Chapter 31
Clementine
Alec holds the tent flap open, and I hurry inside. It’s even smaller than I thought—just two foam pads, sleeping bags, and not nearly enough floor space for two people our size.
He ducks in after me, and the whole tent seems to shrink by half.
The lantern hanging in the middle casts his face in warm gold, and suddenly I’m not nervous in the scary way—I’m nervous in the too-good way.
The kind where my chest feels tight, my smile won’t behave, and the only thing I can think is: Don’t blow this, don’t make it weird, just let yourself enjoy it.
Rain claws heavily above us. Cold bites at my skin as I peel off my jacket and rain pants and hand them to Alec, who places them in a small bag with his outer layers.
My leggings and long-sleeved base layer stay put.
They’re only thin merino wool, but they’re better than bare skin in this temperature.
“Uh, which one is mine?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. My teeth are chattering, so the words come out uneven.
“Fuck, Clem, you’re freezing.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
Without a word, he drops to his knees and unzips both the sleeping bags, sliding them together until they make one.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t have you freezing out here.” His back is to me, filling the narrow space entirely. He tosses the plaid blanket open like a door only I can walk through. “You gotta use me.”
“Use you?” I echo.
“Use my body as a tool,” he says simply. “You’re freezing. I’m wasting heat. That’s stupid math. Now get in.”
“You sure?” I hesitate, even though my body wants to fling itself inside this huge sleeping bag without any questions.
There is a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “I promise, Clem, I will be a perfect gentleman.”
I slide into the plaid blanket, instantly feeling warmer. Alec dims the light above until it’s only a low nightlight before sliding in beside me. The heat is instant, radiating through the thin layers between us. But he’s too far away.
“What if I don’t want you to be a perfect gentleman?” I say, confident in the dim light, inching back until my back curves into his chest, and my socks brush his shins.
“Clem.”
“What if I’m still freezing?”
His arm comes around my waist, his hand splayed flat over my midsection. He may be only two inches taller than me, but his hands are the size of my head, his fingers the size of two of mine held together.
“Is this better?”
“Yeah,” I choke out.
“You’re still shivering,” he says into my hair.
“I think that might be your fault now.”
He laughs, and I feel it in my spine. “Guess you’ll have to deal with it.”
There’s no room for space in here. Every breath brushes the back of my neck. Every shift presses his leg along mine. It feels like we’re underwater in our own small and sealed-off world.
I risk turning my head, and then my body, nestling into his chest. He inhales. His thumb starts tracing slow circles over my side, lazy and sure, and goose bumps race up my arms. The heat spirals through me, tenfold now, impossible to ignore.
“Alec?”
“Tell me,” he says.
“Do you want to kiss me again?”
His hand lands on my hip bone like he’s fighting with himself. The silence makes me ache until he tilts my chin up to meet his gaze. His golden eyes are molten.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you every damn day. You think I’ve been patient? I’ve been drowning.”
My lungs forget what they’re supposed to do. The words hit with the force of a confession and a claim all at once, and before I can second-guess myself, I tilt into him.
He meets me halfway, our lips so close together I can feel the heat of him, the stubble of his beard.
The first press of his mouth is slow, almost punishing in its restraint, like he’s proving to himself that he can hold back.
But when my fingers curl into his shirt, it breaks something open in him.
His hand slides from my hip to my jaw, holding me steady as he kisses me harder, deeper, like he’s making up for every day we haven’t been doing exactly this.
His lower lip is soft and then firmer, drawing mine into the shape he wants, and my body has this ridiculous, traitorous memory from when we kissed the first time. As if I’m humming, Oh, right, this, this is so right—and then every nerve lights up.
He tastes like rain and smoke and all the things I’ve been trying not to admit I wanted.
“You know you scare me, right?” His lips drag over mine.
“I scare you?”
“You don’t back down. You don’t bite your tongue. You’re too much for men who want easy.”
He kisses me again, just enough to make my chest seize.
“Too much, huh?”
“Too much for anyone who wants simple. I’ve been trying to keep things simple.” He lets out a humorless huff. “Haven’t managed a damn second of it around you.”
“What about you? Am I too much for you?”
His gaze locks on mine. “I’m not most men.”
He tugs me flush against him as his mouth claims me as his. It’s not careful this time, it’s hungry and starved and devouring. He kisses me hard, then breaks away just long enough to rasp, “Arms up.”
His fingers fist my shirt, stripping it off in one rough pull. He tosses it to the side. Next comes my sports bra. My nipples pebble in the cold.
“Fuck.” He looks at me like he’s been holding his breath for weeks, and I’m the first gulp of air. “I can’t stop looking at you.”
“Please don’t stop,” I moan. The sound feeds him, makes his hand spread over my ribs like he’s staking a claim.
“You make me want to take my time,” he groans against my mouth, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. “But I’m done pretending I don’t want all of you.” His teeth catch my bottom lip, hard enough to sting.
“I want you too,” I say as his lips trail along my neck and my brain liquefies.
“You’re stubborn.” Kiss. “You’re a fighter.” He nips my ear, and I buck. “I want you so fucking bad, baby.”
The word baby makes heat flood to my core.
I close my eyes. “You have me,” I whisper, desperate.
“Not yet.” His smile is wicked. “But I will.”
“I want this off.” I yank at his clothes.
He strips his shirt off. I’ve seen him shirtless countless times over the last month, but it never gets old.
There’s nothing better than running my hand over his washboard abs and the V that leads to his pants.
I trace the black-ink tattoos that snake around his biceps and down his sculpted chest.
It’s like he was carved out of the rock and ice he climbs. I prop up on my elbows and yank him toward me until we are skin to skin. I delight in the weight of him on top of me.
“You tell me. Say stop, and I stop. Say slow, and I slow. Say my name and—” He cuts himself off with a low rumble that vibrates against me. “I’ll give you whatever the hell you want.”
“Alec.” My voice collapses, and his groan answers like I just gave him permission to unravel.
His mouth drags down my collarbone, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. His hand grips my thigh, firm, possessive, sliding higher until I’m trembling.
There is a steadiness in his arms. I realize, briskly, that there’s a difference between being held and being handled.
I’ve had partners who were careful because they thought I’d break.
Alec holds me like he’d fight gravity to keep me in his arms. My core tightens.
My tights drag across his forearms. His exhale brushes the curve of my ribs.
This man could carry me over ice and fire, but somehow his touch is both soft and caring.
“Mine,” he hums against my skin. “My girl.”
The words hit harder than the kiss, harder than the storm that’s hammering the tent.
“Alec,” I pant.
His hand slides lower, finding the waistband of my leggings. “Lift.” The command vibrates against my mouth.
I arch into him, balancing my weight on his chest as he tugs the fabric down over my hips. His knuckles brush my thighs, his forearm grazing the inside of my knee. I bend my knees, and he strips the leggings off completely, tossing them aside with the same growling impatience.
By the time he looks down at me again, I’m breathless, stripped to my underwear in the low lantern glow. His hand spreads wide over my stomach, sliding up to my ribs. I’ve never been touched like this. Never felt so wanted.
“Christ,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Look at you.”
“I could say the same to you.” I grin up at him.
His shaggy, damp hair drips water onto my chest, and he follows the droplets along my sternum, over my breast. I bite my lip and squeeze my thighs together.
My eyes drop to his pants, to his erection pressing up against the fabric.
I reach for him, but he bats my hand away.
“Not yet, sweet girl.” I want to protest, but when his fingers slip lower, my thoughts slip from my mind. “Christ, you are so wet. Spread for me,” he pants, nudging my knee open. He trails his hand along my inner thigh, teasing me.
I obey, head falling back into the small pillow behind me. I thought I’d feel embarrassed or nervous, but Alec makes me feel safe.
“You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts.”
Our gazes are locked. One of his strong fingers finds my clit, and I gasp, pressing into him.
I’ve drooled over his hands for weeks, wondering if he’s gentle or rough.
Somehow, he’s both. He circles my clit softly, then fast, sliding down lower, slowly opening me up before his finger is inside of me.
The stretch is sharper than I expected, my muscles clamping down so hard around him it almost hurts.
“Easy,” he growls. “Breathe. Take me.”
My chest heaves like I’ve just sprinted a mile. I let out a jagged gasp, and that’s all it takes for him to slide deeper.
Nothing has ever felt so right.
The pressure is shocking—burning, aching, overwhelming. My body doesn’t know whether to close up or pull him in tighter. Tremors run through my muscles.
He sets a rhythm, slow and devastating, pulling nearly all the way out before pushing back in. I feel every stroke, every drag, like my body’s being rewired from the inside out.
“That feels so good.” I rock into him, and he presses on my lower abdomen.
“You take what I give you.” He crooks his finger inside me, and my whole body bows upward.
“God,” I moan.
A gasp tears out of me, high and broken, echoing in the dark tent. My chest arches, and my nails rake against the sleeping bag. He does it again, slower this time, dragging deliberately against that spot, and I moan. My eyes drift closed.
A tinge runs up my spine, so electric I almost don’t recognize it.
“No—no, wait—” I gasp, panic flashing hot through me. No one has ever made me come. “It’s too much—”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No. It’s just a lot.”
“Shhh.” His forehead presses to mine. “That’s it. That’s the place. Don’t fight it.”
“I can’t—Alec, I—”
“Yes, you can.” He pushes deeper, adds another finger, stretching me fuller. The pressure is unbearable, electric. “You can take it. You’re built for this. Open for me, Clementine.”
I shake my head, as if that will stop the flood building inside me. “I don’t—oh god—I don’t know—”
His thumb finds my clit again, circles lazily, cruelly patient. “Don’t hold it back,” he mutters against my ear, his breath wrecked but sure. “Let it happen. Let go for me.”
I’m gasping, panting, nails digging into his shoulders. Every sound that rips from me is humiliatingly raw. The pressure builds, unbearable, until I can’t keep it down anymore.
“Come for me, baby.” He drops his mouth to my nipple, sucking hard.
The climax rips through me, violent and hot. My body clenches around his fingers, spasming uncontrollably. My thighs shake, and I’m kicking.
“Alec!” I scream his name again and again.
He holds me through it, fingers never faltering. My heart thunders.
“That’s it,” he groans, his forehead pressed to mine, voice shredded but proud. “That’s my girl. Give me all of it.”
When I finally collapse back, limp and shuddering, he drags his hand free. It’s slick with me, and he places his fingers in his mouth, licking me off of him.
“Fuck, you taste like mine.” I smile up at him, wrapping my legs around his waist. He kisses my temple. “That’s one,” he hisses. “And we’re nowhere near done.”