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Chapter forty-two

Mike

I woke up to the sound of Elliot’s slow, steady breathing, his body warm and heavy beside mine.

The cabin was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering in through the curtains. The air smelled like sweat, like sex, like us .

Our skin was still slick with oil, remnants of the absolute debauchery we had gotten into hours earlier. I shifted, feeling the faint stickiness of dried cum on my stomach and across my chest.

A grin spread across my lips.

Holy shit.

I had never had sex like that before. I’d never seen it in porn. Hell, I’d never dreamed it could be that hot.

Elliot and I had always had chemistry—God, we had chemistry—but tonight had been something else. Something all-consuming, raw, and intimate.

And we had said the words.

Those words.

I love you.

I felt my heart stutter just thinking about it.

The words had slipped out between kisses, between thrusts, between the desperate need to be closer.

I had meant them. With every fiber of my being, I had meant them.

But had he?

Sex made men say stupid things, things they later regretted. Would he regret speaking those sacred words aloud? To me?

My goofy grin faltered slightly as I turned my head to look at him.

Elliot lay on his stomach.

We would likely need to burn the bedding.

He had one arm stretched beneath his pillow, his face turned toward me. His lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones. His lips were slightly parted. He looked soft like this. Vulnerable.

My chest ached.

God, I wanted this. I wanted him.

But would he still want me when he woke?

Had it been the moment talking? The intensity of what we were doing, the way we had lost ourselves in each other?

Would he pull away? Would he take it back?

I swallowed hard, pushing that thought aside.

Elliot wasn’t the kind of man who said things he didn’t mean.

He didn’t use words without a purpose, without meaning.

I knew that. I had to believe that.

And if he did wake up in the morning and try to backpedal—well, I’d just have to remind him exactly how good it had felt to say it.

My grin returned at that thought.

I reached out and felt the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin. So, slowly, carefully, I let my fingers trace over the broad expanse of his back.

I started at his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the firm ridges of muscle, the tension that always seemed to linger. I smoothed my palm over him, feeling the heat radiating off his body, before dragging my fingertips down, following the curve of his spine.

His skin was so warm, so taut, covered in faint scars from years of hard work. I let my fingers follow them, mapping out every inch like he was something sacred, mine to learn.

Elliot let out a quiet sigh, his body shifting slightly beneath my touch.

Still, he didn’t wake.

I grinned.

Even in sleep, he felt me.

I trailed my hand lower, skimming over the deep curve of his lower back, the dip where his spine met his hips. He twitched slightly, a faint shiver running through him, and I bit my lip, pressing my palm flat against his side.

So damn responsive.

My touch moved to his arms next, tracing the defined lines, the veins that stood out beneath his skin. He was a fucking roadmap, an interstate system of arteries standing out so boldly against his tanned skin. His hands, rough and calloused, lay slack on the sheets. I brought my fingers over them, ghosting across his knuckles, up to his forearm, feeling the strength there.

These hands worked.

These hands built.

These hands held me like I was something worth keeping.

The thought sent a shiver through me.

Elliot shifted again, pressing his face further into the pillow.

I swallowed, feeling something dangerous coil in my chest, something close to reverence.

I had never worshiped anyone before.

But God, I wanted to worship him.

And in that moment, my hands were my prayer.

I slid lower, dragging my palm over his thigh, the fur found nowhere else on his body save his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath his skin. I grinned when I felt a faint tremor run through him.

“Ticklish?” I murmured, though I knew he wouldn’t answer.

My fingers raked up and down the back of his thigh, my touch featherlight, watching as his skin reacted, his body instinctively tightening before relaxing again.

Then, finally, I let my hand drift to his ass.

His perfect, round, ridiculously hard ass.

Sculpted in a way that made my mouth water.

I traced over one cheek, squeezing slightly, enjoying the way he shifted.

He felt me.

Even in sleep, his body knew mine.

I let my fingers linger there, memorizing the curve, the dip where his thigh met his hip, the sheer strength in him.

Curiosity overrode caution, and I let my fingers dip between his cheeks. We were both still so slick, it was easy, like sliding on a glove. His hole twitched, then his body shivered.

I teased and circled, flicking the way he’d done to me.

He groaned and shifted his weight. If he turned over, I was sure he’d be hard as a rock.

I let my finger slip in, just a little.

He puckered around me.

“Feeling frisky?”

I yanked my hand back.

His body jolted.

“Easy there, you were inside me.”

I blushed. “Sorry, you startled me.”“Said the owner of the finger, not the ass.”

I chuckled softly and looked away.

His hand found my chin and turned me toward him.

“Hey, you.”

I blinked sleepily, a slow grin pulling at my lips. “Hey, you.”

Would that be a new thing of ours? Would that be how we greeted one another?

My heart thrilled at having “a thing.”

His voice was rough with sleep, his eyes bleary, and God, I wanted to kiss him.

So I did.

I leaned in, brushing my lips against his, soft and slow, savoring the feel of him.

Elliot hummed, his hand sliding lazily up my arm, over my shoulder, pulling me closer.

“Morning,” he murmured against my mouth.

I chuckled. “Not quite, but close enough.”

He kissed me again, deeper this time, his fingers threading into my hair.

For a long moment, we just lay there, wrapped up in each other, trading lazy kisses, whispering soft words that didn’t really mean anything but felt important anyway.

I could have stayed like that forever.

But then—

Elliot sighed, pulling back slightly, his brow furrowing.

I frowned. “What?”

He hesitated.

And just like that, the warmth in my chest turned to something heavier, something far colder.

I rolled onto my side, propping my head up with my hand. “Talk to me.”

Elliot exhaled. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.” I arched a brow. “You’re not a guy who dwells on nothing.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I reached out, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “Come on. You’ve been weird about something for a while now, since you were in the hospital, really.”

He tensed.

There it was. That was it. The accident.

I studied his face, my stomach tightening. “Elliot . . . what happened when you fell?”

His eyes flickered. “Mike—”

“And don’t tell me it was just an accident,” I interrupted. “Because when I told you Rodriguez was hurt, you froze. Your whole body turned into a statue, and from the look on your face, you wanted it to shatter into a million pieces. You weren’t okay then—and until you get this out—I don’t think you will be.”

Elliot swallowed.

I searched his face. “You think it was your fault, don’t you?”

His jaw clenched.

I felt my heart squeeze. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

Then, quietly—

“Because it was.”

I stared at him. “Elliot—”

“I was rushing. We both were.” He shook his head. “We were working faster than we should have been. Rodriguez leaned out of the bucket, and I didn’t see. I couldn’t see. I pressed the lever to shift and . . . I should have seen it coming. I should have—”

“Stop.”

His eyes snapped to mine.

I tightened my grip on his chin, forcing him to look at me. “You don’t get to do that.”

His brows furrowed. “Mike—”

“No,” I said firmly. “It was an accident . You’re a damn good lineman. You know that.”

His throat bobbed.

I softened my voice. “You didn’t cause what happened, Elliot.”

His lips pressed together.

I sighed, resting my forehead against his. “Rodriguez is going to be okay.”

Elliot exhaled. “I just . . .” His voice was tight. “I hate that he got hurt because of me.”

I kissed him gently, lingering.

Then I pulled back just enough to whisper, “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

His breath caught.

And finally, I felt him relax.

I smiled. “Now. Do you want to keep arguing with me, or do you want to get cleaned up so I can properly show you how much I love you?”

“Jesus Christ.” Elliot groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you secretly a sex addict? Some sort of horny little nymph? Am I going to be gutted and never be able to keep up?”

I grinned. “Who knows? Might be fun to find out, though.”

He let out a breathy laugh, pulling me against him. “God, I love you.”

And all my questions and doubts and fears . . . vanished.