Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,66
Blakely will suffer a greater feat. That’s enough for me to quit while I’m still able to walk. I get enough logs cut to last a few hours at most. Within minutes, a fire is crackling by the mouth of our den while the prickling beneath my flesh still stings. The final task I manage is arranging her wet clothes near the growing flames.
“Hey.” I practically collapse onto the ground beside her.
Blakely places a palm onto my chest, but immediately recoils. “You’re an ice cube.”
I grind my molars at the displeasure in her voice. “Took a bit longer that time. I’m sorry to leave you waiting.”
“Stop apologizing.” The scold ignites a flare in my veins.
“Force of habit,” I mutter.
“One I intend to break.”
“If you’re planning to stick with me that long, I have hope it might happen.” But good fucking luck. The day that compulsion leaves me rests in the very distant future. Admitting that will only double Blakey’s efforts to absolve me. I cinch my arms around her, eliminating the static air between us.
She inspects my arms with wandering fingers. “And you’re bleeding.”
I follow the path of her touch. Numerous scratches crisscross along my upper body. The bisecting wounds might be responsible for some of the pain I’m in. A shrug lifts one of my shoulders. “Just surface scrapes. You’re in real danger of getting sick, sweetheart.”
“Maybe I should take this as a hint. I was overdue for a shower,” she jokes.
“Bathing is not a priority in captivity.”
Blakely frowns. “Is that what this is?”
“To some degree. We’re locked in the wilderness until further notice.”
An arch of her slim brow. “Touché.”
I snake a hand up her spine, following the trail of goosebumps on my return down. “You’re getting warmer, or my numbness is lifting.”
She flutters her lashes with a sigh. “I’m guessing it’s both.”
I allow my palm to continue drifting along the silk of her curves. “You’re feeling better?”
“Much, thanks to you.”
A lump swells in my throat. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you.”
“We don’t need to think about that.” She presses a feather-soft kiss to my lips.
My eyes nearly cross at the velvety sensation comforting me. “You should rest.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You need to conserve energy.” When I try to put space between us, she halts my retreat with a curled palm against my nape.
She scoots closer, bumping our hips together. Ignoring the blaze gaining steam below my waist is proving to be a massive fail. The soft hitch in her breath tells me that she’s found just how hard this position is making me. Against every decent intention within me, I return her subtle movements. A barely-there brush of my briefs against her panties is plenty. Her gasp indicates that my length is making an impression. I can’t imagine the greeting is welcome at this point. This isn’t an appropriate time to be aroused, but my overly eager dick isn’t getting the memo.
I clench my eyes shut with a groan. “I’m sorry, Blakely. If I could stop this reaction—”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” she interrupts. “How could I mind?”
“You could’ve drowned. Being turned on right now makes me feel like a scumbag. The last thing I should be thinking about is sex.”
She brushes the pads of her fingers across my collarbone. “I’d be offended if you weren’t.”
The hinges of my jaw release with a harsh exhale. “Really?”
Blakely scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah. I’m practically naked and pressed against you. Last night was tame compared to this. You were raring to go from lying next to me when we were fully dressed.”
Bile rises in my throat, shedding a few degrees off the blistering desire. I drop my hands from their resting place near her ass. “Shit, I’m an inconsiderate asshole. Why aren’t you pushing me away? I’m practically foaming at the mouth for a chance at feeling you up, under any circumstances.”
“You’re the furthest thing from that. I’m the opposite of bothered. Trust me,” she whispers into the crook of my neck.
I squeeze my hands into trembling fists. A spiral of desperation swirls to reckless speeds in my gut. “I wish there was a better excuse, but I honestly can’t seem to control myself.”
“Five years is a long time,” she purrs. Her fingers walk up my pecs, the muscles flexing under the sensual touch.
My tongue expands three sizes too big, and I sputter a mumbled curse. “What’re you doing, Blakely?” Other than chasing off the last of my control?
“We should end our dry spell.” It