Thankfully, he isn’t a man built for half-measures. When I arch even farther off the door, grasping his hair, calling his name, the lid on his own hunger blows off. He buries his gorgeous face against me, breathing me in, lapping me up. With every rough grunt, he tells me he fucking loves this. That he would happily drown in this. I think,This is it. This is when we both lose our everloving minds, but then his hand betrays him. His fingers, which have been steadily moving in their upward journey, finally tease the outside of my opening with the barest featherlike stroke, and I realize he’s in complete control.
My sharp cry severs the last threadbare wisp of restraint I’ve been holding on to. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize I don’t need to hold it together anymore. All this time, I’ve been running constant risk assessments, worrying about what will or won’t happen next between us. But tonight Forrest has taken all of it out of my nervous, desperate hands, and when I let go at last,my bent knee falls open even wider for him. It’s like he planned the whole thing. He probably did. In one thick push, his fingers fill me, and every thought in my brain contracts to a sharp, silent white dot before my world detonates.
My entire body arcs with a hoarse, wild cry, but Forrest only works me harder, praising me for beingso good, so sweet, so tight. His hand is a blur below me, his mouth humming against me with his own low moans until the rhythmic pounding of my orgasm begins to wane and I’m jerking limply against him, small, hiccupping gasps escaping on every other breath. And still, he doesn’t stop. He licks me clean like I’m his favorite flavor, and when I can’t take it anymore, he pulls his fingers from me and cleans those too.
I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. I’m drenched, my hair plastered across my face and body like I’ve survived a hurricane. I feel myself slowly collapsing into a heap. But because romance heroes always catch heroines, I’m gracefully scooped and pulled into his lap with one smooth movement. Cradled against his warm chest, I’m a woman transformed. Never again will anyone catch Margot Bradley scoffing at a trope. If I were wearing a bodice, I’d rip it myself.
As I slowly float back to earth, I realize Forrest is kissing me, pressing slow, adoring lips to my sweaty hairline, my temple, my still-panting mouth. In his arms, I’m a shoelace being untied with one long, slow pull. My heavy eyelids open, and I find his gaze. What I see there should scare me, but when his deep voice asks, “Have you had enough?” the only thought pulsing through me is the same one that thrummed through me before.
Never enough. Never enough. Never enough.
18FORREST
Forrest? Are you there? Please come in.”
The shrill blip of the walkie-talkie in the vestibule may as well be a signal from outer space. I ignore it. Continue trailing water from my fingers over Margot’s lips, her graceful neck, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she recovers her breath.
“Forrest? Hello? Really need to talk. Come in, Forrest.”
Margot’s eyes flutter open. “Was that… Am I hearing things?”
I don’t know. Processing extraneous sound isn’t one of my abilities right now.
“FORREST, I CAN SEE THE LIGHT ON IN THE SAUNA, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. COME IN.”
At Jo’s commanding voice, I jolt with the spine-buzzing alarm of a middle schooler caught making out with his girlfriend in the basement. I take in the mess of towels and the tangle of our limbs on the floor. Margot sits up, too, her eyes snapping to mine. “That definitely wasn’t in my head,” she says.
Biting back a curse, I gently separate myself from her. “Wait here,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. I stand and go to the door, leaving quickly so Margot won’t be blasted by the chilly air in the vestibule. And by chilly, I mean cryogenic. I repress ayelp and cup myself as my balls try to migrate permanently into my stomach.Shit, it’s cold out here. I do an awkward half-jog to the walkie, goose bumps contracting all across my body.Goddammit. There’s no reason for Jo to need me at—what time is it, even? Grumbling and shivering, I pick up the walkie and press the button. “I’m here, Jo.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Jo’s voice crackles through. “What the hell are you doing in there? I was beginning to think you’d given yourself heatstroke!”
“Uh, no,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry. What’s up?”
“No time to explain. Just get over to your dad’s room, quick.”
At the urgency in her voice, a hundred worst-case scenarios fan out in my mind like the world’s most terrifying deck of cards. All irritation disappears as guilt swallows me whole. I moved to Alaska to be on call for my dad, but instead of being at the ready, I’m stark naked in a sauna, losing my goddamn mind over the very woman I swore not to get involved with. How long has Jo been trying to reach me? Has my dad been hurting and needing my help? And what can I even do if he is? Ever since moving back, I’ve been dreading this moment, knowing that despite all my medical experience, there may be little I can do in this remote location beyond basic care. Panic sluices through me, extinguishing all thoughts of further pleasure. I’ll have to explain the situation to Margot and hope she’s willing to wait in my cabin until I’ve sorted everything out. With some semblance of a plan forming, I let out a short exhale.
“I’m on my way.”
Naturally, Margot refuses to stay behind.
“But did Josayanything was wrong?” she asks as we hastily climb the steps to the lodge, both sweaty beneath all our winter gear.
“She didn’t need to,” I say tersely, holding out the door for her.
“Because you’re telepathic?”
“Because she wouldn’t radio me at one in the morning if there wasn’t an emergency.”
“You don’t know that,” Margot argues, but I can tell from the anxious pitch of her voice that she’s as scared as I am. Despite the stress of the moment, her genuine concern for my family feels like a fist squeezing my heart. I try my best to focus as we jog through the dark first floor of the lodge to the staircase, climbing the wide steps side by side until Margot stops abruptly.
I turn to look at her. “What is it?”
“I just—” She glances up at me. “They’re going to know we were together, Forrest.”
This has occurred to me as well, and while I’m fully aware that my dad might pull a sheaf of wedding brochures right out from under his orthopedic butt cushion when he sees us together at this hour, merciless matchmaking is the least of my concerns at the moment. As long as my dad’s okay enough to tease me, I’ll take it.
“They’ll consider it an early Christmas gift. Come on,” I say, reflexively holding my hand out to her.
