Page 11 of Camp Bliss
The thought makes me smile, and that’s when he looks up at me and narrows his eyes. But it’s a playful look. Not irritated.
“What are you smiling about?”
I stay put, hoping he’ll come to me.
“Just thinking of how big this space is. How many things we could do with it.”
His brow arches, but he doesn’t rise.
I take a deep breath to relax and walk slowly back to him. When I’m halfway there, I stop. An invitation.
I know better not to push. Not to expect.
It’s been months. Since Valentine’s, actually.
We’ve tried, but—
Josh is struggling.
But we’re alone now, and we also haven’t really been alone in two months.
In the back of my mind, I know that’s bullshit because it’s not like Zach is in the same cabin with us. In fact, our cabins are on opposite sides of the lodge. Josh could make me scream all night, and Zach wouldn’t be able to hear it.
Which is only theoretical. I’ve never been much of a screamer. With Josh or anyone.
But that’s not the point.
The point is, Zach is gone right now. It’s not raining, and it’s not yet dark, but Otis Redding is telling me to try a little tenderness.
So here goes.
I close the distance and instead of offering Josh my hand to ask for this dance, I straddle his lap. I’m slow about it, never breaking eye contact. Making sure he knows he can stop me.
When I bring my weight down on him—onhim—I’m happy to discover that he’s hard. I look into his eyes and find his pupils wide. His phone flops onto the couch cushion, and Josh leans back just enough to bring the beer bottle to his lips and drain the thing.
Then his free hand slips behind my back, and he braces me as he leans in to set the empty bottle on the coffee table.
When he rolls his hips beneath me, the friction has me hissing.
It’s been so long.
My hands are trembling when I lift them to his cheeks. He pulls me in. He tastes like beer and corn tortillas, but I don’t care. This is going to happen.
I think.
He kisses me. Slowly. Luxuriously. And then he grazes his mouth along my jaw, the heat of his breath hitting my ear and melting me from the inside out.
“Oh, Josh—”
“We could do thisss…” His whisper, right against my ear, is so intimate, so longed for, tears prick my eyes. “On the beach in Ecuador, and never have to work again.”
My laugh is more surprise than amusement.
My hands have roamed down, and I clutch the front of his shirt, hoping he’ll move his touch to my breasts.
When he doesn’t, I graze my nails lightly down his chest until I feel the pebble of one nipple beneath his shirt. I tease it and wriggle a little in his lap.
He used to love this. He used to be all about torturing each other through our clothes until we were both so worked up we could barely stand it. Something about being half dressed, finding each other under cotton and beneath denim used to drive him wild.
