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“No, I’m good, but if you wanted to fetch me a beer, that’d be great.” She smiles like I just offered her a marriage proposal and pops up, skipping over to the cooler. I debate on getting up and moving my chair. Or just going to bed so I don’t have to be tortured anymore. Or simply going over and pulling Hannah off the damn ground and placing her little ass in the seat I set out for her.
I do none of it. Rebecca is back before I can execute any of my plans. I go to grab for the beer, but she lifts her tank, revealing her stomach, and uses it to twist off the cap, then takes the first swig before slowly handing it over to me. Remind me to burn my lips off after drinking this. I thank her and direct my attention back to the fire. Or at least what’s happening on the other side of it.
One, two, three, four gulps, I take from my bottle as my eyes lock on her. I should stop staring. I know Stacey caught me eyeing her sister-in-law. I should stop. But I can’t. The way her face lights up at anything her brother says. The way she moans, placing her s’more into her mouth, the marshmallow slightly burnt, just how she likes it. I watch her fingers brush against her chin as she wipes away some excess chocolate from her sweet bite. The way her lower lip—
“Levi, did you want a s’more? You look like you’re salivating over there,” Stacey busts me. I blink, trying to recall what she just said.
I feel Hannah watching me. I fight to keep my eyes off her. “Nah, I’m good.” I shake my head, finishing off my beer. I toss it in the fire, and take the time out needed to piss and get a new beer.
The remainder of my night is pretty much the same. I drink too fast and take every opportunity to imagine doing something extremely fucking dirty to Hannah. When she gets up to go to the bathroom, I imagine finding her in the dark woods and pounding her against a tree until she explodes around my cock. When she takes a sip of her beer, I imagine her sucking me off. Every time she bends over to stoke the fire, I imagine myself behind her, fucking her into oblivion.
It’s not until she finally says she’s tired and going to bed that I feel some relief, needing her out of my sight…then she disappears into my tent and the agony in my pants gets worse.
She is sleeping in my goddamn tent.
Therefore, I drink more.
And more.
Until I’m the only one awake. And unless I plan to sleep on the ground, it’s time to face the music.
I stumble through the dark campground, taking a piss, then putting out the fire. I stand outside the tent entrance for god knows how long, debating on what I’m going to find. A part of me prays it’s her naked and awake, waiting for me, while the sane part begs for her to be in a damn snow suit huddled in the corner.
I sway, hauling the zipper down, and trip as I step over the flap of the tent. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness, curious where she is. I use my phone flashlight and find her cuddled up at the far end of the air mattress. She has a small blanket covering her bare legs, but it appears she’s changed into a pair of pajama shorts and tank top. My eyes fixate on the pink lace bra strap hanging out of her bag and my mind goes back to the supply closet and the way her plump breasts fit perfectly in my palms.
“Don’t go there, Dent,” I mumble to myself. Hannah sighs, stretching her leg down the mattress, and I slam my eyes shut, refusing to steal a peek. I wobble, forgetting I need my eyes to see, and open one to maneuver through the tent. “Eyes to yourself, buddy,” I chant, stumbling over to the other side of the tent where my bag sits. I debate sleeping in my clothes, then decide fuck it. I toss my shirt off and drop my pants, then grab for a pair of gym shorts. Without throwing Hannah off the mattress, I crawl onto the bed as gently as possible. It’s tough since I weigh three times as much as she does. The second I lay down, the mattress causes her to slide toward the center of the bed and roll into me.
“Fuck me.” Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her. I’m too drunk for this shit. I need to get up and sleep this off on the ground outside. I attempt to sit up when her hand moves, brushing against my side. She tucks her hand under her face, but not before leaving a trail of vanilla in its wake.
