” I pause, a smile dancing on my lips. “It’s why I needed to take matters into my own hands.”

“Fuck, Blakely.”

My foot snakes a little higher, and I grin. “You do the same thing when you disappear into the bathroom.”

He makes a slight noise of protest, but I press on. “We’re both adults here, Bear. Admit it. You think about me when you...” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

Hudson makes a non-committal grunt and tears his eyes away from me, suddenly paying extra attention to his plate.

“Admit it!” I chirp in a sing-song voice, my foot traveling higher, inching up his inner thigh, where I brush against something significantly harder.

“Blakely,” he groans, a warning tone to his voice.

“Hudson,” I purr, ignoring his warning. Before I move my foot again, he grasps my ankle, featherlight at first, then firmer. His hand is warm and dry and the right amount of rough. I wish he’d touch me anywhere else. Everywhere else.

“You should put socks on, Spitfire; your feet are like ice.” He drops my ankle and rises from the table as if he didn’t dump a bucket of water on me.

I pout at him but follow suit, taking my dish to the sink. He steps to the side, leaning against the counter, watching me as I rinse off my plate. “You just going to stare?”

“No.”

In a flash, he’s behind me. Hudson’s hand ghosts down my back before settling on my hip. His heated breath against my neck sends a wave of longing through me. Then his lips skim across the tops of my shoulders.

A nibble, a quick swipe of his tongue, a gentle suck. I’m shaking and squirming, and in a desperate attempt to keep his mouth on my skin, I lace my fingers in his hair, gripping tightly. My hips rock back into the cradle of his pelvis, and a ragged moan slips from my throat. The world is a haze of sensation and Hudson’s hot, wet, teasing kisses.

Every nerve in my body tingles with each lap of his tongue, each press of his lips.

Then his teeth graze my ear, murmured words dripping down my spine like honey. “So you think I’m fantasizing about you during my private time? That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes, that’s it.” The words feel like glue in my throat.

With a smirk, Hudson steps away, leaving me aching with need. He silently makes his way to the bathroom, eyes on mine as he closes the door.