Then he lets out a roar as he arches his back and his release spills onto my tongue.
I swallow every drop.
His spent cock falls from my mouth, and I look up to see his eyes trained on me. His expression is intense and raw, making my heart slam against my chest.
He releases my hair to cup the back of my neck, and he leans down to take my mouth.
Iwatch as Harleigh scoots back against the pillows.
I quickly remove my boots and pants, tossing them to the floor beside my discarded shirt. Then join her. I cup the side of her face, her big blue eyes watching me beneath long lashes.
I kiss her once. Deep and slow.
We lie here, breathing each other in as we recover.
She rolls on her side and comes up on her elbow. She reaches over and clasps my wrist, tugging my arm so the moonlight from the cabin window falls across it.
I prop my other arm behind my head as she inspects it.
“I saw a hint of this under your shirt sleeve earlier.” She traces slowly, starting at my shoulder. “Mountains,” she says quietly.
Her fingertip follows the jagged line of the peaks inked across the top of my arm. The tattoo artist caught every ridge and shadow. Her nail drifts along the edge of the tallest peak.
“They look like the Tetons,” she adds.
“They are,” I say.
Her finger glides lower, brushing through the dark lines of the pine trees that cover the outer part of my upper arm, thick and tall, a whole forest climbing down toward my elbow.
“So detailed,” she whispers.
I close my eyes and feel the soft drag of her fingertip weaving through the trees like it’s walking a trail through them. The sensation shoots straight through my chest.
She hums softly as her finger dips down to the river carved through the center of the sleeve. It winds through the forest in a long curve, the shading making the water look like it’s actually moving, dotted with smooth rocks.
Then she pauses at my elbow.
“Oh wow.”
I open one eye.
Her finger moves lower, onto the forearm, where the river explodes into whitewater. Foam and spray curl around the shape of the bear rising out of it.
She traces the bear’s back first, slow and deliberate, following the thick line of its shoulders. The fur is done in layered shading, every stroke meant to look rough and wild. Her finger moves along it like she’s petting a real animal.
“You’ve got a grizzly,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head, studying it closer, her hair falling forward and tickling my chest as she leans in. Her finger drifts along the bear’s neck and up toward its head.
“It looks like he’s coming out of the river,” she murmurs.
She traces the water splashing around the bear’s chest, the ink swirling into the mist and current that runs down toward my wrist.
The whole time she’s touching me, she hasn’t noticed how still I’ve gone.
Because if I move, I might ruin it.
