"You're good at this," she says.
"I've had good teachers."
"It's more than that." She moves closer, studying the maps over my shoulder. "You see patterns other people miss. Ways to turn disadvantages into advantages."
"Survival requires adaptation."
"This isn't just adaptation. This is strategy." She touches my arm. "You could be running a settlement by now. Building something permanent instead of moving from place to place."
"Maybe someday." I catch her hand, lace my fingers through hers. "For now, the moving matters more. Settlements need connections to survive. Someone has to build those bridges."
The crew drifts away to their tents, leaving us alone by the dying fire. Hazel doesn't move, her hand still in mine.
"I'm scared," she admits quietly.
"Me too."
"Not helping."
"Would you rather I lie?" I pull her closer. "Tomorrow's dangerous. We both know it. But we're going in smart, and we're going in together. That's all we can do."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Then we adapt. Same as always." I cup her face. "But Hazel? I'm planning on us both making it through. Because I have plans for you that require being alive."
"What kind of plans?"
"The kind that involve a lot more nights like the last few." I kiss her softly. "The kind that involve building something worth protecting."
She kisses me back, harder, more urgent. "Show me."
We barely make it to my tent.
She's pulling at my clothes before I can close the flap, her fingers clumsy with need. I help her, stripping us both with rough efficiency, needing to feel her skin against mine.
"Slow down," I tell her, even though every instinct is screaming to take her fast and hard.
"No." She pushes me onto the bedroll, straddling me with fire in her eyes. "Tomorrow we might die. Tonight I want to feel alive."
"Then let me make you feel alive." I flip us, pinning her beneath me. "My way."
I take my time undressing her completely, peeling away each layer like I'm unwrapping something precious. She watches me with dark eyes, her breath coming faster as more skin is revealed.
"You're staring," she says.
"I'm appreciating." I trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. "Every fucking inch of you."
She reaches for me, but I capture her wrists, pin them gently above her head. "Not yet. Tonight I want to learn every sound you make. Every place that makes you gasp."
"Travis—"
"Every way to make you come apart."
I kiss down her body slowly—her throat, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. When I take her nipple in my mouth, she arches into me with a moan that makes my cock throb.
"Fuck, you're sensitive here." I lavish attention on her breasts, alternating between gentle sucking and harder pulls with my teeth, until she's squirming beneath me.
"Please," she breathes. "More."
