As I’m breathing in the sharp, pine-scented air, tinged with a hint of smoke from the wood fire, and of course the distant smell of icy snow from the Poconos in the distance, something catches my eye.
Through the trees, a ways off in the distance, I spy flickering lights between the trunks. It almost looks like torchlight, I think at first, as though someone’s carrying an actual fire lantern or a tiki torch through the trees. But in a few blinks, my eyes clear, and I realize it’s actually the flicker of a normal flashlight as it skips between tree trunks, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes as whoever carries that faraway light weaves through the trees.
Curious, I cast one last glance over my shoulder at the bonfire dance party—still going strong—and start to head toward the far off lights. I wonder if this is another festival event happening, one I wasn’t aware of. Secret nighttime forest party, perhaps?
But the closer I get to the lights, the more my gut starts to tell me something is off.
For one thing, it only seems to be two flashlights, bobbing around the trees. For another, there’s no path in sight here, and more than a little underbrush clawing at the jeans I’ve donned, some of it thorny and sharp enough that I feel it through the fabric of my casual evening sneakers.
What’s someone doing in the woods at this hour?
I creep a little closer and catch snatches of voices, though they’re lowered, whispers almost.
On instinct, my hand drifts toward my camera. I raise it, wishing I had my zoom lens on me, or the night camera attachment that would give me a much clearer shot of whatever scene is happening off in the distance.
The lights stop moving. In the now-still illumination, I catch the sight of two distinct outlines against the night sky, between the trees. I can’t make out much detail from this distance, not even through my camera lens, but I snap a couple shots anyway.
Then suddenly, one of the figures turns, his whole body whipping around fast. They couldn’t have heard me. I’m too far away to hear anything they’re saying. No way they heard the snap of my camera shutter. But still, the figure stares through the trees, straight toward me where I’m crouched half-hidden behind a trunk.
“Who’s there?” I hear, a faraway shout, one that must have taken the speaker, a guy to judge by the baritone pitch of his voice, effort.
I hold my breath and start to back away, hoping that with the firelight at my back, and with his eyes probably lit by the flashlight he carries, he won’t notice me moving.
The figures remain standing still, and I don’t hear any more shouts from that direction. Still, I continue to move slowly, glancing over my shoulder every few steps just to make sure they don’t follow me. Eventually, when I reach the outskirts of the bonfire area again—close enough once more to hear the music of the band and the shouts and laughter of the festival-goers, I turn back and notice the two mysterious flashlight carriers have vanished.
I shrug off the event. Probably just a couple of drunk kids sneaking off to make out in the woods or something. I force a smile back onto my face and set my camera back in my back, heart returning to a normal pace now that I’m back at the fire side, among other people.
I lean against a nearby tree trunk at the outskirts of the bonfire circle, and watch the revelry, trying to forget the lingering sense of unease that tickles at the back of my mind.
I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it, but I must still be a little nervous, because a moment later, when a hand touches my elbow lightly, I nearly jump out of my skin, yelping as I do.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the person who touched me says, a chuckle in his voice. I turn toward him, and my heart catches in my throat.
Oh god.
It’s the hot guy I spotted earlier in the festival. The tall sexy hunk of a man who definitely looked like he knew how to use his hands while he was demonstrating the crafts he built…
I must be staring at him like an idiot, drinking in his chiseled jaw, the thick full beard he’s sporting, and the surprisingly gentle yet amused look in his pale blue eyes. Because a moment later, he adds, “Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Often,” he adds with a wolfish grin, and my stomach tightens as all the blood in my body heats up at once.
“Well, that’s a shame,” I say before I can think better of it.
One of his eyebrows rises, and it’s all I can do not to cross my legs right here, because the look he’s giving me, I swear my panties are going to melt straight off. “Good to know,” he says.
“Know what?” I counter, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious.
“Your preferences,” he responds with a smirk. “That will come in handy later.”
My face flushes. And it feels like the rest of my body does too. “Confident, aren’t you?” I reply, though I know the red-hot blush I’m sporting sort of undermines my own confidence levels.
He leans closer, and I catch his scent—heady, masculine, overpowering. It reminds me of wood chips and the forest we’re standing in. He’s a man who lives in his element, I can tell by his easy stance. The way nothing seems to shake him.
He wouldn’t have been thrown off by a few teenagers sneaking off to cavort in the woods. He’s from here, a small-town guy, the kind who probably hikes on weekends and chops his own firewood, and whose beard would feel amazing between my legs as he licked and sucked his way up my inner thighs, until his tongue found the exact right spot to lick…
A shiver races down my spine.
“Only when it comes to things I’m an expert on,” he replies, and from the way his gaze sweeps over my body, lingering on my chest beneath the casual T-shirt I threw on for the evening portion of this festival, then drops to my hips, visible in the clingy jeans I’m wearing, I know his thoughts are running the same direction as mine right now. It makes me want to know exactly how deep this guy’s “expertise” runs…
A curl of desire unfurls in my belly. “Good to know that as well,” I reply, with a pointed pause at the end where his name ought to be.
He takes the hint and extends a hand. “Gil.”
“Jenna.” When I reach out to clasp his palm, his fingers wrap around mine, fully engulfing me. His hand is hot in the chilly evening air, warming my fingertips, the callouses on his fingers striking my soft skin like matches on a matchbox. Tinder catches in my belly, burns through me. I swallow through a suddenly dry throat. “So.” I extricate my fingers from his, with effort. “Do you live around here, or are you just in for the festival?” All I want to do is hold on tighter. But I’m conscious of the voices around us, the other people nearby, festival goers and partiers.
I didn’t come here this weekend to hook up. I’m just looking for a breather, to get away from the world and relax for a while.
He could probably show you some relaxation techniques, the devil on my shoulder points out.
“Local, born and bred,” he says, a twinkle in his eye. “But I wouldn’t need to know every single person in this town to be able to pick you out as a visitor.” His gaze does that thing again, his eyes dripping down my body like molasses and lingering on my hips this time. “Let me guess. City girl, escaping to the countryside for some fresh air because you’ve got a headful of things back home that need forgetting for a weekend. That about the size of it?”
I laugh. “Just about. You missed the part where I’m here for work, photographing the festival, but otherwise, dead on. How could you tell?”
“Those jeans hug your ass a hell of a lot tighter than most I see around here—not that I’m complaining,” he adds with a wink. “And the way you carry yourself. Interested in the world around you, but a little bit nervous, like you’re still getting to know it.” His smile deepens. “That, and I can always tell when a beautiful woman is looking to forget the world for a little bit.”
His gaze lingers on my lips as he says that, and damn if I’m not doing the same thing. Studying his mouth, the part of his lips beneath that full beard of his, and imagining how it?
??d feel pressed against mine, searing my skin as he trails kisses down my body, over my stomach, toward…
My thighs clench, involuntary. “Can you?” I say, my voice all flirt. “Well, have you got any recommendations on how to get started?” I raise one eyebrow, challenging.
His smile widens. “What say we go grab a drink first, and see where things lead from there?” Without waiting for my answer, he turns from the bonfire and strides back toward the edge of the festival, where the cheerily-decorated beer tents are still serving, more pints than ever now, by the look of it. The crowd around the bonfire swells, and the voices singing along to the band are growing increasingly louder and more out of key.
I take a second to turn my face back toward the woods. I can’t see the bobbing flashlights anymore, or the outlines of the two people I glimpsed far off.
Just kids having some fun, I tell myself.
Then, without another thought for them, I spin back to the party, heart beating hard in my chest as I hurry after the sexy, mysterious Gil.
3
Jenna
One beer leads to two leads to four, and pretty soon, our flirtation has escalated to dancing among the throng around the bonfire, his hands on my waist and our hips pressed together as we sway to the music, a fast song that’s got me all but grinding on his hips, loving the feel of his stiffening cock against my thigh as we dance, our eyes locked on one another, hardly even noticing anyone else around us.
At the next song break, he tugs me close, bodies pressed flush together, and leans down to whisper into my ear, his beard scratching against my cheek, long enough to be past the harsh stubble stage, but thick enough that it scratches just a little, in a way that lights me on fire. “My place?” he murmurs.
It’s all he has to say. I wrap an arm around his neck, arch my body up into his in order to whisper in his ear, my lips grazing the soft shell of his outer ear as I do. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He flashes me a quick, wolf like grin, and then grabs my hand, tugging me toward the tree line.
The same direction where I saw the lights earlier. My footsteps stutter, and he glances back at me, a worried frown on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing.” I force a broad smile. “Just, I mean, it’s so dark out in these woods—do you really live out here?”
“Normally I’d cut through town,” he says, “but walking from this direction, cutting through here will be a lot quicker. Unless you’re prefer we take the long route.” He tilts his head, an eyebrow lifted.
Does he worry I’m having second thoughts? Because the only thing I’m having second thoughts about right now is regretting that we’re not already alone, closed up in a room somewhere he can tear all my damn clothes off already. “Not at all,” I say, too quickly. “Ignore me. I just… I didn’t know if I could see the ground okay, and—”
He tilts his head for a moment, and considers me. “If you’d prefer, I can carry you.”
My cheeks heat bright red. “That’s not what I—”
But I’ve not even finished saying it before he bends to scoop me off my feet, flinging me over one shoulder like a rag doll, and easily carries me off. “Gil!” I shout, though I’m laughing too.
He takes off through the woods, footsteps steady and sure. I can’t stop thinking about his hands—he has one wrapped around the back of my thighs, so close to my ass that I’m surprised he can’t feel me getting wet through my jeans, just wishing those thick, strong hands were engaged in a different action right now. I can already picture how it will feel when he pulls my jeans down and traces his fingers between my thighs, grabbing my ass hard before he slides them one by one to my front, along my lips, teasing my pussy until I’m soaked…
I shiver, and he chuckles, his chest reverberating against mine. His other hand cups behind my knees, holding my legs against his chest so he has a solid grip on me. “Do you… usually… carry your dates home like a marauding Viking?” I ask between bounces on the path.
“I’ve been known to, from time to time,” he answers, not even out of breath, damn him. “How often can you say you’ve been stolen off into the woods like this, Jenna?”
“This is definitely a first,” I admit, with a little wriggle of my hips to readjust myself over his shoulder. “I gotta say, though, your stamina is proving impressive as hell.”
That draws another laugh out of him, this one lower-pitched and fuller. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
My belly clenches all over again in anticipation. Our banter has been like this all evening, and between that and the beers, the dancing, and the way he ground up against my ass for the last couple of songs there, it already feels like my clit is so swollen it may explode the moment he finally touches me. We haven’t even kissed and already I feel on fire with want, longing to taste him, touch him, explore every inch of him.
Before I can work myself up into too much of a state, however, he shifts his weight under me, and swings me down off his shoulder. As he does, his hands slide up my legs to grab my hips, then encircle my waist. His hands are so broad they can nearly wrap fully around my waist, one on each side, and he keeps them there as he gazes down at me, eyes white hot with desire, same as I’m sure mine look to him.
“Home sweet home,” he announces, without so much as a glance around us.
Me, I can’t resist the curiosity, much as I’m enjoying my current view. I steal a glance over my shoulder, and my eyebrows lift in surprise.
We’re standing before the porch of a standalone wooden cottage, the beams thick enough to be visible as they stack one on top of another, a real life damn wood cabin, like one you’d build from toy logs, only much larger, and frankly, adorable. The porch has a double swing on it, a pair of shaded windows look out over the front yard he just carried me down, which is little more than a patchy vegetable garden and a single gravel path that leads up into the forest.
There’s a regular road too, one to the left of the house, where what I assume must be Gil’s truck is parked. That road leads down into the town, which is just barely visible from here, a faint dotted collection of lights through the trees.
It’s quiet, save for my quick breathing, his steady one, and the soft sounds of the nighttime forest around us. Somewhere, the distant hoot of an owl sounds. All around us, the whisper of the wind in the trees.
It’s everything I imagined this weekend could be, and so much fucking more.
“It’s lovely,” I tell him, self-conscious about how distracted I got by the house, the land around us. I turn back to him, though, and it’s easy to let it all wash away again, gazing into his icy blue eyes, which stand out under his dark hair above his sharp cheekbones.
“My grandfather built it himself,” he says. “I take care of it now; fix ‘er up when she needs any repairs.” He releases my waist, and disappointment floods my veins. I practically jog after him as he starts up the wooden steps to unlock the door.
“Where’s your family now?” I ask, because to judge by the size of the house, it can’t be more than a one bedroom, maybe two if the pointed windows I see upstairs belong to a second story and not an attic.
“Moved to the big city.” He flashes me a knowing smirk over his shoulder. “I’m the only one who stayed. Got my grandfather’s soul, my dad always says.”
I cross the threshold, and my eyes widen. The inside is just as picture-perfect as the outside. It’s not cutesy the way some cabins would be—you can tell a man lives here. The wood burning stove in the corner has coals burning in it, and a stack of fresh wood beside it in a wrought-iron holder. The couch and chairs are simple, functional. They look comfy, but not like they’re made for decoration.
Somehow, the whole place reminds me of Gil. Simple, unpretentious, to judge by first glance. But well-made at his core. Sturdy and dependable.
He’s walking toward the back of the house, so I follow, but linger in the doorway of the little kitchen space to watch him load fresh wood into a se
cond fire. He crosses back into the living room, passing close enough to me in the narrow doorway for our chests to brush together, and making me stifle a groan of desire.
“It’s spring now,” he’s saying, “But it still gets cold enough up here in the mountains to justify keeping the heaters running, especially at night. Sometimes get snowfalls still, this time of year, though mostly it melts away again in the morning when the sun comes back.”
“Have you always lived here?” I ask, leaning back against the doorframe with one shoulder as I study him. I can’t say I hate the view as he leans down to pluck some logs from the stack, and bends over to thrust them into the stove. His jeans aren’t tight, but when he bends like that, I get a good outline of the firm, muscular ass he’s sporting.
The flames of the newly-revived fire light his face, throw him into sharp angles, and I swallow hard to control my desire.
“Most of my life,” he says. “Went to New York for college, then did a few years backpacking before I came home.” He stands up, dusts off his hands as he turns to grin at me. “What can I say? I like it here. It feels real.”
He’s finished heating up the place now, and he crosses to me until his huge frame blocks the doorway I’m standing in. This close, I can feel the heat, but not from the stoves. It comes off his body, radiating from him like the summer sun. I step closer, until we’re chest-to-chest, and I’m gazing up into those bright eyes of his, mesmerized, entranced.
“I can see what you mean,” I admit, my voice softer now than it was back at the bonfire when we fired flirty, suggestive comments back and forth at one another. “I like it here too.”
“Do you now?” His hands are on me again, but touching me lightly this time, teasing. He trails a fingertip up my arm, then back down, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake, the fire stoking inside me to an almost unbearable degree. I feel like another one of his wood stoves. He knows just how to coax the flames in me. “I haven’t even shown you proper Bailey hospitality yet.” From the smirk on his mouth, I can guess what he means.