Becca

Dax unlocks the door to cabin 13 and gestures for me to go ahead of him. Thanks to the covered porch, we’re at least out of the elements, but even during the short jog from our cars to the porch, we were soaked in an instant.

I know this cabin, so I reach to my left and flip the light switches. After a few impotent clicks it’s clear that the power’s out.

Anticipation wriggles in my tummy. Outside of Grand Lark, bag in hand, I hesitated ever so briefly at the door. Not because I was having doubts about Dax but because I wanted to give my body one more chance to take back that ping of premonition.

I counted to five, and then Dax pulled up to the overhang and rolled down his window. “Say the word, Becca. I can go in and grab the map. Find it myself.”

In other words, did I want to continue this date or let it go? At the thought of letting it go—of going back to my brother’s house to sleep in the same room with my niece—the ping returned with a vengeance.

I couldn’t pass up the chance to explore what Dax and I started, so I lead the way in my car.

Dax leans out the front door and retrieves a dripping-wet duffel bag, a large cooler, and another sizable bag.

“Wow. Is that everything?” I tease, sweeping my phone’s flashlight beam toward the mountain of supplies.

“Camping gear and fishing rods are in the Jeep,” he answers drily. “Won’t be using that until the rain lets up.”

I like his truncated speech about as much as I like everything else about him. Especially the way he’s looking at me right now. I sweep the light from his luggage to inspect him. His hair is plastered to his head, water dripping off the hard planes of his handsome face, T-shirt molded to his pecs, abs, and shoulders as if he dove into a lake rather than dashed in from a thunderstorm.

“There’s a generator. Want me to find it?”

In the low light I can make out his eyes trained on me. “Becca.”

“What?”

“We could have another drink. Postpone this another hour or two. Ask more questions about pop culture and each other’s pasts.”

I shake my head because I don’t want to overanalyze or stall or weigh my options.

“Or?” My voice is a breath of anticipation. Dax stalks toward me, all that bulk moving at a seriously sexy pace.

He’s front of me, surrounding me. I’m delicate in comparison to the sheer size of him.

“Or.” His one word is followed by his chilled fingers sinking into my damp hair. He tugs my nape, forcing my chin forward and up, and I come a step closer and rest my hand on his soaked shirt.

“I have something else in mind.” His gravelly promise gives way to a heated kiss, his warm lips covering mine. He pushes his tongue into my mouth but takes his time once he’s there, mingling, dancing, teasing. I taste him and taste him until a clatter sounds in the room—my phone hitting the floor. The light illuminates the immediate area, but I don’t need to see him to know what he’s doing.

Dax runs his hands down my shoulders, down the sides of my breasts, around my waist. Then he stops. Tugs me closer. Deepens the kiss.

Oh, man this guy can kiss. Really, really kiss. My brains are turning to mush and my knees to jelly. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of me puddled at his feet like rainwater rolling off his body.

He stops kissing me, robbing me of his heat as he pulls his pelvis away from mine.

“Bec, I need a ‘yes.’”

“What?” I’m dazed.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Yep. I’m melting. This time from the inside. I take a bold step forward and press my breasts against his solid chest, rub the part of him he shielded from me a second ago with my torso. The many steely inches buried beneath the fly of those well-worn jeans.

“You know it, Magic Mike,” I tell him with a saucy grin. He can’t see it, but I make sure he can feel it. I push up on my toes and throw my arms around his neck and kiss the life out of him.

Luckily, he’s as good on his toes as I am on mine. When I lean heavily, he adjusts his weight to support me. When I slide my tongue into his mouth, he accepts it gratefully. When I snake my hand down his chest and over the ridges of his abs—seriously, this is one hard-bodied dude—he lets loose an exhale that’s more a feral grunt against my lips.

Sexy.

I push his shirt over his chest and he peels the sodden material off the rest of the way. When I reach for the button on his jeans, he growls into my mouth and extracts my hands.

“Where the hell’s the bedroom?”

“There are two on this floor. Which—eeeee!” My shriek turns into a giggle as Dax literally throws me over his shoulder. I didn’t even sense it coming. One second I was standing on the floor, and the next I was airborne, then upside down. In a dark, dark room he sets me on my feet before the room is lit by his phone.

“I wonder if the flashlight makers have suffered a business slump since the invention of the smart phone,” I wonder aloud.

“Not what I’m thinking about.” Dax props the phone up on a lamp with a base made out of faux deer antlers. He thumbs open the stud on his jeans and works the wet denim over his legs. With the helpful spotlight pointing about waist high, I can see the outline of his erection in a pair of tight black briefs.

Before I can further admire his muscular, thick thighs, he’s in front of me, lifting my shirt and tossing it aside. I shiver. It’s a chilly spring night, and not warm in this cabin.

“Once we turn on the generator, let’s also turn on the heat.”

Dax pulls me close, his big hands warm despite the room’s temperature. “I’ll keep you warm, Princess.”

Again with the Princess?

“Are you under the impression I’m a diva or something?”

I sigh when Dax’s mouth hits the space between my neck and my shoulder. He sucks my skin gently and that sigh becomes an appreciative moan.

I . . . What was I saying?

“Shimmy onto that mattress.”

I do as I’m told and when I’m there, he tugs at my shoes.

Ineptly.

Not his fault. The wedges are fastened by tiny straps with tiny buckles at my ankles. Dax’s wide hands aren’t nearly nimble enough to—

I gasp when one shoe hits the floor with a dull thud.

Did he just . . .?

I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he delicately lifts my other ankle. He slides the tiny strap from the tiny buckle, frees my other foot, and tosses the sandal aside.

Our boy has skills.

He’s over me a moment later, strong arms caging me in, eyes dark with intent.

“Want me to take off my pants?” I ask.

“That’s my line.” He kisses me briefly. “Still waiting on that ‘yes,’ Princess.”

My, but he is a stickler for that rule.

“Yes, Princess,” I repeat.

He doesn’t waste a second. He kisses the space between my breasts, tongue gliding into one of my bra’s cups, teasing the flesh there before kissing a path to my tummy and then reaching my jeans. Stud undone, zipper down, he wriggles me out of wet denim without chafing my legs. Impressive.

At the end of the bed, he stands over me and I do my best to pose. Arms overhead, I stretch out, pull one knee in and tilt my head to one side.

“Lucky cabin thirteen,” Dax says as a smile hitches his mouth.

I let out a hearty laugh. Being wanted, being attracted to someone, is incredible. He crashes down on the queen mattress without crushing me to dust.

“You’re remarkably agile given all your bulk.” I wrap my hand around his biceps and give them a squeeze. He shifts between my legs and several inches of hardness presses my inner thigh.

“You’re fucking beautiful.”

The harsh word paired with a compliment causes the throb of my heartbeat to traverse lower until it’s between my legs. I pivot my hips and press against his hard-on.

“You promised to warm me up,” I say, my voice husky with need.

“What’s your pleasure?” He kisses that spot on the side of my neck again and I thrust my hips.

One of his fingers traces the lace of my bra, sliding over my nipple and around before moving away.

“That’s nice,” I let him know.

“Not going for nice, Princess.” Without preamble, he tugs the cup of my bra away and sucks one nipple into his mouth. I jolt at the sensation, opening my mouth to let out a sound steeped in pleasure.

He lets me go and kisses me briefly, saying, “Closer,” against my parted lips.

Closer?

Then he’s on the move, sliding my bra cup back over my breast and licking his way south. My hips tilt toward his mouth as his heated breath hits my inner thigh.

“Think I know what you like,” he says.

“Everyone likes this,” I say, my voice paper thin.

“Not everyone.” He spares me a glance and lifts one eyebrow before tugging my panties aside and delivering a slow lick along my center.

It’s like the lightning flash outside happened inside my veins. I spark on contact. The sound that rolls off my tongue isn’t a scream of satisfaction but a whimper of “Don’t stop.”

“Bingo.” He tugs at the side of my panties—nude lace, matching my bra—and drags them down my legs. I lift my feet to help, impatient for another of those long licks, but now Dax feels like taking his time.

He parts my legs, propping me wide and smoothing his palm up the inside of one leg while he strokes the inside of the other with his tongue.

I’m quivering, fists bunching the quilted bedspread, a kaleidoscope of color behind my lids. The room is chilled, my nipples pebbled, Dax’s damp hair sending a trail of goosebumps to the surface of my skin. But his mouth is warm, his lips are warm, his tongue is hot.

Like the rest of him.

Higher he kisses. I eagerly shift my hips, my desperate whimpers lost under the pounding of the rain. The thought comes that he’s doing this on purpose; that he’ll get me wound up and then pull away and leave me wet and ready. But Dax is into no such cruel game.

He’s into me.

Thank. God.

At the junction of my thighs, he tenderly lifts one leg and props it on his massive shoulder, and then does the same with the other. I’m open and vulnerable to him but I lift my hips, ready for what he’s about to deliver.

The wait is over, and so is the teasing.

He lowers his head and devours me.