“You’d planned?”
But Lewis doesn’t tell me what he’d planned.
He stays still and keeps looking at me. His attention is like a caress on my skin, palpable and toe-curlingly physical. It crosses my mind that a public hiking path might not be the best place to keep pushing this topic. But we haven’t seen another soul in hours, and it’s been years since I’ve wanted something this much.
“You know what. Never mind,” he finally says, but I already forgot what we were talking about.
His hands come up to track the path his eyes took, over my temples and down my cheeks to the corner of my mouth. Inky eyes hook onto where he’s touching my lips, and it’s less conscious thought, more reflex that has my tongue dart to his thumb.
Lewis makes a throaty sound.
I lick him again, slower this time, savoring the rough pad of his skin, the salty taste.
His control slips as he finally lifts to his knees and braces his elbows onto the fallen tree at my back, bracketing me in. The scraggly bark digs through my shirt, a forceful contrast to the featherlight tug in my stomach when he lowers his mouth to mine.
His lips are warm, and he tastes like sugar. Like the sports drink we shared on the crest of the hill, but so much better. I want to consume all of him.
For maybe a second, he kisses me slowly, hesitantly. Butthen I shift my hands into his hair, pulling lightly at the strands, and his caution gives way. Each time he draws in, he shows his need in different ways. A nip at my lower lip, fingers twisting into my shirt, the tip of his tongue coaxing my mouth open. I feel all of his movements right down to my core, but when his tongue slides into the corner of my mouth, a molten, lush heat bursts between my legs. It drums a lazy rhythm as I pull his face closer and deepens when I trace my teeth along the contour of his jaw.
I’d be embarrassed about how much I want him, how a flick of his tongue and a drag of his fingers can undo me, but the heavy shape of his own desire against my abdomen tells me it’s no different for him.
“Frances,” Lewis rasps out, and my name on his lips is more exquisite than I’d ever imagined it could sound. I lift my hips, chasing the friction, chasing that choking sound he just made, and he reads my intention, sliding his thigh between my legs.
My sharp exhale comes dangerously close to a moan. “Those thoughts about me,” I breathe out. “Did they involve anything other than kissing?”
Lewis pulls back his head, but with his body still pressed against mine, the heavy thump of his heart reverberates against my chest.
His lips tick into a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I’m pretty much dying to.” I scrape my fingers through his hair, noting the catch in his inhale.
“So greedy,” he growls.
“So meticulous,” I counter.
A pensive expression crosses his face before his mouth hones in on the hinge of my jaw, and the hitch in my breath seems to confirm whatever he was looking for, because he hums in satisfaction.
“Still feel like complaining?” he exhales against my skin.
“Shut— Ah.” I whimper as he probes the sensitive spot with the tip of his tongue, and I realize that as much as I love to bicker with Lewis, it’s even better when we do it without words. As I bite the tip of his ear, he groans softly. He responds by twisting his hand into the hem of my cutoffs, palm hot on my thigh and thumbnail scraping over the denim inches from where I yearn for him. His languid pace makes me impatient and needy, and I try to shift under him, but he just smiles against my jaw. I’m plotting my next move—his lips back on mine, or should I get us to turn around altogether so I can straddle him?—when I hear a gasp.
High pitched. Distant. Too much of either, to belong to Lewis.
My head snaps up. Lewis sits back onto his heels. A heartbeat and we’re untangled from each other, staring into the shocked face of a middle-aged woman clad in khaki hiking gear. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, she’s halted in her steps, one hiking pole poised midair, the other one slack at her side.
“Ronald,” she calls tightly without turning her head.
“Jodie?” There’s a rustle of approaching steps and then a man her age comes up behind her. He’s wearing one of those beige safari-style bucket hats with a cord fastened below his chin. “What is it, honey?”
Jodie’s eyes narrow into slits as she continues to glare at us. “This is a state park,” she says sharply, her hiking pole stabbing into the air in emphasis of her words. “This is public property of the state of New York. It’s to be used for recreation—not forthis.”
Her tone is indignant, the slant of her brows scandalized. Who can blame her? She just stumbled upon a pair of thirtysomethings making out like lovestruck teenagers in the middle of nowhere.
A giggle bubbles up my throat. I bite my lips to keep it in,and a glance at Lewis, who’s still angled toward me, tells me it’s down to me to pacify Jodie. I swallow thickly, hoping my voice won’t betray me. “We’re so sorry,” I manage.
“Recreation,” Lewis echoes, dead serious, catching my gaze with a twinkle in his eyes. “That’s what we were doing.”
I yelp out a fraction of my pent-up laughter, as Jodie presses her lips together. “Unbelievable,” she hisses. Ronald, meanwhile, has turned red, his eyes gaping. “This is punishable under the law for public nuisance.”
