The sleeping bag rustled around us, the nylon whispering against my skin as Carson’s body settled just a little more fully over mine. The world outside the tent might as well not have existed. There was only the heat of him, the steady strength of his arms braced on either side of me, the warmth radiating from his chest, his breath mingling with mine in soft, uneven pulls.
His lips traced a path down my cheek, slow and reverent, as though memorizing me one inch at a time.
I hadn’t expected him to be gentle.
But he was.
Beautifully, devastatingly gentle.
“Sienna,” he whispered again, voice shaking just enough to undo me, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do.” I slid my hands up his sides, feeling the shift of muscle under my palms. “You’re not exactly hiding it.”
He mumbled something like a laugh, but it dissolved into a low, quiet sound when I tugged him closer, guiding him down until his fingers brushed my cheek.
His nose skimmed mine, and his lips traced my jawline.
Every touch was fire.
“We’re supposed to be professional,” he murmured against my skin, as he kissed the hollow just beneath my ear.
I shivered. “We’re terrible at it.”
His hand slid beneath my fleece again, fingertips tracing my waist in a slow, deliberate curve that made my breath stutter.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered.
“I know.”
His thumb stroked a warm line along my hip.
“But I’m not stopping you,” I breathed.
He made a sound that told me exactly how thin his restraint had become as he kissed me.
He kissed me like he needed the air in my lungs.
I curled my fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, and he followed without hesitation, his body aligning with mine in the narrow sleeping bag until there was no space left between us. His weight settled just enough to ground me, his knees brushing mine, his chest pressed against my ribs.
Heat flared dangerously low in my stomach.
His hand moved again, slow but certain, exploring the curve of my waist as though the layers between us were thin as tissue.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered against my mouth.
“I don’t,” I whispered back, already leaning into him again.
His breath caught. “Sienna…”
The way he said my name, rough, reverent, and hungry, felt like its own kind of kiss.
I brought him back to me, lips meeting his with need so sharp it made my pulse trip. He responded instantly, his hand sliding from my waist up to my ribs, tracing the faint rise and fall of my breath. The sleeping bag tightened around us as we shifted, his thigh brushing mine, sending another hot jolt through my nerves.
The way his body moved against me made my head spin.
I could feel him trying not to rush, trying to keep control, trying to be the steady, grounded one…
But the soft little sound I made when his hand curved over my hip nearly broke him.
