4. August
August
The fire licks at my palms as I crouch closer to the fireplace, but it’s useless. The cold’s only skin-deep—only helping what’s causing the hairs on my arms to stand tall. The real problem’s beneath.
Her.
The way her breath hitched when our eyes locked. The flush crawling up her throat like she was standing too close to the flames before moving to greet me.
Even now, with her footsteps padding down the hall, I can still see it—the parted lips, the wide, dark pupils swallowing me whole, looking at me like I’m something else entirely.
I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. Even when I close my eyes, I can’t unsee the way she looked at me.
I’m out of my damn mind if I even think about letting my imagination get to my head.
Payton isn’t mine. Not even close. I don’t even know if I want her yet. To want her means I want someone to interrupt my silence and solitude.
I’d be lying to myself if I genuinely tried to believe there wasn’t a pull constantly eating at me, demanding I take care of her. Give her a reason to stick around.
Why else would I have gone out in that storm if it wasn’t for a reason to keep our time together going?
The floorboard creaks behind me, revealing that I’m no longer allowed to lose myself in my thoughts at my lonesome.
Fuck.
I don’t turn. Can’t. Not when every damn nerve in my body’s already strung tight as a tripwire, urging me to feed this demand to do something about how I feel. Hell, I haven’t had enough time to unwrap that mystery yet.
“August?” Saying my name so sweetly, I’m forced to look over my shoulder to find her clutching one of my towels with a grip so tight, her knuckles match the white fluff.
Approaching me ever so carefully, she doesn’t thrust the towel in my direction and make a run for it despite her expression.
I grunt, beckoning her to continue. I don’t trust my tongue enough to keep myself from saying something I shouldn’t. Something like the truth.
Something along the lines of asking her to stay here through the weekend instead of at another man’s cabin.
“You’re—you’re still soaked.” Her fingers tighten around the towel. A heartbeat passes before her voice grows softer. “Let me help.”
The air between us goes taut.
I should say no. Should’ve stripped off this damned shirt the second I walked in. But the way she’s looking at me—like she’s already imagining the drag of fabric under her palms—roots me to the spot. My cock thickens, traitorous, as she steps closer.
I can’t let this go to my head. She just wants to return the favor, that’s all. I went out of my way to get the power turned back on, and she feels bad. Fuck, there has to be a reason behind her wanting to do this. Something platonic.
Her first touch is a whisper—just the towel brushing my collarbone. Then bolder, pressing into the soaked cotton of my shirt. The heat of her seeps through, sharper than any fire.
I don’t move. Can’t. Every muscle locks, not from cold, but from the sheer effort of not hauling her against me. Her breath hitches as she discovers the unyielding planes of my chest, the way my body betrays me, tensing under her ministrations.
The towel slows over my ribs. Her knuckles graze bare skin where the fabric clings, and my pulse kicks hard enough she must feel it.
I choke on a groan as she slides back up. Her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes wide. Taking in her lips, I catch them parted in wonder. Is that what this is? Could she just be curious?
Ducking down so she can reach the droplets clinging to my hair, it’s not the fuzzy fibers of the towel that touch my bearded cheek, but her fingers.
Her eyes are clouded, like she’s not even aware of what she’s doing. Her touch is delicate as she moves to cup my face. Is she even aware of what she’s doing? All she’d have to do is lift up on her toes, and I would be aware of what her intention was.
Instead, she keeps me guessing, leaving me to wonder what would happen if I lost myself as well.
I can’t, though, can I?
Fuck, I must’ve inhaled too much gasoline when filling up the generator.
I try to be a good man and tell myself to put some distance between us, but my body doesn’t listen. Instead, once I’m looking at her lips, a habit that is forming at an impressive rate. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m leaning down to kiss her.
Her lips are soft against mine, hesitant at first, like she’s still unsure. To avoid scaring her, I move slowly.
Grazing my fingers along her face and brushing her hand away, I tilt her head back and cradle her like she’s a delicate doll.
At the sound of the towel dropping and hitting the floor with a thud, I don’t know which one of us moves faster to cave to what we both want.
It must have been me. I’m dragging her to my lips before I can fill my lungs with another breath of air. I need her. I need this.
Her lips are surprisingly warm, softer than I could’ve imagined. Memorizing her heat, I linger, taking my time. While I have spent plenty of time looking at her mouth, nothing comes close to discovering every inch with my lips.
The faintest sigh escapes her before she makes an intoxicating gasping sound when I catch her bottom lip between my teeth, tugging ever so gently.
No one’s lips have ever teased or tantalized me as much as hers have.
While I’m getting lost in the kiss, I barely acknowledge the way her hands touch my chest. Without the towel in the way, her touch burns through my shirt, and it’s like she’s touching me directly.
If it weren’t for me not wanting to pull away, I would’ve pulled off my shirt so nothing could get in our way.
Losing count of the seconds passing by, her fingers curl around my shirt, and she just sits tight like she can’t decide if she wants to pull me closer or push me away.
If either of us were sane, we wouldn’t be kissing in the first place.
We finally part ways, but only barely. With only a few inches separating us, I taste my lips, savoring her sweetness. I didn’t know a person could taste so intoxicating.
Can she hear the way my heart is pounding in my chest? It’s not something I’m accustomed to experiencing. Sounds so loud, it’s deafening.
While I’m growing more addicted by the second, her breaths grow more ragged with nerves. Opening her eyes, her lashes brush her cheeks as she stares up at me with this sort of innocence that lodges a knot in my chest.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” Her breath tickles my lips as she’s yet to pull away despite her words.
She has a good point, but neither of us is in a rush to move away.
My thumb brushes her cheek, and the heat of her skin sears into me. I don’t pull away, can’t pull away, not when she’s looking at me like that, lips parted, eyes dark with the same want that’s been clawing at my ribs for the last few hours.
“Do you want to stop?” My voice is already wrecked, low and rough.
For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, ragged and too loud in the space between us. Then she shakes her head, and I grow dizzy.
“No.”
A single word, but it unravels me.
“No?” It comes out more as a growl than a question.
She shakes her head, leaning into my touch like she can’t help it. “One more.”
One more.
I’ll be trying to fool myself if I try to believe one will be enough.
Because the second my mouth crashes back onto hers, restraint shatters.
I don’t stop at one—don’t even try. I lose count of the times we break apart, each separation shorter than the last, just enough to gasp in air before I’m dragging her under again.
Her lips are so plump, yielding, but the way she kisses me back is anything but. It’s hunger, pure and desperate, and when my hands slide down from her face—over the curve of her throat, the dip of her waist—she arches into me with a moan that goes straight to my gut.
I swallow the sound, kissing her deeper, harder. My fingers dig into her hips, pulling her flush against me until there’s no space left, until I can feel every shuddering breath she takes. She fits against me like she was made to, like every other touch before this was just practice.
Even if I am a bit rusty at all this, I feel good enough at it to make this woman swoon.
By the time we pull apart, the air between us is thick. We just stare, breaths ragged, waiting for the other to move first. To speak. To do something. To explain why we did what we did.
A kiss might not mean anything to her. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, the thrill of the night, the way the stars aligned just right to tempt us. Hell, I don’t know.
But I do know something with certainty. What’s burning in my chest isn’t fleeting. It’s not some passing hunger, easy to ignore. It’s deeper. Demanding. Now that I’ve had a taste, I’m not sure I can walk away unscathed.
A reckless thought takes root, wild and unshakable: I should steal Walton Green’s soon-to-be bride. Find a ring for her myself. Make her my wife and give her a reason and a place to stay on the mountain.
It’s insane. It’s undeniable, and it’s all because of one damn kiss.
I drag a hand down my face, half-laughing at myself, half-terrified. Who the hell am I right now? I’ve never wanted something like this—never craved something so fiercely it feels like a blade between my ribs.
She blinks up at me, watching me like I am some sort of show. Biting her lip, she slowly presses her palms down the front of my shirt to hide the wrinkles she’s created. Then she lets out a fleeting nervous laugh of her own.
“Sorry.” Mouth curving into an awkward smile, her eyes lower. “I’ve never done that before, actually. So, I probably sucked, huh?”
It takes a moment for her words to register, sounding like white noise. Once I realize she’s confessing to me outright stealing not just her first kiss, I’m left rocking back. The only thing around to catch me is the fireplace, but thankfully, I catch myself before I lose my balance.
Well, that all but confirms it. I need to make this woman mine. There is no way in hell I can take something so precious without claiming it all.
“It wasn’t bad,” I tell her, clearing my throat. “Not bad at all.”
Her smile turns more natural, leaving little dimples on her cheeks.
Cursing under my breath, I have to have the strength to turn away before I pick her up and try to take everything all at once.
Realizing that the moment is over, she turns and gazes at the table. The cards are stacked neatly in a pile, the game completely forgotten. Currently, I don’t think I can concentrate enough to win another round.
“Maybe we should call it.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I wait for her to make a deal about me going out of my way to step into the storm, which would lead to an outcome that could have been the same either way.
Instead, her flush grows deeper in color as she looks around. “Where will I sleep?”
Shit. That is an important question. Of course, it’s one I should have thought of already, and at the time when it did cross my mind, I figured that the couch wouldn’t have made a difference. It’s not the most comfortable furniture out in the world, but it’s not great.
“Give me a moment, and I’ll see what I can do.” Turning away from her, I coast toward my bedroom and scowl at the state it is in. It’s not something I’d want to display to anyone happily.
The bed’s a wreck—sheets tangled, blankets half-dragged to the floor like I’ve been wrestling ghosts in my sleep. A shirt hangs off the bedpost, another crumpled near the dresser. It’s not filth, just… neglect.
I strip the sheets with rough, quick tugs, the fabric snapping like it’s offended. The fresh ones smell like laundry detergent and nothing else—no cologne, no sweat, no me. It’s better this way. Clean. Controlled.
A quiet, traitorous thought slithers around my thoughts. Would she notice if they still smelled like me? Would she press her face into the pillow, inhale slowly, like I would if our roles were swapped?
I shake the traitorous thoughts off and tuck the corners tighter than necessary. When I step back to make sure everything is in a better state, my stomach clenches.
I can picture it too clearly—her curled in the center of that bed, hair strewn across my pillow, sheets twisted around her legs.
I rake a hand through my hair and exhale hard.
This is bad.
When I go to grab her and lead her inside, she doesn’t take in the space for long. Instead, she spins on her heel, staring back at me like I’ll disappear without warning.
“Um, where will you be sleeping?”
Parting my lips, I figure it would be better for me to sleep on the couch. Just as I’m ready to try to explain that to her, her eyes drift over to the bed.
“It’s big enough for the two of us. Actually, it probably fits three bodies on there. Never seen such a big bed in my life. So, why don’t we share it? I don’t want to intrude.”
Her voice is too light, too casual, like she’s not asking me to throw away every last shred of my self-control. Throw in the way she’s looking at me?
There’s no chance in hell I’m telling her no. Not when her gaze drags over me like that—like she knows I don’t have the strength to turn down the idea.
The idea is a dangerous one, can’t she see that? And yet, I don’t shake my head. Don’t walk away.
I just watch as she drifts toward my bed, as she sinks into the sheets like she belongs there. Like she’s been waiting to stretch out across my mattress for years.
Jesus.
I want to join her. No—scratch that. I want to climb over her, pin her into those sheets, and overcome the laundry smell with a mixture of what comes off of us.
See, I’m not even on the bed with her, and I’m already teetering toward the edge.
I need to get out of these damn jeans. If I don’t peel them off soon, I’m going to have a zipper imprint pressed into my cock from how hard I’ve been straining against it.
While I’m at it, I’ll take care of this problem she’s given me.
If I don’t get her out of my system—even just a little—lying next to her is going to be pure fucking torture.