“Consider it a gift.”
Within moments it’s gone, and I gaze into the night with eyes half-lidded in bliss.
“Sadie.” Noah laughs, turning fully to face me. “Sadie, you’re a mess.”
Even as I start to smile, I can feel the sticky remnants of the marshmallow on my lips.
“Let me help you.”
He grabs for my hand, his fingers easily circling my wrist as he presses a teasing kiss to the pad of my thumb. He sucks at it lightly, and his tongue draws a swirling wake of warmth along my skin, catching the last rivulets of dripping chocolate. I shiver on instinct, and he tugs me forward.
“You’ve got some here,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the corner of my lips. “And here.” He traces a line of heat down my jawline. “Here, too.” His teeth skim down my throat.
My laugh is low and breathy. “There’s no way.”
“You just taste so sweet, maybe I can’t tell the difference.” He burrows his nose in the space behind my ear and inhales. His hands move to snake behind my back, and once he’s wound his arms around me, he tugs again. I’m pulled flush against his chest as he hums into my shoulder, “Much better.”
Not quite. The line of my hips is tilted at an awkward angle against his, and a hidden rock under the blanket digs uncomfortably into the meat of my thigh. I twist further into his hold, swinging my outside leg over his waist until I’m straddling him, my knees nestled on either side of his thighs. Leisurely I twine my fingers behind his neck, my forearms resting lightly on the tops of his shoulders.
“Listen,” I say, leaning forward until we’re cheek to cheek. My voice is barely more than a sigh exhaled into his hair. “I feel like we were rudely interrupted last weekend.”
His words are muffled by the way his lips press to my neck. “Go on.”
I roll my hips deliberately forward against him. “I was thinking we could pick up where we left off.”
Something hard presses into the back of my thigh again, but this time I’m certain it’s not a rock.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he skims his palms down my back, and his touch is light, soft—just the barest brush of his fingertips. I swear I can feel his grip tighten as his hands round my ass, but then it’s gentle again as his fingers trace the sides of my thighs, the backs of my knees, the arches of my calves. His touch is slow and studious, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my body. He lightly pinches my heel, and I wonder if he’s hesitating.
I wonder if I read the situation wrong.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
But then he’s inhaling again, and his beard brushes against my bare skin as he noses the neckline of my crop top to the side. He bites into the dip of my collarbone just as his grip tightens suddenly, his arms winding tight around my waist and anchoring me to him. On instinct I rock my hips against him again, and he barely muffles the groan that rumbles against my chest. Through the thin fabric of my tight athletic shorts and the navy-blue nylon of his…fuck, it’s like we’re not wearing anything at all. Heat gathers between my thighs, and I can’t help but clench them tighter against his legs—except his are so muchlargerthan mine, and an ache builds in my hips where they stretch to make room for him. Where the hardness of him strains against his shorts, I slide myself forward in a slow arc, desperate for the friction.
It’s not nearly enough. I need more.
“The tent,” he says roughly, his voice strangled. “Get into the tent.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Blood and mead rush to my head as I bolt upright and we scramble for the tent. I sway in place for a moment while Noah hurriedly tugs at the zipper to the entrance. When it catches against the plastic, he curses, nearly tearing it off in his haste to get inside. I wonder briefly why we’re bothering with the tent at all. I peer out into the night, but with no moon in sight and the sun gone hours ago, I can’t see anything farther than the bubble of light cast by our own dying campfire. Before I have a chance to fully think it through, Noah finally unlatches the flap and tugs me inside.
Thank fuck we’d already prepped everything when we assembled the tent. Noah had lined the floor with cushioned sleeping pads, two separate sleeping bags (just in case—what a gentleman), the quilt from his van, several pillows, and a small solar-powered lantern. “It would have been too heavy to carry all this on a real backpacking trip,” Noah had teased earlier. “But for your first time, Sadie, I’ve ensured maximum comfort.”
As I move to step in after him, Noah stops me with an outstretched hand. “No shoes.”
I kick off my sandals. “Anything else you’d like me to take off?”
His eyes darken. “All in good time.”
As Noah zips up the tent behind me, I realize how intimate the space is. It’s smaller than the bed in Noah’s van, and even crouched as I am, my head brushes the top where the poles intersect in the middle. Already Noah’s sprawled out in the nest of blankets and sleeping bags, peering up at me through half-lidded eyes. Curling his hand around mine, he gently leads me down until I’m lying at his side, propped up on my elbow. The space between us feels charged with electricity, but I’m not sure how to make the connection again.
I’m not sure where to start.
Noah closes the distance between us. He reaches out to run two fingertips down the curve of my cheek. “Tell me what you want, Sadie.”
