Chapter 12

12

I take a step back, turning my head just enough so he knows that I see him, that I can feel how close he is. His jacket, unzipped, brushes against my back. His breath ruffles my hair. He inhales like he’s about to speak. No, shut up, Ben.

Another step back.

A sharp intake of breath.

His dog tags press against my back, cold through my shirt. His chest rises and falls, warm against my shoulder blades. I tilt my chin up, looking back, and see that his eyes are closed, brows drawn together. Is he disgusted? Trying to think of a way to get out of this moment, this intimacy?

But before I can decide how to react, he decides for me. He grabs my hips, slowly and deliberately.

I stifle a quiet gasp.

A chilly wind cools my face. The crickets, which we now know are amphibious, chirp a faint song for the night.

Ben pulls me closer until there’s no space between us. He holds me there with one hand on my belly. The other drifts down, down to the hem of my shirt, which he pulls up with gentle fingers. My eyes flutter shut. He holds me steady, helpless against his chest, his heartbeat a staccato of desire.

I’m in a senseless state of need when he unbuttons my cargoes. When he lowers the zipper, centimeter by centimeter.

I’m light-headed, breathing too fast when he lowers his mouth to my ear. I could erupt into flames. I could let the sky pull me into its infinite depths, dragging me apart, atom by atom. I could let the grasses pull me in, caressing, enfolding, until there’s nothing left. I could dematerialize. I’m ready to die when his lips graze my neck, when his hand flattens on my belly and slides gradually down.

I’ve wanted this for so long .

A raucous peel of laughter rises from the tent. All at once, I’m back in my body, back in the present moment. All at once, I realize with painful clarity that Ben’s hands are on me. His mouth is on me. I could let this happen, damn the consequences, damn the inevitable pain when it doesn’t work out. When, God forbid, something happens to him.

Because it’s dark, and it’s late, and I’ve had too much wine, the thought comes to me: Andrews. Andrews, slipping off with my mother in the dark. Andrews, disappearing, alone in the forest. Andrews, the way my mother found her.

There’s a dark well calling for me, and I’m sprinting toward it.

I pull away abruptly, turning to face Ben, a healthy few feet of distance between us.

“I’m sorry.” The words spill, barely formed, from my mouth as I zip up my cargoes.

Ben takes a step back, looking stricken. “No, no, I’m sorry. Jesus, Jones. That was… that was out of line. Completely out of line. I didn’t—”

“No, it’s okay,” I say quickly, knowing where his thoughts have gone. “I wanted to. I’m the one who…” The words catch in my throat. Am I about to cry? I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for. I just think this, our friendship, should stay professional.”

He hesitates, then nods. Rubs the back of his neck with the hand that should be touching me. “Yeah. Of course. Absolutely.”

I force a wan smile. “Cool. Okay. I’m heading to bed now.”

“Right. Sleep well, Jones.” He salutes me, turns on his heel, and strides away into the night.

Fuck . Fuck fuck fuck.

It takes everything in me not to go after him and bring him back here. It takes everything not to bring him back and throw him down on my cot and indulge in the most depraved acts I can think of.

Instead, pent-up and pissed off — at Ben, at myself, at Darcie and Julian — I retreat to my tent, undress, and crawl into my cot. There, I close my eyes and replay every second of what just happened over and over in my mind. Ben’s breath on my hair, his hands on my bare skin, his hot mouth on my ear and neck.

It doesn’t take long for me to come, but it’s not satisfying. I lie there in the dark, breathing hard, trying and failing to hold back tears. I thought it would be easier out here. That I’d be able to breathe for once, away from my own bullshit.

But here I am, the same Jill Jones as ever.

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