Chapter 1 #3
I felt the contact like a live wire. She pulled her hand away slowly and settled back against the cushions, closer now than she had been before.
The space between us had shrunk to less than a foot.
I could smell the clean scent of her lotion mixed with the faint sweetness of the wine on her breath.
My body reacted whether I wanted it to or not.
I shifted on the couch and tried to ease the growing pressure without drawing attention to it.
She noticed anyway. Her eyes dropped for a brief moment to my lap and then lifted again, darker than before.
Neither of us spoke for a long stretch. The only sounds were the soft crack of the fire and the distant wind moving through the trees outside.
She stretched her legs out along the cushion, her bare feet nearly touching my thigh.
I stared at the smooth line of her calf and the soft skin behind her knee and felt my control slip another notch.
“You’re quiet,” she said softly. I met her eyes.
“Just thinking.” “About what?” I could have lied.
I should have. Instead I told her the truth in the safest way I could manage.
“About how different this feels. Being here with you.” Her breath caught just enough for me to see it.
She set her glass down carefully and turned her body more fully toward me, the sweater sliding another inch.
“Different how?” I held her gaze and felt the last of my careful distance start to burn away.
“You know how.” The words came out low and rough.
She did not pretend otherwise. A slow flush spread across her cheeks and down her neck, but she stayed right where she was, close enough that I could have reached out and pulled her into my lap with one easy motion.
The urge to do exactly that sat heavy in my chest and lower.
I curled my hands into fists against my thighs and forced them to stay there.
She shifted again, her knee brushing my leg this time, and the contact sent a clear pulse of heat straight through me.
I looked at her mouth. Soft. Slightly parted.
I imagined what it would feel like under mine and the image was so sharp it made my breath stutter.
She saw it. I know she did. Her eyes dropped to my lips and stayed there for a long second before lifting again.
The air between us felt thick enough to touch.
I knew I needed to stop this. I knew I needed to stand up and put real distance between us before I did something I could not take back.
Instead I stayed where I was and let my eyes travel slowly over her, from the loose hair framing her face down the open neckline of the sweater and across the bare stretch of her thighs.
She let me look. She did not cover herself or turn away.
She simply sat there in the firelight and watched me take her in, her breathing a little faster now, her lips parted.
The pressure in my body had become almost painful.
I shifted again and this time there was no hiding it.
Her eyes flicked downward once more and when they came back up they were darker, heavier.
A soft sound left her throat, something between a breath and a quiet moan, and the sound nearly broke the last of my restraint.
I set my glass down with more force than I meant to and stood up.
The sudden movement made her blink. I needed space.
Air. Anything that was not the sight of her half-dressed and looking at me like that on the couch.
“I should turn in,” I said, my voice rough.
She nodded slowly, but she did not look away.
“Okay.” I walked toward the hallway without looking back, every step feeling like it cost me something.
Behind me I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she stood.
I reached the door of the master bedroom and paused with my hand on the frame.
When I glanced back she was still standing near the couch, the firelight outlining the shape of her body through the thin sweater and shorts.
Our eyes met across the room. Neither of us spoke.
The heat between us was open now, undeniable.
I forced myself to step inside the bedroom and close the door most of the way, leaving it cracked the way I had the night before.
I stripped down to my boxers and got into the big bed, the sheets cool against my overheated skin.
My body was hard and aching, the need so sharp it bordered on pain.
I lay there in the dark and stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe through it.
Down the hall I heard her soft footsteps and then the quiet click of her own door.
I knew she was in the smaller room only a few yards away, probably as restless and worked up as I was.
The thought of her lying there in the dark, maybe touching herself, maybe thinking about the way I had looked at her, only made the ache worse.
I closed my eyes and pressed the heel of my hand against myself through the thin fabric of my boxers, just once, just enough to take the edge off, but it did nothing except remind me how close I was to walking back out there and finishing what the firelight had started.
I pulled my hand away and forced it to stay on the mattress.
Sleep felt impossible. Every time I closed my eyes I saw her on the couch, sweater slipping, thighs bare, eyes dark with the same hunger I felt.
The cabin was quiet except for the occasional pop of the fire still burning in the other room.
I lay there hard and restless and completely aware that the careful distance I had tried to keep was already gone.
Tomorrow morning we would have to face each other again.
I did not know how either of us was going to pretend this night had not happened.