Bedding Down, A Collection of Winter Erotica (10 page)

head to kiss her collarbone. The bruises on her body were long

gone, but he touched her gently, as if they were still there. What he couldn’t see with his eyes, he traced with his fingers. Janine threw her head back and granted him as much access as he

pleased, and Fletcher marveled at that undeniable show of trust.

Her body was hot, as if a fire had been lit from within. Her

chest rose under his palm as he felt his way, his fingers bump-

ing against one hard nipple before he bent to take it into his

mouth.

The moan that ripped from her was enough to make all his

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fears vanish. He pulled her closer, working her with his tongue.

He slipped his fingertips over the line of her ribs, counting them with a tender touch. When he fought the urge to rush and slide

his hand between her thighs, she made the decision for him

by grabbing his hand and placing it right over the heat at her

center.

“Don’t wait,” she hissed. “I’ve been waiting for weeks.”

The slow seduction he had planned turned into a raging fire.

She arched under him, pulling at his shoulders, the blankets

pushed down, the cold air rushing in. Her fingers slipped down

his body and he sucked in a breath at the sweet, sudden touch

of her soft hand.

“I want to taste you.”

Her boldness was shocking and welcome all at once. He laced

his fingers through her hair as her mouth sank down on him,

tasting him, sucking him in to the hilt. Her breath came hard

against his hip as she moaned around him, the sound sending

a shiver of desire through him, making him harder than he had

ever thought possible. He was quickly crossing the point of no

return.

“You have to stop,” he said, and she deliberately moved faster, refusing to let him go. He warned her again, and this time she

reached up with one hand to press her fingers against his mouth, hushing him while she did whatever she damn well pleased.

He cupped her head in his hands, closed his eyes to the dark-

ness, and let himself go with a long, low groan.

Before he had a chance to catch his breath, she was lying next

to him, her body pressed hard against his. She pulled the quilts up higher, covering them again from the cold. “Now that we got

that out of the way,” she teased, “it’s my turn.”

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He took his time. He started with her ear, with that sweet

spot he had contemplated over many long nights in front of the

fireplace, the curve where shadows liked to dance. He made her

shiver, then worked his way down, kissing the places he wanted

most to taste—the inside of her elbow, the bend of her knee,

the sweet hollow of her hip. By the time he spread her legs and inhaled her scent, she was fighting for breath.

He touched her deep and shallow, hard and soft, until she

arched up to him and offered more. At the first touch of his

tongue, she went perfectly still. He soothed her legs with his

hands as she rode on the pleasure, her hips rising and falling

with his tongue. When he finally sucked her clit into his mouth and slid two fingers into her with one deft thrust, she came with a scream.

He loved that moment, when she lay stunned underneath him

and babbled incoherent words that meant he had done all the

right things. He moved over her and she welcomed him with

open thighs and eager hands. When he pushed into her, she

took in a deep breath.

“You’re so hot,” he murmured in surprise, and she was—hot-

ter than anything he had ever felt. Every stroke sent the flames inside her higher, until they engulfed him, consumed him, and

made him call out her name as he erupted with a force that al-

most knocked him unconscious.

When it was over and he opened his eyes, he was stunned to

see a bit of light coming through the hole in the snow, the evidence that the world hadn’t really stopped turning, after all.

Then Janine laughed, threw her arms around him and pulled

him down to her once more. “Giddyup, cowboy,” she laughed.

“The ride is just getting good.”

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Fletcher laughed with her, then set about showing her just

how much better the ride could get.

“We’ve got to stop,” he panted. Sunlight was now pouring

through the hole in the snow—they had been playing under the

quilts for hours. He could hear the constant drip of snow melt-

ing down the chimney, and the unmistakable sound of water

rushing down the hill from the cabin. When spring came to

the mountain, it didn’t waste any time. “We’ve got to dig out

around the doors and get up to the roof.”

“Later,” she murmured against his lips.

“We can still freeze to death.”

Janine sighed. “How long will it take to dig out?”

“Half the day, if we’re lucky.” The last thing he wanted to do

was dig out. He wanted to stay right there in bed and explore

every inch of her. The cabin was toasty warm—snow was an

excellent insulator—but that warmth could become deadly if

they didn’t have enough fresh air to accompany it.

“Where should we start?” she asked, and it took a moment

for him to realize she was talking about digging out of the snow, not about the things they had been doing under the covers.

“There.” He pointed to the sunlight, and she turned her face

to it. Her lips were swollen with his kisses. Her clothes were

long forgotten in a corner of the little cabin. He wanted to see all of her, silhouetted in that mellow sunlight.

“Let’s get it done so we can get back to other things,” she said, and the promise in her voice was enough to make him drag himself from the warm, comfortable bed and find the shovel.

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The snow began to melt outside. They shoveled around the

doors and the windows, then Fletcher dug around the chimney,

giving them the chance to fire up the stove. Once the flames

were raging, the cabin warmed quickly. They did what they had

to do, then crawled back in bed.

Water dripped from all corners of the roof, a melody that

never stopped, day or night. They ventured from the bed only

to stoke the fire or find something to eat. They survived on fresh water from the mountain, potatoes from the bin and the sustenance they drew from each other.

When their bodies were sated for a time, they talked. They

discussed everything but the future. Somehow that topic had

become taboo, probably because both of them knew the idyl-

lic delight of their cabin hideaway wouldn’t last past the early spring. She had a job to go back to, and he had—

Well, what
did
he have? That question kept Fletcher awake at night when she was sleeping beside him, both of them now in

the single bed, cuddled under the same quilts. He had no doubt

she would go back to her normal, everyday world, the very place he had abandoned.

What would he do?

He could imagine life going on as normal, chopping wood

for the wintertime, planting a garden for sustenance, making a

trip down to the ranger station once a month or so to pick up

supplies and bask in the unusual presence of another human

being. He would rock on his porch in the evenings, take long

walks in the early morning light, and keep the raccoon company

in this great stretch of wilderness.

He would be lonely.

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He sat up beside her in bed one morning, soon after the snow

had melted enough that the road was passable, and the tem-

peratures were high enough that anyone could make it a reason-

able distance without danger. She could go any day now, and he

knew it. She hadn’t mentioned it yet, but sometimes he saw her

gazing off toward the end of the long dirt road, the question in her eyes.

He understood. She wanted to leave, but she didn’t want to

hurt him.

“Janine?”

She rolled toward him and stretched lazily, smiling up at him,

purring like a cat. “Good morning.”

Her body pressed against him, warm and cozy, even softer

with sleep. He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss. He tried not to think about how many of those he might have left.

“I thought we might go up to the Ranger station today,” he

said. “Supplies and all that.”

She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s that time, huh?”

Fletcher didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at

all. He traced the line of her hip with one hand while he tried out different words on his tongue, but none seemed to fit.

Janine abruptly threw the covers back and climbed out of

bed. She was naked, warm from sleep, and absolutely stunning.

She was also caught in that space between furious anger and

breaking down into tears of sadness. Fletcher watched the war

in her eyes until it became too painful for him to see, then he looked out the window.

“I know better than to ask if you will come with me,” she

said. “But you could at least discuss it, Fletcher. It’s not like the world is full of pariahs and you’re the only one who isn’t.”

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“I never said anything like that.”

“Your attitude screams it.”

He got up from his side of the bed and stalked to the make-

shift closet—a dozen nails on the wall, where he hung the dozen pieces of his meager wardrobe. He yanked a shirt from the nail

so hard that the fabric ripped. He put it on anyway, wondering

where the sudden anger had come from.

“I don’t know if I can go back there, Janine.” He buttoned the

shirt and stood staring at the wall. “I don’t know if I can handle living in that world.”

“It’s the same world,” she argued. “Just different corners of

it.”

He turned on her, and she shrank back from the fury in his

eyes. He grasped at the one thing he knew he could hold between them. “Remember how you wound up here? I’m the hunted, and

you’re the hunter. Doesn’t look so good from my standpoint,

sweetheart.”

Janine’s face went blank. She carefully avoided looking him

in the eye as she finished dressing in the far corner of the cabin.

She walked slowly to the fireplace and put another log on, pushing it in hard, making the fire rage.

“If I had known . . .”

“If you had known, then what?”

She looked up at Fletcher with wide eyes. Tears spilled over

and made silver trails down her face. “I never would have come

here.”

Fletcher yanked the door open. “Wait!” Janine called, but he

didn’t hear what she had to say after that. It was lost in the slam of the door and the roaring of his broken heart.

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The walk to the hiking station was made in silence. The phone

there actually worked, and the ranger promised to send someone

out. They had about thirty minutes before their time together

came to an end, but even so, Fletcher couldn’t find the heart to say anything to Janine. He couldn’t say anything at all.

He felt her watching him, those eyes that saw right through

him, and wondered what she was thinking. She sat quietly on

the rough-hewn bench outside the station, watching him from

under a toboggan that was far too big for her. They listened to the sounds of the mountain, and once watched an eagle arrow

through the sky, but when she turned her eyes back in Fletcher’s direction, he found something interesting to look at just over

the ridge.

When they heard the truck in the distance, Janine spoke in a

rush. “I didn’t mean what you thought I meant,” she said. “If I had known how leaving you would break my heart, I would still

have come here. But if I had known I would break yours . . .”

Fletcher looked at her then, and despite all his admonitions

to himself, tears sprang into his eyes. They froze on his lashes before he could dash them away.

“I never meant to make you cry,” she said.

The pleading in her voice was enough to send him over the

emotional ravine he had been fighting so hard all morning. He

dropped to his knees in the snow in front of her, held her hands in his and looked up at her, knowing he didn’t want to be alone on that mountain anymore, but also knowing he couldn’t go

back to the world he had already given up for dead.

“I don’t know if I can go back,” he said slowly, as the truck

pulled into view at the top of the lane. “I just don’t know,

Janine.”

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“Do you want to be with me?” she asked.

There it was, point-blank, putting him on the spot he had so

carefully avoided. Did he want to be with her? Or did he just

want to be with somebody? Was it about this woman, or was it

about having someone on the mountain with him, to stave off

the long and lonely nights?