“Mornin’,” I whisper.
“Good morning.”
Her voice is soft and sleep-rough. She swallows, then smiles, a little self-conscious. She sits up halfway, rubbing her eyes, and reaches for the water bottle beside her pack. After a long drink, she offers it to me with a shy half-smile.
I take it, still dazed by how natural this feels—passing a bottle, sharing a breath, like we’ve been waking up together for years.
“Thank you for last night,” she says.
“You’re welcome?—”
“No, I mean … I want to thank you for last night.”
She leans in, tangles her hand in my hair, and pulls me to her. Her lips brush mine, tentative at first, but her trepidation gives way to a soft kiss that launches thousands of tiny rockets through my body.
The nylon floor rustles as we shift, the sleeping bags twisting beneath us. Her palm slides under my shirt, her fingers setting a slow burn across my chest.
I catch her mouth again, slower this time, savoring. She sighs into me and breaks the kiss long enough to pull her hoodie over her head, tossing it aside. For a second, all I can do is stare—the soft rise of her breasts framed by a pale pink bra, the way her skin catches the morning light filtering through the tent.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” I say, cupping her face. She bites her lip and leans in, her lips hovering over mine, teasing me. Her tongue parts my lips and meets mine.
We sink back onto the sleeping bags. My hand drifts down her spine, tracing the curve of her back before resting at her waist. I was already excited from waking up next to her, and now I’m rock hard.
Her body pressing against me feels good, warm, and mine in a way that hits so deep. Her hand slides along my hip, fingers tracing the edge of my waistband. Then she slips lower, her touch deliberate and sure. The world narrows to heat and heartbeat, my vision blurring for a moment.
“It’s morning, Trouble.”
“I know, I … want … to feel you,” she says, her voice low and honeyed.
She tugs at my pants and gently pushes them down. I feel thecool morning air against my skin. She stills for a heartbeat, gaze dropping, and when she looks back up there’s a flicker of awe that tightens every muscle in my body. She takes me in her hand and makes a small sound—half gasp, half moan—and it about levels me.
“I’m not going to last long if you keep touching me like that and making that sound.”
“I can stop … if you want.”
And now she’s stroking me, gently at first, and then her hand cups me fully, and mercy, every nerve in my body is tuned to her rhythmic strokes.
“Don’t stop.” I bury my face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in.
I try to slow her, to draw her back into another kiss. I find her waist, then her pebbled nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. I could stay in here all day, memorizing the soft rise of her body beneath my palms. But she only kisses me harder, as if to tell me she’s in charge.
Yep, she’s definitely in charge this morning and I fucking love it.
My hips lift slightly, chasing her touch like a man starved. Because I am. I’m starving for her.
“I want …” I can barely speak as I’m losing my fucking mind. But through the haze, I’m aware that she’s kissing me with all her clothes on. I want her to feel good, I want her to feel this ecstasy. I reach for her hand and gently tug on her. “What about you?”
She grins and kisses my neck. “What about me?”
“I’m not coming until you do.”
“Duke,” she whispers. “You give so much of yourself to others, I thought it was time you were the center of attention for once.”
She said my name.
Said my damn name.
Not because she was scared, but because I earned it.
