Chapter 8
The cabin door slammed shut behind them, and Michelle’s hands shook as she turned the heavy latch.
The temperature had dropped again even in the small amount of time they’d been outside. Her breath misted in the air as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop herself from trembling.
But the cold wasn’t the worst thing… Someone made these clothes. Someone who was gone now.
The thought sent ice through her veins. She was wearing clothes crafted by hands that might never touch anything again, sleeping in a bed prepared by someone who’d vanished without a trace. Someone who’d fought just as hard to survive, who’d made it this far only to disappear into the forest.
“Fire’s dying,” Zeke said, moving to feed kindling to the flames.
He worked quickly despite the way his own breath clouded the air. The cabin was losing heat fast… whatever warmth they’d built up during the night was bleeding away through gaps in the walls.
Wind slammed against the shutters with sudden violence, rattling the entire structure. The temperature plummeted so fast she felt it like a weight settling over them, pressing the cold deep into her bones.
He straightened from the fire. His yellow eyes swept over her, taking in the way she hugged herself, the violent shaking she couldn’t control.
“You’re in shock,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine.” The words came out sharp and quick.
Another gust hit the cabin, and her teeth started to chatter despite the fire blazing just feet away. The leather tunic that had felt warm minutes ago now seemed as thin as tissue paper.
“Trall.” He moved to check the shutters, testing their seal against the howling wind. “Storm’s hitting harder than I expected. Temperature’s dropping again fast.”
“How fast?” she managed through chattering teeth.
“Fast enough to kill us if we don’t get warm.” His eyes met hers across the small space. “We need to conserve body heat.”
Her face burned at the implication, but she nodded. Survival. That’s all this was. Basic human biology and the need to stay alive.
Yeah, right. Tell yourself another one.
She’d been watching the way firelight painted gold across his skin, cataloging every ridge and valley of muscle. Even now, with death fresh in her mind and cold seeping into her bones, she wanted him with an intensity that stole her breath.
He grabbed the heavy furs from the bed, shaking them out near the fire. “Here. We’ll make a nest by the hearth. It’ll be warmer there.”
They settled into the makeshift cocoon, the thick pelts trapping their body heat. He was close enough that his warmth kissed her skin, but they weren’t quite touching. The space between them hummed with tension, every inch of air charged with need.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded, but the shaking hadn’t stopped. If anything, being close to him made it worse… her body torn between the need for warmth and the awareness of his presence. The scent of his skin wrapped around her like smoke, salt, and something wild that made her pulse spike.
The wind howled again, and she felt another degree vanish from the air.
Zeke’s jaw tightened as he watched her shiver. “This isn’t working.”
Before she could protest, he pulled her against his chest. Heat blazed where they touched, his skin burning hot through the thin leather. She gasped at the contact and her hands instinctively flattened against his arms over her stomach.
“Just until you stop shaking,” he said, voice rough.
She tilted her head back to look at him. This close, she saw every detail of his face… the sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lower lip, the way his pupils had dilated until only a ring of pale yellow remained. His breathing was unsteady, his hands careful where they rested on her back.
Need coiled tight in her belly as she registered the hunger in his gaze. Raw need that he was fighting to control… he wanted her, but he was holding back. Treating her like something fragile that might break.
Well, fuck that.
“Your hands are freezing,” she whispered, reaching up to cover them with hers.
He started to pull away, but she held on, trapping his fingers between her palms. His skin was cold, but underneath she felt the steady thrum of his pulse, the barely leashed strength in his bones.
“Let me warm them.”
Turning in his arms, she brought his hands to her mouth and breathed warm air across his knuckles.
He went rigid against her, a sharp intake of breath the only sound he made.
The restraint thrumming through his body made her bold, reckless.
She pressed his fingers against her throat where her pulse raced.
“Michelle.” Her name came out like a warning, his voice dropping to gravel.
His hands were warming under her touch, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she guided them lower, pressing his palms against her collarbone where the leather tunic left her skin bare. His eyes blazed as he felt her racing heartbeat, the warmth from her skin.
“Michelle... you don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, but he didn’t pull away. His thumbs traced along her collarbones, and she felt the tremor in his hands.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” The words were steady, sure. “And I need this. I need to feel something other than afraid.”
His eyes darkened at her confession, the yellow burning with intensity. She felt the change as his breathing dropped shallow.
Sliding her hands up his chest, she mapped the ridges of muscle, the old scars that told stories of violence survived. He was so warm, his skin like a furnace against her palms. When she reached his shoulders, she felt him shudder.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he said. Not a question, but wonder colored his voice.
“I should be.” Her fingers traced the line of his throat, feeling his heartbeat jump under her touch. “You could break me without thinking twice.”
“I would never—”
“I know.” She pressed closer, until every line of her body was flush against his. “That’s what makes you dangerous. Not your strength. The way you make me feel.”
He growled, his hands tightening on her waist and his eyes locked on her face, as if searching for something.
“Touch me,” she whispered against his throat, tasting salt on his skin. “Please... I need—” Her voice broke. “I need to feel alive.”
The words broke his control. His hands slid up from her waist, and he cupped her face. His thumbs traced her cheekbones with gentle pressure.
“You’re so draanthing beautiful,” he said, voice raw with want.
Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding and right. She melted against him as he kissed her like he was dying of thirst. He tasted like coffee and something uniquely him that made her head spin.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, his hands moved to her shoulders and found the bone toggles of her tunic. But then he hesitated.
“Tell me to stop,” he said against her lips.
Instead, she reached up and worked the first toggle free herself. His eyes went molten as leather parted, revealing the pale skin beneath.
He helped her with the remaining toggles, his hands shaking as he peeled the tunic away from her shoulders. When the leather fell away, baring her to the waist, he went stone still.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“Draanth,” he whispered, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin. “Look at you.”
His hands skimmed along her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, arching into his touch, and felt his restraint slip another notch. The way he looked at her, like she was something precious, made her ache for him.
“More,” she said, her voice barely recognizable. “I want more.”
His eyes locked with hers as he eased the leather leggings down her hips, his gaze never leaving her face. She saw the moment his control dissolved… when she lay naked beneath him in the firelight, skin flushed and ready.
“You’re incredible,” he breathed, his hands mapping every curve, every hollow.
He lowered his head to her throat, pressing hot kisses along the column of her neck. She moaned, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he worked his way lower, tasting every inch of skin he’d bared. When his mouth captured her nipple, she cried out, her back arching off the furs.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”
His hand slid down her stomach, fingers trailing warmth across her skin. When he reached the junction of her thighs, her pussy was already slick with need, her body ready for his touch.
“So wet,” he said, his fingers parting her folds with reverent care. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” she gasped, her hips lifting. “God, yes.”
He found her clit, circling the swollen bud. A helpless sound escaped her as she writhed, pleasure coiling tight in her belly. His eyes never left her face, watching every expression that crossed her features.
“You’re so draanthing responsive,” he said, increasing the pressure on her clit until she whimpered. “So perfect.”
She was coming apart under his touch, pleasure building with each stroke of his fingers. He slid a finger deep inside her and she clenched around him, her body desperate for more.
“Please,” she begged, not even sure what she was asking for. “Zeke, please—”
He added a second finger, stretching her, while his thumb continued working her clit. The dual sensation drove her higher, closer to the edge.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice dark with authority. “I want to watch you fall apart.”
His words pushed her over the edge and her orgasm crashed through her in waves, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she cried out his name. He worked her through it, his fingers gentle but steady, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure.
When she finally collapsed back against the furs, boneless and sated, he watched her with pure male satisfaction. His cock was pressed hard and ready against her thigh through his pants, evidence of how much her pleasure had affected him.