Something unguarded flickers across his face. Then he’s leaning in, brushing his mouth over mine with a tenderness so careful it hurts. No frantic edge this time, no hunger swallowing us whole—just slow, reverent kisses, like every second he steals is one he thinks he doesn’t deserve.
Thereisnotasingle cloud in the sky. Everything is glowing in milky moonlight.
We’re fully dressed, bundled under the blankets in the bed of the truck. My head rests on his chest and his arm is wrapped around me.
We’recuddling.
I’m not an expert, but this feels very much outside the guidelines of a fling. Yet neither of us pulls away.
The thought of having to go back to the main house and sneak into our separate rooms sparks an ache I don’t care to unpack right now.
“Could we stay out here tonight?” The question slips out before I can give it a second thought.
Wesley pulls me closer into him, resting his cheek on the top of my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oh. Right.”
We aren’t together like that. Sleepovers aren’t part of the deal.
This is supposed to be purely physical.
No emotions. No feelings.
It was my freaking idea, so why am I having such a hard time sticking to it?
“Not because I don’t want to,” he adds. “I just don’t have the energy to fight a grizzly or mountain lion tonight.”
I’m an idiot.
“Mmm, yeah,” I hum, snuggling into him closer. “My money is on the bear.”
“Is my untimely demise a joke to you?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirked.
“Never,” I say, hiding a smile. “I would mourn the appropriate amount of time one would mourn the death of theirsort-of-friendwith benefits.”
He clutches his hand to his chest. “Truly honored to be your sort-of-friend. I can’t wait to see the benefits when I’m promoted toactualfriend.”
“Bold of you to assume there’s a promotion in your future.”
“I can be ambitious when I wanna be.”
Then, in one swift movement, he rolls us until I’m pinned beneath him, his arms caging me on both sides of my head.
“Aww, is cuddle time over already?” I joke, sticking out my bottom lip.
He answers with a soft kiss, but there’s nothing soft about what it does to me.
A guttural need awakens inside of me like a living thing.
More of his kisses.
More of his touch.
More of him pressed into every inch of me.
I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him down to me, deepening the kiss until it stops feeling like kissing and starts feeling like drowning—in him, in us, in whatever this is between us.
Before him, I never lost control. Desire was a concept, and now it’s a pulse, unable to be contained.
