Page 58 of In Your Wake

“Mitch, I’m cold,” Max says in a low, hushed voice.

I’m not sure if she’s whispering because she’s half-asleep or because she doesn’t want the others to hear, especially Hunter, who’s in the tent next to ours.

“It might snow,” I joke.

“I hope so,” Maxine giggles. The girl loves winter and the cold.

“An August snow storm? You’d like that?” I ask, trying to divert my attention from how good her ass feels when it rubs against me.

Abruptly, she pushes back. The pressure is so damn intense, I force myself to think about hockey.

“I’d love it,” she answers. “I’d sleep better.”

“You’re already freezing and it’s not even in the mid-fifties.” My fingertips brush along her bare hip where her sweater has lifted.

“Yes, but you’re here, keeping me warm.” Her head falls back onto my chest, right below my chin. “You know,” she begins, looking up, but not enough for me to see her eyes. “They say you conserve body heat better naked.”

Her little giggle tells me she’s playing around, but I bite my lip, fighting the urges racing through my hormonally imbalanced teenage mind. Over the past few weeks, she’s been more playful, our banter more intense. Or that could be my wishful thinking brought on by my leaving town soon.

“Whoever said that is a genius.”

She laughs again and pushes into me, but this time I am absolutely certain it’s intentional.

“Can you take your shirt off?” she asks.

“No, thanks. I’m freezing,” I answer, hoping it’s enough to dissuade her, because the truth is I’m a boiling pot of arousal.

“What if I take mine off, too?” she counters.

I’m sure the cold is making me hallucinate. “Are you being serious?”

She tugs her sweater up over her head. Sadly, darkness blankets the tent, so I can’t see much other than her silhouette. She rolls around in my arms to face me. “All right, your turn.”

Her hands drop to my waist and she inches my sweater up, my stomach muscles tensing beneath her chilly fingertips. Giving in, I rip the sweater off, chucking it to the side, and she quickly wraps her arms around my torso.

The breathy, whimpering sound she makes sets every inch of my skin on fire. The soft cotton of her bra and her small but perfect breasts press against my chest. Even with my dick straining against my sweats, I swear I could die of bliss.

“Warmer?” Her lips tickle right below my throat.

“Yep,” I reply, my voice rough.

“Mitchell?” She only uses my full name when she’s upset, or when she’s extremely serious and my body tenses in expectation. “Take your pants off.” There’s no hesitation in her command, only confidence and, well, it’s one hell of a turn-on.

She’s my best friend. She’s also my other best friend’s sister. I may have fantasized about something like this happening, but fantasizing is far less messy than the real deal.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

She runs a hand up my chest, to my jaw, her delicate, short nails scratching my chin. A five o’clock shadow has grown in since this morning and it rustles beneath her touch.

“I think it would.”

Without leaving my arms, she wiggles under the sleeping bag, her movements bumping my hard-on. Then she tugs out what I soon realize are her sweatpants and throws them over her shoulder. Picturing her in nothing but her underwear practically makes me come right then and there.

Hockey. Mouth guards. Sweaty players spitting on the ice. I repeat these things in my mind, trying to cling to my sanity.

Again, she snuggles into my arms, her cold thighs pressing against my pants.

We haven’t crossed a line… yet. All we’ve done is cuddle. And we’ve cuddled a million times before. That’s all this is… so far.