I’ll sleep on the floor for the chance to eat whatever Bubble is cooking in there.
So why am I so scared of going in?
I’ve survived making two of the hardest decisions of my life. Asking Mel for a divorce and leaving the Marinos. Going inside my own log cabin shouldn’t be that scary.
After all, Bubble is all of five and a half feet of…
My traitorous brain brings up the memory of Bubble dancing like he was doing it for himself and no one else. The graceful way he moved, looking so free, like nothing can nail him down.
I let out a long breath, and even before I see it disappear in the cold air, I stand and walk inside, grabbing the basket with the logs.
“Dammit, I need to build a mud room or something,” I mutter as the snow from my jacket and boots is too much to stay contained within the large matt I have inside the door.
I hang the coat and put the boots on a tray to catch the melting snow attached to the bottoms of the soles.
When I turn around, I wonder if I’ve stepped inside someone else’s cabin.
There’s a small Christmas tree by the fireplace with decorations and presents underneath. Twinkly lights are wrapped around the supporting beam in the middle of the room, tinsel hangs from the ceiling… How the hell did he get it that high up?
Is that mistletoe hanging above the couch?
My eyes zero in on Bubble, who’s staring at me with a worried expression. He’s holding one arm around his waist while the other is in front of his chest.
He’s biting his nails nervously, but all I can see is that he’s changed clothes. He’s now wearing a tight pair of pink yoga pants that highlights every curve of his shapely legs to his slim waist. He’s paired it with a wide-necked oversized sweater that falls off his shoulder.
His green eyes are open wide like a scared deer. One wrong move and he might bolt.
Except he’s not the one that needs to bolt. I am.
I put my boots back on and pull the laces but don’t bother tying them. I tuck them in and leave.
I run toward the forested area by the cabin and keep going until my lungs burn from the cold.
“Fuck.” I shout, but it comes out like a cough. “What the hell is happening to me?”
My cabin is like a sensory overload of lights, smells, and everything that wasn’t there before, but all my mind can think of is the exposed skin of Bubble’s shoulder.
If I hadn’t run out of the cabin, I’m afraid I’d have run toward him and done something really inappropriate.
“For fuck’s sake, the kid is…a kid. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing when he throws himself at me.”
My dick throbs in my pants. I lean against a tree and palm my erection.
Months of pent-up energy that I couldn’t name before bursts to come out.
The heavy snowfall makes it unlikely someone else will be out in the woods. Before I think about it too much, I lower my zipper and take out my cock.
The relief of touching myself is counterbalanced by the cold. But my dick isn’t bothered by it because whatever spell Bubble has put me under is enough to melt the ice caps.
The only way I can go back to the cabin is to take care of myself right here.
“It’ll take the edge off so you can think clearly around him,” I mutter as I stroke my length, trying to stop a moan. I don’t know how far sound travels here, and the last thing I want is to be caught.
The tree is rough against my back. I lean my head against it and imagine how it would feel if Bubble was on his knees, wrapping his sweet lips around my cock and fulfilling all the promises he’s eagerly teased me with.
The more I think about him, the more I question what the hell I’ve been doing my whole life.
His practically naked body in the shower, the exposed shoulder, his sweet face hidden by the wool hats, even his sheer determination to get his giant suitcase out of his car.
