But it’s a hell of a logistical challenge. My zipper catches on the fabric for a few frustrating seconds, and at one point, sheaccidentally knees me in the hip hard enough that I let out a pained grunt.
“Sorry. Should we give up?”
“Absolutely not.”
I finally wrestle free of my bag and help her kick hers away, and then her hands are on the hem of my shirt. She pulls it up, and I do the same with hers, both of us fumbling in the near-dark like randy teenagers. The headlamp throws a pale crescent across the tent ceiling, enough light to see the dip of her waist as her shirt clears her head.
I pull her sports bra up and over. She shivers but doesn’t cover herself, and I think my heart actually stops for a second. She’s so goddamn beautiful.
“Jesus, you taste good,” I murmur against the hollow of her throat, my mouth moving to the soft skin below her ear, across her collarbone, and then lower. I press my lips to the swell of her breast, and she arches into me with a sound that makes me want to worship every square inch of her for as long as she’ll let me.
She shivers and then shivers again. And again. I lift my head when she can’t stop trembling.
She gives a shaky laugh. “Ignore me.”
“Not a chance.”
I reach behind her to drag my sleeping bag over both of us, creating a cocoon of nylon and body heat that traps the warmth between us, and hold her close until the trembling stops. Then I fuse our mouths together, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other traces down the curve of her ribs. My palm skims across her hip, and I hook my thumb into the waistband of her leggings. I want to touch every part of her, and will spend the entire night reacquainting myself with her body if she lets me.
She lifts her hips and helps me slide them down, and then she does the same with my pants, her cold fingers making me hiss when they graze my stomach.
“Sorry,” she whispers against my jaw.
“Don’t be.”
We’re both naked, tangled together under my sleeping bag on top of her unzipped one, and the air trapped between our bodies is the only heat for miles. I can feel her everywhere, and I want to stay in this exact moment for the rest of my life, the two of us skin to skin in a tent in the middle of nowhere with rain still tapping on the fly and the whole world reduced to the space between us.
Whatever she wants, whatever she needs. I’ll do it. I’ll be it.
“Are you sure?” I ask, because I have to know.
She rolls herself against me as an answer. The sound I make isn’t dignified, but dignity checked out somewhere around the time she said the words fuck me until I forget my own name.
“Positive,” she whispers, then straddles my thighs. I can feel how wet she is as she sinks down slowly, taking me in inch by inch. I could die right now a happy man.
She’s tight and slick, and I grip her hips with both hands to anchor myself in reality, because the sensation of being inside her again after all this time fills me with an ache so sweet I can barely breathe.
She rocks forward, and my fingers dig in, not hard enough to bruise, but enough that she knows that I’m not going anywhere. I’m holding on to her like I should have the first time instead of letting her walk away.
“God, Sloane.” My voice sounds wrecked, which…yeah, that tracks.
She braces her hands on my chest and finds a rhythm that makes both of us groan. In the dim light, with her eyes closed and lips parted, her expression is stripped of every defense she keeps between herself and the world. This is the version of her I’m guessing she doesn’t show many people, and the fact that she’s trusting me enough to let her guard down makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.
I slide my hand between us and find her clit, circlingit with my thumb while she rides me. She bucks mid-stroke and drops her forehead to mine.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes.
“Not a chance.” I keep the pressure steady, matching the rhythm of her hips. I can feel her getting close when her breathing goes ragged and her thighs tighten around me. She grabs my wrist like she’s afraid I’ll stop. As if anything on this earth could make me pull away from her right now.
She comes with a sound that’s half gasp, half laugh, her inner muscles clenching around me. The combination of that and hearing her call out my name—not a flirty term of endearment, but my actual name on her lips—sends me right over the edge. I wrap my arms around her and hold her against me while we both come down, her forehead pressed to my shoulder, my face buried in her hair.
For a long time neither of us speaks. The only sounds are the rain pitter-pattering against the nylon and the gradual steadying of our breathing. She’s still on top of me, and I run my fingers down the length of her spine.
Then I feel goosebumps rise under my palm. She’s covered in them, and, despite our sleeping bag cocoon, the temperature has dropped enough that the sweat on my skin is turning cold.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling back. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine,” she says through chattering teeth.