Chapter 9
ELI
Post-nut clarity is the worst, because what do you mean, I now have to face the fact that I came in Nathan’s hand? What do you mean the person I hate the most—my stepbrother—jerked me off and made me orgasm harder than I ever had in my life?
I’m horrified. How the hell am I supposed to face Nathan now? He’s probably smug about how he’s able to play me like a fiddle.
I’m nice and warm now—almost toasty—but I’d rather jump back into the cold lake than have to face Nathan and what we just did.
And as if things couldn’t get any worse, the loud rumble of my stomach echoes in the room.
The only thing I’ve had to eat today was my candy, and I polished it all off before we got stranded here.
My face burns, and I shrink into myself. There’s something hot and hard poking my back, but I’m too mortified to think too much about it.
Nathan chuckles, which only causes the shame to well up even more. I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe this is just one horribly long and realistic nightmare that I’ll wake up from any second now.
Cool air tickles my back as Nathan gets up from behind me. My eyes are still shut, refusing to look at him, and I feel him dropping a blanket over me.
“There are protein bars in my backpack,” he says, then I hear his footsteps fade away.
My lids open just long enough to see him disappearing upstairs.
His clothes are gone, so I’m assuming he went to get dressed.
I’m not sure why he didn’t just do it here, since I’ve already seen him and his fucking giant schlong.
He’s packing, even when soft. I don’t know how he doesn’t have back problems carrying that anaconda between his legs every day.
I wonder if I could take something that big inside me?
It’s so much thicker than my fingers, and I’ve never tired a dildo before.
I’d have to really stretch myself open, and even then it’d be a tight fit…
but wait. Why the hell am I even thinking about having Nathan’s cock inside of me?
Nathan and his giant dick have nothing to do with me, and I’d best remember that.
I decisively don’t think about my stepbrother’s dick and crawl over to his backpack. It’s hard to ignore my stomach growls now.
Despite Nathan’s skepticism, I eat just fine.
I would even say I have a big appetite. I might be the baby of the family, but that doesn’t mean Mom didn’t force me to learn how to cook.
She always emphasized the importance of being able to feed oneself, and I’m a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself.
It’s not my fault that the weight never sticks to me.
The people in my family are just naturally skinny.
I easily find the protein bars Nathan mentioned. The front pocket of his backpack is filled to the brim with them that it’s kinda hard not to notice them. Does he live off these things or something? Is that why he’s so jacked?
I’m scarfing down the first bar, too hungry to care about how dry it is, but the second one is much harder for me to shove down my throat. I’m hungry, so it’s not like I have room to complain here, but it takes me noticeably longer to finish the third one.
I glance toward the stairs and don’t see any movement. Now that food isn’t the only thing on my mind, I realize Nathan’s been gone for a while now. Does it take that long to put on some clothes? Or is he trying to give me space again?
I should be happy that he’s taking his sweet-ass time, since it means it’s one more precious second before I have to face him and what just happened.
My face burns at the memory. The only reason it felt so good is that it’s the first time I had someone else’s hands on me like that. I’m just a horny, twenty-one-year-old virgin, and that’s all there is to it.
I’m reminiscing about how good it felt having him pressed up against me when there’s movement coming from the stairs.
Nathan jogs down the steps two at a time, a flashlight lighting the way.
He’s fully clothed again, thank god, but that doesn’t stop my eyes from landing on the spot between his legs.
I look away, face heating, as soon as I realize what I’m doing.
“Hope you saved some for me,” he says when he sees the protein bar wrappers scattered beside me. I know he’s teasing—because he has enough bars in his bag for at least a week—but I still roll my eyes.
“I don’t know how you eat these. It’s like sand going down my throat.”
Nathan shrugs and bends over to grab a bar for himself. He smoothly tears it open and chomps on it without changing his expression.
“With how busy work is, I’d probably starve without them. They fill me up, so I can’t complain,” he says and shoves the rest of the bar into his mouth.
I frown. It doesn’t matter to me how he lives his life, and yet it bothers me that the man is basically surviving on protein bars.
What right does he have to worry about my eating habits when he should be worrying about himself?
But I bite my lip from saying anything. The last thing I want is for him to think I care.
“You still hungry?” he asks, and I absentmindedly nod. “I bet Uncle Anthony has a stash of canned soup in his pantry. He can’t be bothered about keeping clothes, but he wouldn’t be caught dead without an emergency supply of food.”
Nathan wanders to the kitchen and opens the cabinets. The kitchen is close enough that the light from the fireplaces lights his way. A second later, he lets out a “Jackpot.” He holds up the can of soup to me and flashes a bright smile that has my stomach fluttering.
I’m probably just excited about the prospect of food that doesn’t taste like cardboard.
“Cold soup doesn’t sound that appealing, but it’s marginally better than your protein bars,” I say.
“Lucky for you”—he opens another cabinet and pulls out a square-shaped item—“I know where Uncle Anthony keeps his portable gas stove.”
“I think I’m in love with your Uncle Anthony,” I blurt out, and Nathan chuckles.
He sets up his makeshift cooking station on the kitchen table and piles up a stack of cans next to it.
“Do you need help?” I ask when he returns to the table with a can opener.
He glances at me, and I must have imagined the heat in his eyes as they roam down my body. “You’re going to cook naked? That’s a horrible idea if I’ve ever heard one.”
“It’s not like I want to be naked,” I say with a huff and wrap the blanket tighter around me. I look at where my clothes are drying and can clearly see they’re still damp.
“Just stay by the fire before you get a chill again. Then all my hard work will have been for nothing,” he says with a wink.
“Nobody asked you for your help,” I grumble, but I can’t stop the heat that’s crawling to my cheeks. The moment will replay in my mind without Nathan having to remind me.
Nathan hums and fiddles with the stove.
“Nice,” he comments when the fire starts. He grabs a pot, places it on top of the fire, and starts opening cans to pour the soup inside the pot to heat through.
I grab my phone from the couch, glad I hadn’t taken it outside with me when I fell in the lake earlier. A broken phone would have made an already horrible day even worse.
Unlocking it, I’m disheartened to see that there’s still no signal. I sigh and turn off the screen to preserve the battery.
Who knows when the power will return, or when we’ll be saved from this place?
I thought riding in a car for a few hours with Nathan might be the end of me, and look at me now, stranded in a cabin with him.
As much as it kills me to admit it, being alone with Nathan isn’t as bad as I imagined it would be. Just being in his presence raises my blood pressure, but he’s surprisingly…caring?
I know he’s good at faking it, but his concern for me seems genuine, at least to me, and that’s making me even more confused than I already am. Nathan warmed up my body, and now I’m starting to warm up to him.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Hot soup coming right up,” Nathan says as he returns to the living room with two bowls.
I’m still sitting on the carpet with my back leaning against the foot of the couch. I’m a little further away from the fireplace now that I’m not freezing anymore.
He hands me a bowl and sits on the couch, and his leg brushes against my arm as he settles himself.
“Thanks,” I murmur and discreetly shift so that I’m not touching him. Either intentionally or not, Nathan shifts, too, but this time it’s his bare foot that’s pressed up against my thigh.
I glare up at him, but he’s focused on his food. Thinking I shouldn’t pick a fight with the person feeding me, I quietly drink my soup too. It’s chicken noodle, and the warmth of the cozy meal chases the last of the chill away.
“It really isn’t what you think, you know?” Nathan mutters softly just as the last of the soup settles in my stomach. His foot nudges my thigh, and I’m looking at him again.
“What isn’t?”
“The day my friends—my ex friends—came over,” he says.
I straighten in my seat, guard fully up again. I turn around to face him because I want him to look me straight in the eye while he spins whatever lie he’s about to tell me.
“It’s true they were joking about your sexuality, and that I did laugh—but it was purely out of instinct—and I made sure to shut it down as soon as I realized.”
“That’s not how I remember it, but if that’s the lie you need to tell to make yourself feel better, it’s no skin off my nose,” I say with a snort.
“I’m not lying,” he insists.
I cross my arms and shoot him a look that says I don’t trust a word he says.
He sighs and swipes a hand through his hair. The strands land messily, but somehow he still looks put together. His perfect appearance annoys me even more, so I look away.
Nathan slides down from the couch and sits beside me.
He moves our bowls out of the way and scoots right in front of me.
I turn away again, but then realize how childish I’m acting.
It’s not like not looking at him is going to make me forget he’s right in front of me. He’s presence is kinda hard to ignore.
“I’m sorry. I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness,” he says, blue eyes pleading with me. He looks so earnest that I’m caught off guard.
My pulse is thrumming as I’m wondering why he needs my forgiveness in the first place. It’s not like we’re involved in each other’s lives. We see each other a few times a year during family gatherings, but besides that, it’s radio silence. So why does it seem like he wants to get along with me?
I can’t wrap my head around it, and I should tell him to get lost. But then his hand lands on my knee over the blanket, and even if he’s not touching me directly, the spot burns.
I stare at his hand, conflicted and beyond confused, but I don’t tell him to fuck off, nor do I push him away.