“Where’s the first aid kit?” Panic sharpens my voice.

“Everything’s in the back.”

I beep the back open and find it’s been neatly packed with all the essentials for survival. Food, water, a sleeping bag, clothing. The first aid kit is a good-sized one and I breathe a sigh of thanks as I yank it free.

Matteo’s chosen a camping spot with a picnic table. “Over there,” I tell him, and stick by his side in case he needs help. He gets there without assistance, but I’m sure it costs him.

“Don’t sit down yet. I need to get your coat off.” He leans against the table, ever so slightly, while I’m easing it off his shoulders, which tells me how shaky he’s feeling.

Setting the kit on the table, I open it and survey the contents. “There’s a pair of scissors in here, but they’re not really meant for cutting heavy fabric. Do you have anything else?”

“There’s a knife in the SUV.”

I find it, a brand-new hunting knife with a gleaming edge. “Okay, hold still,” I tell him when I bring it back. Carefully, I cut his shirt away, the blade parting the fabric with an ease that’s frightening.

When I’ve got it entirely removed, I wince at the ugly gash along his ribs. “The bullet scored the flesh, but that’s all. Half an inch further in and it would have shattered your rib, at least.”

He squints at me. “You got medical training?”

“Just basic first aid stuff. Dad made us all learn that, along with how to handle a gun.”

“Smart man.”

“He was.” I take out the supplies I need. “I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

“Do what you need to.” He sits stoically while I get the blood off his torso and then disinfect the wound, apply ointment, and cover it with a bandage.

My worry about his injury has kept me focused … but now I’m free to see what I’ve been tending. His beautiful body laid bare. All that smooth muscle under gleaming skin, tempting my fingers to touch, and the tantalizing happy trail leading down into his jeans.

“You’ve, uh, got blood on your jeans.” My voice comes out hoarse. I can’t meet his eyes.

When he doesn’t answer, I look up in time to see him staring at me, raw hunger in his eyes. Heat flashes between us and now I can’t look away. I’m at his mercy; I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to.

A muscle bunches in his jaw before he turns his head, breaking the connection. “I’ll go get changed.”

I scramble out of the way as he stands up and makes his way to the back of the SUV. I stay where I am, my view of him blocked by the vehicle. For a few moments there’s silence. Then he hisses out a breath.

I’m halfway to him before I’m conscious of moving. Forcing myself to stop, I say tentatively, “Can I help with anything?” A man like Matteo wouldn’t appreciate being babied or fussed over.

There’s a long silence before he answers. “It’s surprisingly difficult to change clothes with this type of injury. Bending and twisting are pretty much off the menu.”

Taking that as an invitation, I come around the end of the SUV.

He’s got his jeans unzipped, and them and his underwear partway down, enough to expose a portion of his hip. There’s more dried blood caked on his skin.

But what I mostly notice are that the garments are riding just above his cock.

Lust tugs low in my belly. “I’ll just ...” I gesture toward the SUV, hoping he’ll understand what I mean since all the words seem to have dribbled out of my brain.

“Baby wipes.”

There’s a strange note to his voice. I don’t dare look at him. I find the wipes and move to his side, dabbing carefully at the blood, then scrubbing as gently as I can when it doesn’t come off easily.

My eyes keep darting to the six-pack of his belly and the hair below, taunting me with what’s just out of sight. “There’s more blood,” I say when I have what I can reach cleaned off. “Down your leg.”

“I can’t get the clothes down any farther,” he says in that same rough, peculiar voice. “You’ll have to do it.”

Heaven help me. “Okay … um …” There’s nothing for it. I can’t get his clothes off his leg without exposing the rest of him too.

This is definitely not the time to tell Matteo I’ve never seen a naked man before.

I can do this. I’m a grown woman. Of course, if it were anyone but Matteo, I’d be keeping my distance and telling him sorry, figure it out, I can’t help you.

Setting down the baby wipes, I move in front of him and hook my fingers inside the waistband of his underwear, the outer part of each hand closing over the top of his jeans. Just before I yank them down, his hand wraps around my wrist.

The contact sends an electric shock through me. My nipples go hard and I can’t hold back a tiny gasp.

“Out.” He sounds half strangled.

“What?”

“Pull out before you pull down.”

“Oh. Okay.” Embarrassed that I’ve already given away my inexperience, I follow his instructions.

And holy crap. Because as soon as his briefs are out of the way, he springs free. I freeze, staring at the cock that’s rising before me, swelling, pulsing with every beat of his heart. The cold doesn’t seem to affect him – or it – at all.

The first thing I think is, He’s beautiful. And the next is, I can’t have sex with him. That will never fit.

Not content to stop there, my brain goes on issuing random musings about Matteo’s cock. He can’t go around hard all the time. I may not be experienced, but I know that much. Is this … because of me?

It makes me lightheaded. Could he really respond to me that way?

No. He’s one of those men with a powerful sex drive, and any woman would have this effect on him if she was touching him, undressing him. It’s silly to think I’m anyone special.

He hasn’t said a word. He’s just standing there, watching me watch his cock. When I’m supposed to be helping him. Jeez, Quinn.

Heat rushes to my face. I work his pants and briefs down his legs, but his boots are in the way. I help him with those, then get his clothing all the way off.

Now he’s totally naked and I’m kneeling at his feet. I fold up his pants and tuck his socks into his boots, as if they didn’t need to be either laundered or thrown away. It buys me a few seconds.

Finally, I stand up and go for the baby wipes again, not meeting his eyes. But when I turn around with a wipe in my hand, he doesn’t let me go on cleaning away the blood.

He takes the wipe away. Then he guides my hand to his cock and gently wraps it around his girth.

“Ohh, fuck,” I whisper. His cock is so warm and hard, the skin over it so soft and silky. I can’t contain him, not entirely, but I’m too fascinated to freak out.

My hand glides up and down his length. He wraps his hand around mine again and tightens my grip a little. White liquid gathers in his slit; at the sight, saliva pools in my mouth.

This is by far the hottest thing I’ve ever done. My panties are soaked. Impulse takes over and I sink to my knees again, intent on tasting him.

I’m afraid he’ll stop me, but he doesn’t. Exploring, I start to kiss and lick him. I lap up the liquid and he growls, but I somehow understand it’s a sound of approval, one I feel down deep in my pussy. The only thing he says, as I start to take him in my mouth, is “No teeth.”

Only later will it register on me how soft his voice is. How gently he nudges my free hand off of his thigh to cup his balls. I’m lost in discovery, in the heady pleasure of worshiping his cock.

I suck him like it’s my last day on earth, eyes closed, my head bobbing awkwardly, with no idea what I’m doing but it doesn’t matter, this is heavenly.

Then he tries to stop me, and instinct takes over again. Instead of releasing him, I suck harder. He tries to pull free and I let him feel my teeth, just a little.