Page 27 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)
Ben
The moment our lips met again, I stopped thinking.
No more logic. No more distance.
Just her.
And she wanted more…
Fifi melted into me like she’d been waiting her whole life to land here. Her hands threaded into my hair, and when I deepened the kiss, slow, aching, needing more, she sighed against my mouth like I’d answered a question she hadn’t dared ask out loud.
She tasted like marshmallows and whatever spell she’d put me under the first time she smiled at me. And when she shifted, tugging me closer, her leg sliding over mine in that narrow sleeping bag space, I swear the stars tilted.
“I don’t do this,” she murmured between kisses, breath hitching as I brushed my fingers down her spine. “With guests, I mean.”
I laughed softly, my mouth still against hers. “You mentioned that once. Pretty sure you also said I shoot death glares.”
“You do,” she whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth. “But I’m starting to think it’s just how you flirt.”
“Only with you.”
That made her laugh, and the sound made me want to kiss her again.
So I did.
Her body shifted, and we both fumbled, bumping into the wheel well with a dull thunk .
“Ow,” she muttered, wincing and laughing at the same time. “Your elbow is lethal.”
“Sorry,” I chuckled, trying to untangle the zipper. “There are too many sleeping bags and not enough trucks.”
“Says the guy with linebacker shoulders.”
“Blame genetics. Or lumber.”
“My Florida lumberjack,” she teased, kissing along my jaw now, her voice breathless and warm. “Can’t believe I’m making out with a man who owns flip-flops.”
“For the record, I don’t,” I muttered, distracted by the curve of her neck and how ridiculously soft her skin was.
“You’re forgiven.”
She arched slightly, giving me better access, and the second I slid my hand beneath her, everything in me went hot and still.
Her skin.
Her breath in my ear.
The way she shivered when my thumb brushed the underside of her ribs.
“Ben…” she whispered.
I paused. “Too much, Fifi?”
She shook her head, eyes glassy and wide. “No. I just… really like the way you say my name.”
I kissed her again, slower now, deeper.
Outside, the woods were dark and quiet.
Inside the truck bed, we were wrapped in heat, tangled limbs, nervous laughter, and the kind of connection I didn’t know I was allowed to feel anymore.
We shifted again and both bonked heads, letting out matching groans.
“I think I’m concussed,” she whispered.
“I think I’m in trouble.”
“You are.”
She trailed her fingers over my chest, and her touch erased everything else.
And then she looked at me.
Not just my body.
Me.
And I knew.
This wasn’t just a fling. Not just tension unwinding. This was her letting me in, past the jokes and sass and survival lists.
And I was already in too deep to pretend otherwise, so when she kissed me again, I kissed her back with everything I had.
And this time, neither of us stopped…
Until we were just too tired to move.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep.
Not exactly.
But wrapped in Fifi’s arms, heat still humming through my veins and her breath warm against my collarbone, it was impossible not to let go.
It wasn’t just that we’d kissed each other senseless, or that she’d unraveled every wall I didn’t know I’d been clinging to; it was that for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t trying to outrun anything.
I wasn’t trying to get away from the past or the ache of guilt. No pressure to keep it together.
Just her.
Just this.
And that scared the hell out of me.
She was asleep now, curled into me like her body knew this space was safe. Her thigh rested across mine, and my hand had ended up cupped around her hip, holding her there like I couldn’t quite believe she was real, and maybe I couldn’t.
Not when she’d kissed me with that soft, sure hunger or when she’d whispered my name like a secret only she was allowed to keep.
And when she’d laughed into my neck afterward and asked if I wanted the emergency brownie now or in the morning, I was hers forever.
We’d eaten it immediately in silence, mostly naked, and it had somehow been the most romantic thing I’d ever done.
I stared up at the stars.
They blinked through the treetops, scattered and quiet, like they were watching and waiting for me to figure out what came next.
The answer, of course, was nothing.
This was temporary.
It had to be.
I had a return flight in a little over a week.
An office to run.
A house…well, it was my condo overlooking the sparkling blue water of Florida.
A life built on structure and self-containment.
Fifi was anything but contained.
She was loud, laughing, and full of too much heart. She snorted when she laughed too hard and kept snacks in her truck, as if they were survival gear. She jumped headfirst into every moment like it might be the one that changed her life.
And somehow, impossibly, she made me feel like maybe I could do the same.
She shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent, and I looked down to find her blinking up at me.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey,” I said back, voice rough.
She stretched, arms brushing along my side, and winced as her elbow hit the truck bed wall. “Ow.”
“Pretty sure I bruised my knees on the tailgate latch.”
She smiled sleepily. “Worth it?”
I paused and winked. “Yeah.”
The smile grew. “Good.”
We fell into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was warm.
I could feel her heartbeat against my chest.
Her breath eased into mine.
And with every passing second, I realized something bone-deep and terrifying.
I didn’t want this to be temporary.
Not anymore.
But the moment I started to form that thought into something real, something that lived outside of kisses and midnight campfires, my chest tightened.
Because what was I supposed to do?
Tell her I wanted more?
That I was halfway to rearranging my life because her smile had rerouted my entire compass?
She deserved someone who wasn’t stuck halfway between guilt and longing. Someone who could show up for her without wondering if he was capable of holding onto something this good.
I was quiet for too long.
Because her voice came again, softer now.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
A beat passed.
“Liar.”
I huffed out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “Just thinking.”
“Don’t overdo it. You might hurt yourself.”
I turned toward her slightly, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. “Do you do this often?”
She blinked. “Do what?”
“This. Accidentally strand guests in the woods. Spoon them senseless. Feed them brownies and make them forget how to breathe?”
She smirked. “Not recently.”
I let out a low laugh. “You’re dangerous.”
“And you’re very grumpy for someone who just got thoroughly seduced under the stars.”
“Seduced, huh?”
She wiggled closer. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”
I didn’t.
I loved it.
But that wasn’t the part that scared me.
It was the part where I wanted to wake up beside her again.
Tomorrow.
And maybe the day after that.
And suddenly, a handful of days didn’t feel like enough.
Suddenly, this didn’t feel like something I’d forget once the flight home landed.
It felt like the first thing in a long time that I wanted to remember.