After she’s roasted and eaten several marshmallows, she licks her sticky thumb and then rises to her feet, announcing that it’s getting late.
“I’m going to head in. Good night, guys.” Then she meets my eyes, and her voice softens. “Thank you for the fire. It was lovely.”
Suddenly speechless, I simply nod.
We all watch as Summer wanders away in the direction of the cabins. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how well her backside fills out a pair of jeans.
Graham smacks the back of my head.
“What the hell was that for?” I rub at the tender spot.
“Walk the lady home, you idiot.”
My brothers are all thinking the same thing, and I’m sure they’re questioning my manners. Apparently, my interest in Summer beyond a professional capacity is the worst-kept secret ever. I toss the bag of marshmallows at Matt to a chorus of snickers, and head off after Summer.
It’s not that the thought didn’t occur to me. Of course it did. It’s dark, and she’s alone. But I’m feeling a whole lot of things I have no right to. I’m worried that if I go after her, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Nevertheless, my brother’s are right. I should walk her home. I jog to catch up with her.
I surprise her near the chicken coop, and she lets out a startled gasp, her hand flying up to her heart.
“Sorry,” I say in a soothing voice, placing my hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“W-what are you doing?” Her pulse flutters wildly as she pauses beside the chicken coop, with its cheery robin’s-egg blue paint that Mom is so proud of.
“It’s dark. I should walk you back.”
“Oh.”
Summer’s tone is filled with surprise, but when her gaze meets mine, I can tell she’s not opposed to this idea. I catch a glimpse of appreciation in her eyes.
I feel like even more of a fool that I didn’t immediately leave the fire and insist on joining her. But I’m here now. And Summer is looking so beautiful under the glow of the moonlight that I forget what I’m supposed to be doing for a second.
As if she has some sort of gravitational pull, I find it impossible to stop myself from kissing her. My palm touches her cheek to draw her close, and Summer comes willingly, moving toward me until we’re chest to chest.
I slide my hand into her hair as her hot mouth meets mine enthusiastically. Her kisses are sweet, and hurried, and I drink them down.
Waves of lust pulse through me. The taste of sugar and female is a potent combination. And Summer isn’t just any woman. She’s kindhearted and funny, and she’s put up with my family all week without complaint. I can’t help my body’s response to hers.
When her lips part, I deepen our kiss, my tongue meeting hers in eager strokes. Her hands curl into fists as she grips my shirt, hauling me closer.
I walk us back—three steps—until her back meets the wall of the chicken coop. I’m sure she can feel the situation below my belt, but Summer’s only response is more kissing. It’s a scenario I’m very much okay with.
Moonlight paints us in a hazy glow. While being pressed up against the side of a chicken coop is probably the least sexy thing ever, neither of us seem to care.
She makes a needy sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a whine and pure want. It sparks something inside me, and I bring one hand under the edge of her sweatshirt, my knuckles tracing the soft skin of her stomach.
Breaking our connection, I press my forehead to hers. “You’re dangerous.”
“So are you.”
I know what she means, this burning attraction that neither of us seem capable of resisting.
Being near her—there’s something about it. Something risky. It’s like my libido has magically rebooted. Not just rebooted, but roared to life with a hunger more potent than I’ve ever experienced before.
I press my mouth to hers again as my hand travels north. Palming the weight of her breast earns me another of those moans that I’m quickly growing fond of.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” Her voice is sure. Steady.
Her skin is so soft and warm, and I’m lost to her kisses. When my fingers skim down to the waistband of her leggings, she makes a breathless sound.
“Can I touch you?” I murmur with my mouth still on hers.
“Yes.” Her voice is a whisper, but there’s no uncertainty in her tone.
With my pulse thundering, I press my hand lower, beneath the elastic of her leggings and panties. I bite back a groan when I feel how warm and wet she is.
It triggers something inside me.
As she grips my shirt to haul me closer, my fingers slide over silken flesh until Summer is trembling and gasping in my arms. I love touching her like this, making her feel good.
A few minutes later, the air around us shifts. She’s close. I feel it the second she lets go and begins to come undone. Everything south of my navel twitches with satisfaction. It’s beautiful watching her overcome with her release.
But I barely have time to savor it, because I hear the rustle of footsteps on fallen leaves. Summer’s eyes snap open to meet mine.
“Hurry,” is the only word I get out before I begin pulling her along the path back into the darkness toward the cabins.
When we reach mine, I twist the doorknob and she follows me inside—no invite necessary. It seems she’s as eager to pick back up where we left off as I am.
We slip off our boots at the rug by the door, and I tip her chin up to meet my gaze. Her shaky smile grows, and then we’re both laughing.
I rub a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away back there . . .”
But I don’t get to finish my apology because Summer’s mouth is on mine.
I kiss her back like my life depends on it, and maybe it does, because I’ve never felt this good, this free with anyone else ever before.
Breaking away briefly, I ask, “Will you stay?”
She nods once in understanding. This moment is too real, too perfect to just brush aside.
My hand slides from her hair to the column of her graceful neck, then her shoulder, and I enjoy the feel of soft cotton beneath my fingertips. Summer wets her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Her mouth is beautiful, and wicked thoughts dance through my head.
My hand slides lower until it comes to rest on her lower back. The movement thrusts her forward slightly, and her soft curves graze my chest, my abdomen, and lower—where surely she can feel how hard I am beneath my jeans. She responds with a tiny shiver.
I can’t help it . . . all the crackling electricity between us has me eager and aching. Tugging her over to the couch, I sink onto it with her. The cabin is dim, lit only by the light above the kitchen sink, which casts broad shadows, and little flickers of glowing orange from the embers in the woodstove.
Summer settles into my lap. We grind together and kiss, both of us willing to pretend—at least for now—that this isn’t a dangerous game.
When she brings her hand between us to rub at my swollen erection, I bite back a groan.
I open my mouth to say something. What, I’m not sure. But when she slides from my lap to the floor between my parted knees, I forget how to breathe, much less speak.
Who needs words right now, anyway? Certainly not me.