Page 26 of Love Below Zero

26

OUT OF THE WOODS

BECKY

We are not out of the woods yet.

I gasp for breath, pulling the hazmat suit off. I’m shaky and wet, running on pure adrenaline. A quick look at our surroundings tells me we don’t have a lot to work with.

“Are you inside?” Frances asks.

I nod, despite the fact that she can’t see me. “Yes, we are.”

“You did great, Becky,” Eli’s voice comes over the comm. “We managed to turn on the power for the container. Are the lights working?”

I stand shakily, hitting the switch on the wall. I blink as light fills the space. The storage container is just that, an old shipping container outfitted with shelves and crates to store extra supplies. It isn’t heated, or really properly insulated, but it keeps some of the wind and snow out.

“Yes, I’ve got light.”

“Okay good. There are some old mattresses in the back, and some spare heaters. Get James warmed up first, and then we’ll worry about his head.”

I am permanently worried about his head, but now isn’t the time to make jokes. I find the mattresses in the corner like Eli said and pull two down. I set them in the open space at the front of the container, before plugging in the heaters. Only one of the three works. Karma really isn’t on my side today.

“Are there extra blankets here?” I ask.

“On a shelf, back left corner.”

I return to the back, pulling out all the blankets I can find. My adrenaline has worn off, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. I desperately want to lie down, but I have to take care of James first. I dump the blankets on our makeshift beds before pulling James out of the hazmat suit.

It involves a lot of heavy breathing on my end, and struggling with his various limbs. You’d think it would be easier to move an unconscious human, but they are literally dead weight. Eventually I get him under the blankets and turn the heater on him. He doesn’t move at all, but he does groan a few times. There’s a small cut on the side of his head, but the blood has already dried.

“Okay, James is warm. What now?”

“You need to wake him up to check for a concussion,” Eli says. “There are some medical supplies in one of the crates.”

I dig through the crates, finding a med kit that looks like it’s been to space and back. It’ll have to do. I kneel down next to him, shaking his shoulder.

“Wake up, you big dumb scientist,” I say. He groans again, but his eyes stay closed. “Wake up right this instant or I’ll write the most scientifically inaccurate book in the history of books. Neil deGrasse Tyson will weep when he reads it. ”

I slap his cheek lightly. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve daydreamed about slapping him before. Obviously not under these circumstances. More like slapping that stupid grin off his face whenever he explains something to me in his most condescending tone. Slapping him to wake him up after he almost froze to death is not what I had in mind.

“Come on,” I say, hitting him a little harder than I should have. Green eyes pop open to meet mine and I almost cry with relief.

“Becky?” he asks, voice groggy, and if it wasn’t negative twenty below I would have melted.

Thank god.

He blinks up at me, confusion etched on his face. “Where are we?”

“We’re in the storage container. You fell and hit your head. Do you remember that?”

He frowns, then winces. He reaches up to touch the cut on his head, and I grab the med kit, getting to work on cleaning and bandaging it.

“I remember being in the storm. We couldn’t find the dome.”

I help him to sit upright, resting him against one of the crates.

“I need to check for a concussion. Can you follow the light?” I use one of the flashlights to check his eyes. They’re clear, his reaction time normal. Probably not a concussion. “Are you dizzy, nauseous? Is the Kelvin timeline Star Trek arguably the best of the Star Treks ?”

He laughs, then winces again, rubbing his head. “No and no, and also no.” He looks around at our surroundings before focusing back on me. “How did we get here?”

“I dragged you. ”

“You dragged me, unconscious, through a blizzard.” It isn’t a question, and his tone isn’t incredulous. He sounds amazed.

“Becky?” Eli’s voice cuts in again. “Is James alright?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Doesn’t appear to have a concussion. It was just a bad fall.”

A sigh of relief, and then, “Okay, sit tight until the morning. The storm should lessen in a few hours and then I’ll come get you. One of us will be by the radio at all times during the night, so call if you need anything.” Not that they would be able to do anything if we did need help, but it’s comforting to know they are just a call away.

“Thanks, Eli,” I say before pulling the earpiece out and muting my mic. I sit back on my haunches.

Two heartbeats of silence pass before I burst into tears. The last few hours come rushing in like a tidal wave, tumbling me head over feet. We could have died, or worse, I could have been forced to leave him outside. We still might fucking die. The storm rages around us, and all we have are a few blankets and one heater.

A pair of strong arms wraps around me, and before I can say anything James pulls me into his lap. I push away from him, shaking my head.

“You’re hurt, I shouldn’t be sitting on you.”

“You should absolutely be sitting on me,” he says, holding me tighter. I want to argue with him just for the hell of it, but he’s warm, and he smells like home, and I really thought he was a goner for a second.

“You could have died,” I say, another sob bubbling out of me. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. I don’t care that my tears are staining his jacket, and if he cares, he doesn’t say anything about it. He strokes my hair, his other arm tightening around me. He could have died and the last words I said to him had been intended to hurt him. Why am I like this?

“But I didn’t,” he says reassuringly. “You saved me. You are so strong, so absolutely incredible. There’s no use dwelling on what didn’t happen.”

I hiccup, sniffling. I dragged him unconscious through a snowstorm. The body that I’ve been at war with for so long didn’t fail me when I needed it.

“You’re right, that was badass of me.” I give a watery laugh, then sit back slightly, wiping my cheeks with the palms of my hands. He’s looking at me like I’m a star he just discovered, beautiful and wonderful, even though I probably have snot dripping from my nose.

“Exceptionally badass,” he agrees, moving my hands away from my face and cupping my cheeks. And then he’s kissing me, and the dread that settled in my bones lifts. I throw myself at him, clutching at his jacket. He wants firm touches, so I don’t let my hands wander. The kiss quickly goes from “thanks for saving me” sweet to “thank fuck we’re alive” urgent.

His mouth slants over mine, one hand gripping my hair. The wind and hazmat suit turned it into a rat’s nest, but I’m past the point of caring what I look like. I pull his jacket zipper down, pressing my hand firmly against his chest so I can feel his heartbeat. It’s wild beneath my fingertips.

He nips at my bottom lip and I gasp, which quickly turns into a moan when his tongue slips into my mouth.

We really, really shouldn’t be doing this.

With monumental effort—seriously, I should be getting an award for my restraint—I pull away from James, breathing hard .

“We shouldn’t be doing this. You have a head wound. We almost died. You’re confused and hurt and I?—”

“Rebecca, will you please shut up and let me continue kissing you?”

My mouth snaps shut and heat licks up my spine. I might like his commanding tone a little too much. I stare at him. His blond hair is tousled and windswept, and I had stuck a Frozen -themed Band-Aid on his cut. His pupils are wide, eyes dark and heavy with lust.

“Well?” he asks.

“I’m shutting up and letting you go back to kissing me, but if that’s not?—”

His lips find mine again and I melt into him. Want and need courses through my body, making me dizzy.

James Reid is going to destroy me, and I am going to let it happen. I’m done caring about the outside world, about the mission, about our lives and jobs. Nothing matters except his lips on mine, his body pressed against me. I slide forward on his lap, pressing my chest flush against his. Even through the layers, I can feel his erection, and the fact that he wants me too makes my core clench. I move my hips, eager for any sort of friction between us.

He groans, trailing kisses down my neck. “If you keep moving your hips like that, I won’t last very long, love.”

Oh, right.

Fuck.

How long has it been for him? I’m assuming maybe a while. Shoot, is he a virgin? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In fact, it’s an outdated concept that should have faded into obscurity by now. We shouldn’t be defined by who’s been in our pants or by who’s not been in our pants. Does he even want to have sex? I’m totally good with a rough make-out session, or whatever else he’s comfortable with.

I tangle a hand in his hair, easing his head back so I can see his face. As much as I want to keep kissing him, we need to talk first.

“Do you ...” My face heats. Why is it so hard to talk about sex? I can write about it just fine, and I was rubbing against his dick like a horny teenager just seconds ago, but I can’t look him in the eye and ask him if he wants to fuck?

I take a deep breath. “Do you want to fuck? We don’t have to. I’m not expecting it or anything—we can do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He smiles at me, and my heart is ready to rip itself out of my chest and go worship at his feet. God, his smile is absolutely gorgeous.

“Rebecca, there is nothing I want more than to fuck you.” Liquid heat pools in my stomach. “But I approach sex a little ... differently.” His face scrunches up, like he’s thinking about a bad memory. I sit patiently, unmoving, as he works through his words.

“We need to discuss beforehand exactly what we’re doing, where the rules and limits are. I don’t like to be touched, and in some cases, I don’t particularly enjoy making eye contact. I use rope, sometimes a blindfold. I like ... being in control of the situation.”

Well, that’s unexpected. Yet somehow makes perfect sense.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly submissive,” I tell him, tugging hard on his hair for good measure. I’ve never thought of BDSM in this context before. A certain franchise has given it a bad reputation in recent years, but in general, the community is big on consent. And it makes sense for James. He isn’t good with subtlety, and sometimes sex involves a lot of unspoken cues.

He chuckles low, shaking his head. “It’s not just about that for me. It’s more about controlling my sensory inputs. It’s hard to focus on pleasure—yours or mine—when I’m overstimulated.”

The way the word pleasure rolls off his tongue makes me squirm in his lap. I picture it, giving him complete control. Trusting him to do what feels good for both of us. The thought of not being able to touch him, but letting him touch me in any way I want ... My fantasies aren’t wild enough, clearly. I’ve been thinking too small.

“Yes,” I breathe. His hands come up, cupping my cheeks, and he kisses me softly, slowly. His tongue dips into my mouth, stroking against mine, making my toes curl. “What do you need?” I ask against his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” His lips trail down my neck, making it hard to think. Excitement and anticipation race through me. I want to rip off his clothes and let him do terrible things to me, but the wait is almost just as delicious. I nod, and he stops, his mouth by my ear.

“I need words, love.”

“Yes, James.”

He nips at my earlobe and I gasp. “Can I tie you up and fuck you with my fingers?” It’s almost a plea. The words take a full minute to sink in, but when they do, I feel lightheaded.

“Yes.”

“When you say stop, I’ll stop, alright? If anything makes you uncomfortable, you tell me.”

I nod, before catching myself and saying “yes” out loud. He pulls us both to our feet, his lips still on my neck. His hands grab my hips roughly, and he walks us back a few paces until my legs hit the edge of one of the worktables.

“Take your clothes off,” he growls softly, biting my neck before pulling away. It takes my brain a second to process the command. He’s rummaging around in our discarded gear. “Now, Rebecca,” he says firmly, and the small part of me that’s a people-pleasing teacher’s pet immediately complies. I zip down my jacket, pulling it off and tossing it to the side.

James finds what he’s looking for, and my eyes widen at the rope in his hands. It’s the same one he tied around my waist to keep us together in the snowstorm.

“I didn’t say you could stop.”

His eyes rake over my body as I remove the many layers of clothing. I don’t even care that it’s below zero—every inch of my body is on fire. And he drinks in every bit of me. Looks at me with such a mix of lust and adoration.

“Keep your bra and panties on,” he says. I look down at myself. I’m still in my thermal shirt, and I toy with the hem.

“Can I keep my shirt on?” I ask, not looking at him. It’s stupid. He’s already seen me without a shirt, and he clearly doesn’t care about my tummy or how small my boobs are. It’s irrational, given that I am about to let him do a lot more than just look at me.

He steps closer, placing two fingers under my chin and lifting my gaze to his.

“You can, but only if you’re not doing it for my benefit. I want to see every inch of you.”

I lean into him, pressing my lips against his. Maybe this is all some sort of frostbite hallucination, and I’m actually dying outside, because there is no way he’s being this gentle to me. I break the kiss before pulling the shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I might combust here and now. He helps me onto the table, then gathers my wrists behind my back.

“I wasn’t kidding about the dinner thing earlier,” I tell him as he expertly ties my hands together. I pull my hands apart slightly, testing the bonds. They’re firm, but not so tight that I can’t get out of them with a little creativity.

“Darling, I will take you to as many dinners as you want when we get home.”

I shiver. He frowns down at me. “Are you cold?”

“No. I want you to touch me.”

His frown turns into a wicked grin, and I’m a goner. He still has extra pieces of rope in his hands, and he trails the ends over my bare shoulder, down my arm. The rough material against my skin makes my thighs clench, and his grin turns downright dastardly.

“Not just yet.” He kneels in front of me and my mouth goes dry. Slowly, with the lightest touch, he ties my ankles to the legs of the table, spreading me out before him. He runs the rope over the inside of my thigh, and I desperately want to clench my legs together. I can feel the slick heat pooling in my panties.

“James,” I groan, but still he gives me nothing. He runs the frayed ends of the rope over my other thigh, stopping just short of where I want him most. I’m well aware of the fact that he’s still fully clothed, and I’m spread out before him like a feast. Every part of me feels sensitive.

I want to tug at his hair, want to pull him into me. I want his hands on me. I am nothing but want for this man.

“What do you want, Rebecca?” he asks softly, standing. The rope trails along my stomach, over my breasts. He looks like he wants to devour me .

“Touch me, please,” I half beg. I struggle to take in air. He’s so close I can smell the clean scent of him, feel his warmth against my bare skin.

“I am touching you,” he says as the rope trails over my shoulder.

“With your hands,” I growl in frustration, straining against my bonds. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he tosses the rope aside and runs his fingers over my arms. I want to cry out in relief, but I don’t get any.

“Not there.” I bite back a moan.

He laughs, his voice low and rough. “My, you are bossy.” He leans into me, his lips ghosting over my collarbone. The air is heavy with anticipation, my pulse racing. Electricity crackles between us.

“Please, James.” Now I am begging. “I want your fingers inside of me, please.”

His hand trails down my stomach, my muscles clenching at the touch. My clit throbs, begging for release. I gasp his name, over and over, as his hand finally slips into my panties.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down on my collarbone before trailing his tongue over the spot. “You are so wet for me, love.”

I whimper, trying to arch into his touch, but he keeps me firmly in place. He slips one finger between my wet folds and I cry out. I’m already tiptoeing the edge and he’s barely even touched me. He circles my clit once, twice, then removes his hand.

Anguish and pleasure rush through me and I close my eyes, biting my lip hard. He continues trailing kisses over my collarbone like he has all the time in the world. His head dips lower, his tongue tracing the tops of my breasts .

“I can see how hard your nipples are through your bra,” he says, voice husky.

“Please, James, please ...” My head lolls back, and I arch again, pressing into him. His hand dips into my panties once more, the other resting on my knee, spreading my legs even wider. He rubs me softly, slowly, thumb circling my clit in agonising motions. His fingers stop at my entrance.

“It would be so easy to slip inside of you. To feel you around my fingers. Is that what you want, Rebecca?”

“Yes, god yes .”

He slips one finger inside of me, then two. My stomach clenches hard. I wrench open my eyes to watch him, but his gaze is firmly locked on his hand sliding in and out of me with obscene, wet sounds.

“Kiss me, please,” I beg in a hoarse whisper. I don’t have to ask him twice. His lips crash down on mine, hungry and intense. My walls clamp around his fingers and he picks up the pace, pumping in and out of me, thumb still swirling my clit. His tongue strokes mine, and I try to hold off the inevitable orgasm, but I can’t. The rope on my wrists and ankles chafes against my skin with every thrust, and the mix of pain and pleasure is too much.

He slips a third finger inside of me and I collapse like a star. My orgasm shoots through me at the speed of light and I cry out his name.

“James! Fuck!”

I see stars as I slump against him, his fingers still working inside of me as I ride out my orgasm.

“That’s it, love, soak my hand.”

Oh god, he’s going to give me a praise kink. Who the fuck am I kidding? I already crave his praises .

His hand slows as I come down, my cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“You are so beautiful.” He presses a kiss against my temple. His fingers slip out of me and he rights my panties. My breathing slowly returns to normal and I sit up, looking at him.

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up and he raises a brow at me.

“You have a Frozen Band-Aid on your head.”