He folded them right in front of her, and neatly placed them at the far end of the tent where his sleeping bag stopped. While, inside it, his legs were completely bare. Just absolutely nude, right the way up to his underpants.
If he evenhadany underpants on.
Chances were sky-high that he didn’t wear any. Thathe thought of them as an indulgence, a distraction, an unnecessary step that no one needed to take.Jeans and skin like god intended, she could well imagine him saying. Though by that point she felt so delirious she had no idea if she was imagining right.
Maybe it’s the other way round, she told herself.
Maybenotwearing them is the indulgence.
She didn’t get to figure it out however. He broke the silence with something even more deranged before she could. “Want some help?” he said. Much to her complete and total consternation. What did he think he was going to do, take her shoes off for her? Inthiseconomy? There was no way in the world.Those hands just unbuttoned his fucking pants, she thought wildly, and went to shake her head. She went to say no.
She didn’t know how in the world it came out ayes.
She even somehow added a breathlesspleaseon the end.
But thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. He just sat up—almost brushing his arm against hers, nearly skimming her thigh with his hand—and leant over, and went at it. Quicker than he’d done with his own, brisker.
Though it still made her stiffen like he was doing something else entirely.
And again when he slipped the first sneaker off, and something on him touched the arch of her ankle. Just above the heel, where there was definitely nothing sensitive. It just felt like there was in that moment. She almost put a hand out to stop him, but it was too late for that now.
He had hold of the other one.
And his body was farther over hers in order to do it. All she could see was the curve of his broad back, the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck. There was a little kiss curl just above his collar, so tender she had the overwhelming urge to touch it.
She had to close her eyes tight against it.
Think of other things: wallpaper, doilies, turnips. Like she needed unsexy thoughts to stave this off—which was nuts.Allof this was nuts. And just when it seemed to get the most nuts it could, he slid a finger under the elastic of her sock. Right in there, skin on skin, and so close to a caress she wanted to scream. She wanted to beg him not to.
Only him tugging at the material saved her.
He’s just straightening it, dipshit, her brain said. Though she couldn’t help thinking, after it had, that it was kind of a strange thing to do anyway. And so was the way he looked when he was done. Eyes dark, just a little awkward. “Go on and get in quick,” he said.
Then he retreated to his sleeping bag.
Right down into it, the zip pulled all the way up, his back to her. All she could see as she slipped into hers were his shoulders, shirt drawn tight over them. As if he’d wrapped his arms around himself, she thought—and really, would it have been so weird if he had? He probably just needed to protect himself against further urges to help her out.
And that was a good thing.
A very, very good thing.
She only had on a tiny pair of panties under her cords. Thin cotton, near transparent, and clingy in a way thatmade her blush to think of him seeing it. And then there was her bra. The one with the see-through bits. The one she definitely wanted to take off.
Imagine him sliding his hand up your shirt to get it done,she thought, and hated herself for it. But not as badly as she hated herself for going ahead. For actually slipping it off underneath her T-shirt, sure she was doing this the polite and non-lewd way. Only to realize that the T-shirt was tight, and it was thin, and it was now molded to her very round, very plump breasts.
Just as he sat up to turn out the lamp he’d brought in.
One glance to it, one glance back to her, agoodnighton his lips.
The word fading, the moment he saw. She had to whip the sleeping bag up over the sight. But of course that just made things worse. It made him apologize, and shove himself back to where he’d been, like she’d accused him of peeping. And now she was lying there in the dark, next to the humped back of a man she had just flashed her tits at. Knowing he had seen, knowing he probably thought she’d done it on purpose. Half of her tight with embarrassment over it.
Half of her something else.
Something she did her best to deny.
But how could she, really? Her whole body felt like it had been dipped in molten lava. She could feel the blush all over her face and throat, practically dissolving the skin. And to the point where she had to do things to mitigate it. She turned over to face the now cool wall of the tent. Put her cheek against it, her hand.
But the problem was, the space was so small.
