The three guys occasionally made eye contact over the fire, maybe in solidarity for their restraint, maybe just making sure no one was cheating because then they could all enjoy the show.
Except then Max would have to kill them or gouge their eyes out or something.
He chastised himself for those violent thoughts.
No, if they turned to watch, he would merely remind them that Dree was a human being who was not on Earth for their titillation and deserved their respect.
And if that didn’t work, he would shake them until they took their filthy eyes off her tent.
He had to stop this. This was not his way. Respect and restraint were his obligations, but retribution was not.
Max waited, practically counting minutes as the stars drifted overhead.
His mind returned again and again to memories of the curves of her body, the swells and dips of her breasts and waist and hips, and images of his hand stroking her satiny skin, her fragrance lifting from her body as he breathed, and the shivers that ran through her when he ran his tongue over her breasts and sucked on her clit.
Maxence focused on the fire, trying to listen only to the crackles and pops of exploding sap because he could swear that he heard the fabric of her clothes stroking her flesh.
Eventually, Father Booker lifted his head and squinted across the campground. “Her light is out.”
The three guys sighed, and their shoulders fell in relief.
Batsa glanced up from his book and went back to reading.
Maxence slapped his knees. “It has been a strenuous few days. I think I’ll turn in.”
He collected his bedroll from beside the guys’ gear and followed his flashlight beam through the night, careful of the stones and dried bushes on his way.
Unzipping the tent flap sounded like ripping a tarp in half in the dark countryside, and he turned his flashlight down until it glowed like a dim votive candle to sneak into Dree’s dark tent.
The rear area was heaped with her boxes of medical supplies again, and the lumpy sleeping bag that was Dree lay on the right side of the triangle-shaped tent.
Her face was turned to the side of the tent, so Maxence crawled inside as quietly as he could, closed the tent flap, and unfurled his sleeping bag on the other side. He took off his black leather jacket and riding pants and slipped into his sleeping bag, zipping it all the way up to his neck before reaching out and clicking off his flashlight.
Dark.
The tent fabric overhead shut out even the meager light of the stars, crescent moon, and campfire that his eyes were used to.
Outside, pebbles and sand grated under boots as the guys stood and kicked small stones as they walked around. The campfirehissedwhen they doused it.
On the other side of the tent, Dree was not breathing the deep, even exhalations of sleep.
Her breath sounded like little hiccups and mews, and his heart was breaking. “Dree—”
“Don’t be nice to me. It makes it worse.”
He considered touching her shoulder, and he considered gathering her into his arms and holding her until the pain all went away, but neither of those was his place in her life. Instead, he asked, “What can I do?”
“—Tell me more stories about Monagasquay.”
“That was all a fairy tale. I made it up.”
“Tell me anyway,” she said.
“I can tell you the story about how my ancestors became the sovereign princes of Monagasquay.”
“Okay. All my ancestors have been New Mexican sheep ranchers as long as there have been sheep ranchers in New Mexico.”
“Sounds like centuries,” Max said.
