She nods and does what I ask, and finally—finally—the knot in my chest starts to loosen.
Okay, new plan. Make her forget about everything she left behind. Show her how good it is here. Convince her to stay.
I’ll figure out the fine details along the way.
5
Tatum
Still in disbelief of what I asked of him, I haven’t found the courage to follow through with it. Not yet.
After we’d returned from our hike, I tried to take care of the problem he created between my thighs. Even worse, just thinking about the whole thing had set me on fire again.
I triedhard.
No matter how my fingers pinched my nipples or I palmed the heat gathering at my core, the ending was the same. Rolling against my own hand until I was breathless only left me accepting the truth.
It wasn’t enough. It wasn’thim.
I crashed hard after that—exhaustion from the hike and the mental toll he’d taken out on me finally winning out. But even in my sleep, I couldn’t escape him.
Now every second I spend near him, I’m waiting. Watching. Wondering if he’s changed his mind again.
I feel his eyes on me constantly—that hungry stare that makes my skin prickle and my pulse stutter. It’s there every time I turn around, every time I catch him across the room. So what the heck is he waiting for?
Is it me? Is he waiting for me to make the first move?
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it lives in my chest like a dare.
I spend the night dreaming about it—all the different ways I could approach him, all the different angles. My lack of experience is painfully obvious, though. Every scenario I cook up ends up feeling like a bad porn intro, the kind I used to stay up too late watching in my cramped apartment.
But then my brain does this infuriating thing where it recasts those cheesy scenarios with Abel as the lead. Suddenly, I’m melting into the fantasy of his breath hot against my ear, his voice dropping low as he whispers the filthiest things. Things I’ve only ever heard through headphones at two in the morning.
In my head, his hands are everywhere. Petting. Stroking. Finding every desperate, aching place I need him most. In short, the entirety of my body.
The dreams leave me panting, flushed, thighs pressed tight together when I wake. I don’t think I can keep putting myself through this.
Instead of feeling dread about the unknown future, I’m left frustrated and impossibly wet between my legs.
Pressing a hand between my thighs just to relieve some pressure doesn’t help. Nothing helps except the thought of him—of those big hands finally touching me for real.
Abel promised to follow through, so I need him to be a man of his word. If I have to be the first to approach,fine. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything right about now.
The idea takes root, spreading heat through my chest.
I throw off the covers before I can talk myself out of it.
Hunting him down is easy. Learning that this man is an early riser, I find him sitting in his kitchen, a cup of coffee beside a hunting magazine that looks like it’s been flipped through many times already.
Good. He won’t be missing much when I approach, then.
I don’t have to announce my appearance. There must be a creak in my step, or a shift in my breathing, as the space between us becomes less and less before I finally make it to him.
He turns, starting his greeting before it catches in his throat when I don’t stop until I’m barely brushing against him. For a second, I feel his gaze as it slips down to take me in. His throat bobs as he drags his eyes back up.
“Are you hungry? I can cook—”
His words fail him when I reach out and brush my fingers along his bearded cheeks. While it tickles my palms, I’m wondering how it would feel against the patch of skin where my thighs meet.
