“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, eyes half-shut. “You’re like a big human heater.”
My entire nervous system short-circuited.
“Stop talking,” I whispered.
“Why?” Her voice was sleepy, innocent.
Because I’m going to forget every boundary we made.
Because I want to pull you closer.
Because this feels like the most dangerous thing I’ve done in years.
But I didn’t say any of that.
I said, “Just… rest.”
“I’m trying.”
She nestled deeper into the shared bag.
Then her hips shifted, innocently, trying to find warmth.
Except innocence had nothing to do with the way that movement sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
She wiggled again. “Ugh. Sorry. Trying to get comfortable.”
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not too crowded?”
“It’s… manageable.”
Another soft shimmy of her hips, and I knew she was truly unaware of the effect.
“You good?” she asked sleepily.
No.
Not remotely.
But I forced out, “Yeah.”
She exhaled a breath that ghosted warm across my throat. “Thanks for this, Carson. Really.”
“Of course.”
Silence settled around us, thick but not uncomfortable, filled with the muted hum of the forest. Her breathing slowed. She grew heavier against the curve of my body.
But just as I began to think she’d fallen asleep, she murmured, “Hey, Carson?”
“Yeah?”
“This doesn’t break rule number two, right?”
“No touching?”
“Mm-hmm.”
