Chapter 15
15
Ben responds to my kiss with heady greed.
It’s like a switch has flipped, and he is all in now. Every hesitation gone, reluctance chucked to the wayside. He wants this as much as I do. I can feel it. He takes my head in his hands, thumbs pressed to the soft skin beneath my ears. He angles himself to deepen the kiss, and when I reach up to bury the fingers of one hand in his hair, he rewards me with a groan.
A languid rush of desire, of pleasure, engulfs me. The trees ache with me. God, his mouth on me.
I’ve wanted him for so long.
One by one, he turns off our vest cameras. Distantly, I wonder if I should protest — we’re supposed to keep those running at all times, for safety reasons… but the thought dissipates as he fumbles for my walkie, turning it off, flicking his off too. And then, putting one hand against my waist, he pushes me firmly backward until I hit the tree, rough against my back. He arranges my body just so, his hands confident and unhurried but desperately needy. He unbuttons the collar of my jacket, unzips it.
All the while, his mouth is on mine. His tongue delves deep, and I respond, clutching his hair, his flexed biceps. He lifts his knee to brace between my legs. I grind down on his muscled thigh and gasp, an embarrassing little cry spilling from my mouth.
His teeth clamp down on my lower lip as his hand slams against the tree trunk behind me. I feel his skin on the striated bark — I feel his hot skin on me — sparking, aching, about to ignite .
A wind picks up. The forest seems to awaken with it, rippling and gasping along with me.
“Do not,” he says, muffled as he mouths my neck, “go out alone,” he rips open my jacket, “ever again. That’s an order.”
I arch my back. From black damp soil, a seedling springs.
“Yes,” I murmur.
Angling my hips, I move against him, desperate to gain purchase, the right angle for friction. He lowers his free hand, pressing his palm between my legs, giving me what I need.
“Yes, what? ” he murmurs, his tone rich with praise and admonishment.
God .
“Yes, sir,” I gasp.
“Good girl,” he growls.
I’m writhing, dripping beneath him, falling apart by the seams. This is exactly what I wanted, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough.
Not enough , responds the forest. More seedlings burst from the soil, their leaves unfurling.
His hand moves, leaving me bereft, and I make a sound of protest. But it’s only for a moment. He slides his hand under my jacket, brushing his fingers softly against my t-shirt. He moves his palm over my belly, curving his fingers around my side. Brushing upward with his thumb, he grazes the underside of my breast.
“Ben,” I gasp. I’m losing my mind; I have never been so wound up. I’m aching, almost begging to get off. There’s a tight, painful coil of want at my core, and I need him to give me everything. Unfurl me. Let me bloom.
From the seedlings explode a cacophony of blooms, painted bright and ecstatic. More and more, they grow. Vines trickle and coil down from above, encircling the tree. Encircling us, I imagine, pulling our bodies together until we’re enfolded, part of the forest itself.
“Shh,” he breathes. He sucks on my neck with practiced ferocity, as if he knows exactly how to make my heart stop with his mouth alone. How hard to bite before he leaves a mark. His hand roams deeper inside my jacket until his palm is flat against the small of my back. He pulls me close against him. He’s firm, strong, military through and through. This is how he operates. I’m his mission.
“Please,” I beg.
His hand slides down the tree bark, rough. Stars explode in my vision, a sharp, angry pleasure knifing through me. Yes. Touch me there. Anywhere. Run your fingers along a billowing fern. Sink into the earth, up to your ankles. Up to your knees. Let the Planet take you slowly, like a lover. Let her kiss the flesh from you. Sink in with me. Decay with me. Become bones with me.
“Please, what ?” he says, and lowers his mouth to my breast, hot and wet at my skin-tight shirt, his tongue laving as he works me into the worst, most hedonistic frenzy. I feel unmoored. Uncontrollable.
I would be happy if we died here, like this.
“Fuck me,” I gasp.
His muffled chuckle vibrates from my breast to my core, and I am so, so wet.
“Jones,” he breathes, and then bites my nipple, hard.
“Ben, fucking do it .” I’m ravenous.
A beat. The forest holds her breath.
Ben stops kissing me.
There’s a sudden emptiness where he should be. I open my eyes, my head beginning to clear in his absence. He’s no more than a foot away, but it feels like miles. His eyes are dark with lust, his hair an absolute mess, and God if I wouldn’t do anything to have him all for my own, forever.
“You were right last night,” he says, like it takes every bit of his strength to say it. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
No, no, no. We should . Maybe he doesn’t want to mislead me. He thinks I’ll get too attached. “It’s nothing,” I gasp, hurried and wanting. “This thing between us, it doesn’t have to mean anything. We can keep it casual. I won’t let it affect my work.”
He shakes his head, but I must sound so pathetic, so desperate, that he comes to me again. He presses his body to mine. He leans down, his head against my chest, and nuzzles my breast, murmuring my name. I whimper, grabbing at his hair, rolling my hips against his. I can feel his hard-on. He’s probably leaking in his pants. He’s right on the edge, just like me.
Stay here, Ben.
Again, he gently unfolds himself from me. Deliberately, slowly, like it takes everything in him to reject me for a second time.
“No,” I demand, pulling him back to me with a hand hooked around his neck. “Come back. Just this once. We’ll stay professional. It won’t make a difference at all.”
His gaze finally falls to mine. His pupils dilate, and for a moment, I think he’ll change his mind. Yes. Come back to me, come into me. Let me swallow you.
I kiss him before he can protest, a hard, desperate, toothy meeting of mouths. He grunts, and I will him to stay. Stay. With me. In the forest. We never have to leave.
But he’s stronger than me, and it doesn’t take much for him to gently pry me away. He shakes his head, a wordless finality in his still-lustful gaze: We can’t do this. He can’t. He’s military through and through. A consummate professional. And whatever just happened here…
“Jill Jones,” he says, almost as if to himself. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Like flame deprived of oxygen, my arousal dissipates, scattering in the wind like ashes.
I lean back against the tree in my soaked underwear and saliva-wet shirt, and all I feel is shame. I threw myself at Ben in a moment of delusion. What the fuck was I thinking?
“You ready?” His expression is soft, and I hate that he’s so kind, even when I’ve made an idiot of myself.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m right behind you. I just need a second.”
His mouth tightens. He looks away. “Don’t dawdle. Catch up to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
He turns and strides off through the forest, back toward camp. As he fades into the dappled shadows, I hear a crackle as he turns his walkie-talkie back on. And I think I hear, before he disappears completely, “...won’t make a difference to you .”
Fuck.
I’ll join him in a second. I just need a second.
I zip up my jacket, buttoning the collar around my neck as high as it will go. I smooth my hair and breathe out a long, self-loathing sigh. At last, I push away from the tree, ready to trail after Ben.
That’s when I see it.
I thought I had imagined it. All around me are flowers. A mosaic. An undulating burst of riotous color — blooms I’ve never seen before. They form a bright circle around the tree where Ben almost made me come. I look and see vines looping down from its boughs. Countless thick, leafy vines that I swear weren’t there before. And each leaf is perfectly symmetrical. Every flower petal is flawless.
The sight fills me with awe and unbridled fascination. What does it mean? Where did all of this come from? Was it attracted by something, by our activity? I need to understand. I should be taking notes, photographs, collecting samples.
But as I pause here, frozen amongst the inexplicable blooms, a prickle of fear invades my senses. My stomach curdles with dread. Andrews was here, deep in this forest. Alone. I don’t know exactly what my mother saw when she found Andrews, but whatever it was, it broke her.
I don’t want to take samples. I don’t want to touch any of this. What if I, like Andrews, never make it out of the forest?
I take one last long look at the strange scene, the flowering mass, the moss and ferns, the waterfall that plunges beyond. Then I turn on my heel and run.