Becca

Thursday, the Wee Hours

“Warm?” Dax’s sleep-heavy voice cuts into my brain.

“Mm-hm,” I hum, snuggling against him. I’m wearing leggings, socks, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He’s in boxers and a T-shirt and throwing off as much heat as a furnace.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I dozed.” I reach an arm out of the sleeping bag, atop two layers of thick blankets, and grab my water bottle. I tuck my arm, bottle included, back into my cocoon quickly. “I thought it was supposed to be warm by now! I’m freezing.”

“It’s not summer yet, Princess. And it’s worth it.”

I sip my water. I offer him some and he accepts, putting the water bottle on his side of the Jeep this time.

“You’re right. It’s worth it,” I admit. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

He wraps an arm around me and I rest my cheek on his chest. The stars are out in full force, perfectly visible over the field.

“What are you going to do when you get back to Ohio?” I ask.

“Work. Kick Barrett out of my house. The usual.”

I let out a soft laugh. “You’re a good friend to let him stay with you.”

“I guess.”

Dax is a good person. Probably a great person. And next to him, in his arms, snuggling deep in a thick sleeping bag, my mind has wandered out of normal territory and right into treacherous territory. I haven’t made a habit of really getting to know the guys in my life. And before you judge me, let me remind you that guys do it all the time. I’m selective. But I know how to scratch an itch. I also know how to get out before one of the two of us has to have a conversation involving the words “We have to talk.”

Yet here I am. I’m the one who turned up at Dax’s door again and again, proving that I can’t keep out of harm’s way. Like a curious mouse lured by cheese in a trap . . .

“What about you?” Dax asks. “What will you do when I go home?”

“Work. Sleep indoors. The usual,” I quip. In truth, I’ve been thinking about this since I opened my eyes however many minutes ago. What will I do when he goes home? Miss him, I imagine.

A puff of air from his nose might be a weak laugh. I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing. I wonder if, in the wee hours, out in the woods, it’s safe to tell him what’s on my mind. Why not?

“Will you date?” I blurt.

He pulls in a deep breath. To buy time? His chest expands and me with it, since my face is resting on his rib cage.

“Never dated much as it was, Princess.”

Which isn’t an answer.

“Will you date?” His voice is quiet. “Pick up a stranger at Grand Lark’s bar and show up on his cabin doorstep?”

I pinch his side in admonishment. “You were my first and likely my last Grand Lark hookup, Dax Vaughn.”

His palm rubs up my arm and down in a rhythm that soon has my eyelids growing heavy. Before I overthink it, I tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“I don’t think I’ll find another you up in these mountains unless it’s actually you returning for another vacation.” My heart pounds under the weight of that admission. It’s unlikely that we’ll wait for each other—or that we’ll date long distance. The geographical distance isn’t insurmountable, but what about the emotional distance?

“You have to come visit me next,” he says, pretty as you please. “Your name’ll be on the menu and you’ll have to do a quality check to make sure my cook didn’t screw up your quesadilla. You never told me what you charge, by the way.”

Smooth transition.

“I’m not sure what to charge you.”

“Google some chefs for hire. Find what feels fair and bill me. I’ll double it and pay you.”

“Dax, I don’t want you overpay me.” I sit up and rest my forearms on his chest, looking down at him. He brushes my hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. Such a sweet move. He has a lot of those. That Courtney girl was an idiot for leaving him if he gave her the same sort of royal treatment.

“Want to take me into town tomorrow?” he asks. “We could do lunch. You can show me the sights.”

“I thought you wanted to rough it.”

“I do. But not at the cost of boring you to tears.”

“It’s your vacation. You should do what you came here to do.”

“Did you, and that’s not what I came here for.” His lips twitch. He knows I know he’s kidding. I’m not the least bit offended.

“I work until five tomorrow.”

“Dinner, then.”

“Another date?”

“Starting to sound that way, isn’t it? Are you opposed?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I say, my tone teasing.

“That’s because I want you to say my favorite word.” He lifts his head off his pillow, laces his hands behind my back, and waits.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“That’s the one.” He kisses me lightly. Light turns to hard. Hard turns to deep.

I slide my hand between our bodies, down, down until I cup his balls. Then I grip his cock in my palm and giving him a slow stroke. He pulls his lips from mine to let out a low, pleasure-filled groan.

“I have an idea,” I say.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. His eyes are hooded, saturated with heat.

I move down his body, beneath the sleeping bag, and pull down his boxers. His erection is impressive even at half-mast. I deliver a long, slow lick and take him deep while he rests his hands on my shoulders and his deep groans fill the air. I’m hot and getting hotter under the weight of the bag, but I’m not stopping until he’s done. Or so I think.

He grips my upper arms and pulls me off him.

I surface from the sleeping bag to find his eyes dark with intent. His nostrils flare as he throws open the bag and rolls me to my back. In record time, my leggings are dragged to my ankles and then off completely.

He palms my breasts through my shirt, toying with my nipples as he kisses his way down my torso. At the juncture of my thighs, he stops, yanks aside my panties, and buries his face between my thighs.

Dax locates my clitoris like it has a homing device. He sucks and licks until I’m moaning louder than he was. He sets the pace and I thrust and squirm, matching his rhythm as he ravishes me.

I come. Hard. I attempt to push his head away but he shows no signs of slowing. His hands grip my ass and squeeze and he renews his efforts, wringing one more orgasm from me before he lets up.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s on top of me. I open my legs to accommodate his width and he slides home in one slow, long, wet stroke.

Oh so good.

One more stroke follows, and I toss my head back, soaking in how good he feels. How right he feels.

Another few luscious slides and Dax comes to an abrupt halt—seated deep and pulsating inside me as he blinks, dazed.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay. I came earlier.” I weakly stroke his neck. “Go for it.”

“Not that, Princess.” He hovers there, eyes drilling into mine, breathing ragged. “Protection.”

“Fuck.” We’ve never forgotten that essential step before. “I’m, um . . . I’m clean. You’re clean, I assume?”

“Babe.” He tilts his head like I shouldn’t assume otherwise.

“Well, slide out and put one on,” I tell him. Then with a devilish smile I add, “Or come inside me, because I’ve been on birth control since I was fifteen.”

“Becca.” I like the growly, desperate way he says my name.

I rest my hand on his T-shirt-covered chest and tilt my hips toward his greedily. He moves only a centimeter, frozen over me in suspension, like hasn’t decided whether to stay or go.

“Do you trust me?” I’m asking so much more than whether he trusts that I’m on birth control.

His answer is to lower to his elbows and kiss me thoroughly. While our tongues mingle, his hips move lazily, his cock sliding deep. Deeper and pulling out again.

My breaths match his—tight and thin—but he doesn’t pick up the pace, oh no. He continues his rhythmic slides. Thrusting with precision as I tilt to meet him. Soon I’m on the brink of an orgasm so spectacular I wonder if it’ll be like Halley’s comet—once in a lifetime.

“Princess,” he growls.

“Yes. Yes, Dax. Yes.”

“Now.”

On his command, I arch, tightening my channel and clutching his cock. I pulse along with him as he releases a primal growl, his entire body coiled as he comes inside me, until his hips come to a resting stop and our pelvises are flush against each other.

Then. We breathe. Hard and fast at first, then long and slow.

His kisses warm the center of my chest. We’re still connected where it counts. His fingers play in my hair as my hands stroke up his back and down. I reach lower to grab his taut ass where his muscles flinch. I squeeze it again.

“Your body is unfairly perfect,” I mutter, happiness lacing my voice.

“Wrong, gorgeous. You’re the perfect one. Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than wrapped up in these long legs.” He slides one hand over my thigh and down my calf, lifting my leg and hooking it over his hip. “How long can I rest here before I need to get out? Nothing feels as incredible as your pussy. Could stay here till morning.”

I release a quick exhale of surprise at the word I thought I never liked. When Dax says “pussy,” it’s almost . . . reverent.

“Morning is a long way away,” I joke.

He kisses me again.

We share a smile and an intense eye lock before he pulls out.

I sleep well the rest of the night.