Page 38 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Inside the cabin, the air was close. Zeeb shook himself, droplets of water flying everywhere. His shirt clung to him, and Nate’s breath caught at the sight of muscles moving beneath the fabric, the rain sliding down his neck and across his collarbone.

Nate had to turn away. “I’ll grab some towels,” he muttered before dashing into the bathroom. He returned with two, tossing one to Zeeb who caught it one-handed. Outside, the thunder cracked, only louder this time, and Nate flinched.

“You all right?” Zeeb asked again, quieter now.

Nate nodded, then shook his head. “Ignore me. I’m being stupid. It’s just a storm.”

Zeeb stepped closer. “Not stupid at all.”

Something about the way he said it, slow, sure, and sincere, sent tiny shocks up and down Nate’s spine.

“I’m gonna light a fire,” Zeeb announced. He knelt in front of the fireplace, opening the small black stove that sat there.

“I hate the waiting,” Nate shivered. “The buildup. The noise when it hits.”

“You’re gonna catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes,” Zeeb remonstrated, his back to Nate as he got the fire going. “Soon as I’m done with this, I’ll be takin’ mine off too.”

Nate’s fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans. Peeling them off was like trying to remove a layer of skin, his legs cold and clammy. His shirt was next, until all that remained was his underwear.

The fire in the stove snapped, the only sound in the cabin besides the rain tapping against the roof like soft, persistent fingers. Nate rubbed the towel briskly over his body, not looking in Zeeb’s direction.

“Get closer to the stove,” Zeeb instructed.

Nate did as he was told, kneeling on the rug that covered the floorboards. Zeeb squirmed out of his soaked flannel shirt, then held his hand out. “Gimme your wet things. I’ll hang ’em up to dry.”

Nate passed them over, then resumed his toweling.

A minute or two later, Zeeb joined him, his towel wrapped around his waist. “If I thought I’d end up getting soaked, I wouldn’t have gone commando.”

Nate glanced at the towel, and quickly averted his gaze, his face hot.

“Your sleeping shorts are on the end of the bed.”

“So they are.” Zeeb didn’t move, however.

Nate’s pulse thrummed in his throat. He was close enough to feel the steam coming off Zeeb’s skin. His heart pounding, he touched Zeeb’s chest, just above the heart.

“You feel like a fire,” Nate whispered, not even knowing why he said it.

The storm roared outside.

Inside, a different storm was brewing.

The air got heavier, thicker, as though the rain outside had pushed everything inward. Nate moved closer, slower than usual, not defensive this time, his eyes open and uncertain.

Something had shifted, and Zeeb couldn’t suppress the shiver trickling through him. Nate removed his hand, and Zeeb had to fight the urge to demand he put it right back there. Then Nate’s hand brushed his, just barely, his fingertips grazing the skin.

Neither of them moved.

In that tiny, electric space, it was as though time had folded in on itself. Zeeb was aware of Nate holding his breath.

The way he held his own breath, as if letting it go might collapse everything.

Zeeb swallowed. Lord, he wanted to touch, but it had to be Nate’s decision.

“I won’t break,” Nate said, his voice steadier now.

Oh dear Lord, he feels it too.

Zeeb lifted a hand and brushed the back of his fingers down Nate’s jaw, keeping the touch featherlight. Nate’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing shallow.

“Okay?” Zeeb asked.

“Yes,” Nate whispered.

He traced the line of Nate’s cheekbone. The edge of his neck. He let his fingers rest above Nate’s collarbone, the skin warm there now, Nate’s pulse steady.

He isn’t afraid anymore.

Zeeb brought his hand up, slow and careful, and curled it gently around the side of Nate’s neck, just his fingertips, enough to ground him.

A shiver rippled through Nate, stilling Zeeb’s hand.

“You’re shaking.”

“I know.” Nate’s breathing quickened. “Don’t stop.”

Zeeb grazed his thumb along the hinge of Nate’s jaw, the movement almost reverent. Then he leaned in, pressing his forehead to Nate’s.

“Not stopping,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He could’ve kissed Nate in that moment, but he didn’t, caught up in a bubble of time filled with wanting without taking.

Zeeb sat back on his haunches, but Nate didn’t move, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his breathing more even. They didn’t speak again for a while, kneeling on the rug, bathed in the warmth from the stove, the storm quieting around them as if it had exhausted itself.

Zeeb wouldn’t touch him more than that. Not yet. But God, he wanted to.

Wanted to show Nate he could be held without pain, touched without fear.

But tonight, this was enough.

Nate didn’t move. He simply breathed, listening to the silence, lost in a moment where there was no pressure, no agenda, nothing but warmth, and quiet.

And hands that didn’t ask for more than he was ready to give.

Finally, he let himself fall sideways into Zeeb’s arms, not gracefully but almost as if he folded into them.

Zeeb held him as though he’d been waiting to do it all along, so strong, so sure, one hand at Nate’s back, the other in his hair, grounding him.

Then Zeeb leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to the crown of Nate’s head.

So this is how it feels to be held without needing to explain, or perform, or apologize.

It was the most terrifying and beautiful thing Nate had ever known, and it had to come to an end.

“I think I need an early night,” he murmured. “I’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

Zeeb nodded. “I’ll leave the fire burning in the stove.”

“Don’t sleep on top of the sheets tonight.” Nate’s heartbeat raced. “It’s too cool for that.”

There was a moment of silence before Zeeb replied.

“In that case, I really am gonna need my sleep shorts.” He got to his feet. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go put ’em on before you come up to bed.”

Nate bit his lip. “No need for modesty. I’ve seen it all, remember?”

Zeeb chuckled. “Don’t remind me. My dick shrivels to the size of a peanut just thinkin’ about how cold the water was in that lake.”

He couldn’t resist. “Funny. That’s not how I remember it.” Then he got up and went to the bathroom without waiting to hear Zeeb’s response.

If this was to be his last night at Salvation, he wanted to spend it skin to skin.