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Because, instead of throwing a fist in his face or spewing some hateful words, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and slam my mouth to his.
A soft yelp comes from him, probably out of shock, and it gives me the opportunity to slip my tongue past his lips. The first brush it makes against his sends a bolt of lust all the way to my cock, and as they tangle together, a deep groan rumbles from within his chest. One I swallow down with hunger, greedy for more.
Because this is it. What I’ve been searching for. What I’ve been craving.
What’s been missing all these years, because I’ve been too much of a coward to allow myself to have it.
But at this moment, none of that matters.
Nothing does except the sweeping press of my lips on his.
My hand at the back of his neck snakes up, curling into the hair at the back of his head to anchor him in place. The other grabs his hip as I back him toward the closest tree, and the second his back collides with it, I press my entire body weight against him. I continue devouring him like my life depends on it in what is sure to be the greatest kiss of my life.
Which is…fucking insane. But it’s the truth.
Even while this—touching another man—is something I’ve been taught is unnatural and disgusting my whole life, something that feels this good can’t be wrong. No matter how many times I’ve been told differently or how foreign the concept might be.
And I’m so lost in the moment, in the feel and taste of him, it’s preventing me from overthinking.
Or thinking at all, because instincts have taken over as I roll my hips into his. It elicits another groan, this time from both of us, and God, if it isn’t fucking amazing. Everything about this is.
The scratch and scrape of his facial hair against my skin.
The firmness of his body, even through his clothes.
The thick ridge of his cock rubbing mine through our jeans.
The way his fingers dig into my hips beneath my hoodie as he finally gives in, kissing me back with the same passionate fury.
His teeth sink into my bottom lip—the bite of pain causing my dick to throb painfully behind my zipper—and when he releases it, the faint taste of blood hits my tongue. It spurs me on and makes me kiss him harder.
We grapple for control over one another, dueling with our tongues and hands while our hips keep bumping and rocking together. I think he’s about to wrap his fists in my hoodie and pull me closer when his palms move up to my pecs. Or maybe spin me around and pin me against the tree instead, pressing against me to the point where there’s not a single air molecule between our bodies.
But he does none of those things, and instead, he flattens them against my chest to push me away for the second time tonight. Enough to not only break our connection, but send me stumbling backward blindly.
His chest is heaving like he’s just run a marathon as he glares at me with a mixture of rage and lust. “What the fucking hell, Reynolds?” he seethes.
Fuck.
I’m sure he wants an answer, but I’m too busy staring at him in the dim moonlight while I wait for the world to shift back onto its axis. Only it doesn’t. It stays tilted, and the whole thing has me off balance.
I must be out of my goddamn mind. The fresh mountain air, the sun beating down on us from dawn to dusk, spending every waking moment in the forest must be fucking with my sanity. It can be the only explanation for what is happening to me. Why I can’t seem to fight the lust running rampant through my system.
“Reynolds?” he says again, and it’s clear from his tone, he wants an answer.
Too bad for both of us, I don’t have one.
I lick my lips, and I swear I can still taste his on them. Feel where they just were, their sudden disappearance creating a cooling effect on mine. And there’s a burning rawness to them from where his week-old stubble was scraping against my skin too.
Something I didn’t know I’d enjoy.
Replaying every second of that kiss like it’s my life force isn’t what needs to happen right now, but it’s all my brain seems capable of. But then I feel the shame spiral already starting to creep in, and soon enough, I’ll be buried in it. Lost beneath piles of self-loathing and regret.
I need to be far, far away from Kaleb when it happens.
So I do the only logical thing.
I turn and flee, disappearing down the path to my cabin at a speed Usain Bolt would be jealous of. I don’t stop until I’m locked safely inside, my back slamming against the wooden door before sliding down it.
