Signs of Life

by Sloane Reynard

  “When it was time to come back, I realized I’d gotten turned around and couldn’t find the direction,” he continued, his voice pitched lower, quieter, eyes on his bowl as he took another mouthful. “That dummy was no help, of course. We wandered around for— for a while, and I thought maybe I should go back to the den under the log Leo had created, or try to get to your car again.”

  Wyatt lifted his gaze. “But then I saw you. Or I saw the lantern, at least, and knew which way to go.” His eyes never wavered from hers. “I wouldn’t have made it back, if not for that.”

  Corinne felt exquisitely aware of something. Everything. Of her body, of his, of their proximity with only the little table between them, the utter quiet without the background hum of appliances, only the pop and crackle of the fire and Leo’s occasional snuffle as he finished his meal.

  “I was worried about you,” she hazarded. “And— and Leo. You and Leo.” He smiled faintly, aware of her hasty correction. “I was giving you another ten minutes— fifteen, max— and then I was—”

  “You were going back inside to stay warm, as I told you,” he finished for her, a thread of steel in his tone. “Right?”

  Corinne swallowed. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of green she’d ever seen, and his face was dead serious. Wyatt truly had meant for her to remain in the cabin while he froze, just to make sure she was safe instead of risking herself to find him.

  “Right,” she agreed, her voice soft.

  They were both aware it was a lie.

  Chapter 6

  When they’d eaten their fill, and the rest of the pot roast had been put away, it was time for discussion of more practical things. Corinne sat sideways on the sofa at Wyatt’s insistence, feet up and a plastic bag of snow wrapped in a dish towel and plopped on top of her ankle.

  “We’ll have to spend the night in front of the fire,” Wyatt declared. “While there’s a certain charm to sleeping on the bearskin rug—” he flashed her a naughty grin, making her flush “—I’ve tried it, in the past, and it doesn’t live up to the hype. So I suggest we drag the mattress from the bed out here and sleep on that.”

  Together, he left unsaid, but it was understood, the word hovering in the air as if he’d shouted it.

  “I— I can sleep on the sofa,” she stammered. “It’s not far from the fire, with enough blankets—”

  “You could,” said Wyatt, “but… fair warning: that’s where Leo sleeps, so you’ll have to fight him for it. And from one who knows: you’ll lose. He kicks like a mule. You’ll end up on the floor anyway.”

  “Ahaha. Okay.” Corinne felt the heat of a fiery blush flow like lava down her throat to her chest. “Well, uh… when? You’re probably pretty tired, and I know I am…”

  “Yeah, might as well get to it.” He stretched his arms over his head and a sliver of golden skin was revealed between the waistband of his sweatpants and the risen hem of his sweater. Corinne averted her eyes after one sizzling, lingering glance, but something told her he’d seen her look. “I can handle it alone. You should stay off that ankle.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued, “…though I know you won’t.”

  She grimaced. He knew her too well already. They shifted the chairs and coffee table back against the walls to create enough room for the king-size mattress by the fire. Then she hobbled after him to the bedroom, where they peeled the thick duvet off before wrestling the mattress off the bed frame and onto its side, sliding it along the floor until they could let it flop into place.

  Wyatt retrieved the duvet and with a flourish, flicked it into place. Corinne had fetched the pillows and, giving them each a thorough plumping, dropped one of them on one side, and the other on the opposite end.

  “We can sleep head to foot…?” she said carefully.

  Wyatt gave her a look of what she could only term ‘fond exasperation’. “Do you really think I’m so irresistible that you won’t be able to control yourself if we both sleep with our heads at the same side?”

  Yes. “Fine,” she grumbled, snatching up the nearest pillow and tossing it in the direction of its mate. “There.”

  “You concede so gracefully.” He laughed. “But I’ll go get more blankets so we don’t have to share.”

  She just tossed him a glare. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

  He waved a hand in its direction. “Be my guest. I’ll put Leo out one last time.”

  Corinne changed into her flannel pajamas, splashed her face with frigid water and brushed her teeth, glad that the plumbing wasn’t dependent on the generator to work. When she emerged, Wyatt was just letting Leo back in. The dog leaped onto the sofa just as Wyatt had said he would, sprawling with abandon over the leather upholstery.

  Wyatt disappeared into the bathroom, and Corinne went around dousing all the lamps and lanterns until the only light remaining came from the hearth. Finally, with no other excuses to delay, she went to the bed and lowered herself onto it. It was one of those extra-high-quality mattresses and every weary cell in her body sighed in relief as she lay back.

  The pillow, too, was luxurious, as was the duvet, impossibly soft and smooth. The down warmed quickly and she was snug and drowsy by the time Wyatt joined her.

  “Anything I should be warned about?” he asked lightly as he drew the blankets up around himself. “Do you snore like a truck engine? Are you a shameless snuggler? Is my virtue at risk?”

  He didn’t sound overly bothered by any of those possibilities.

  “No to all of those,” she told him severely, but he just laughed.

  “Pity,” he said. “I could use a good snuggling.”

  But he didn’t touch her, not even an accidental brush of the hand as they settled in. Even with two people of their considerable size, the bed was plenty wide enough to give them each their own space. Relief and disappointment warred within Corinne, but she was too tired to think much on it. Before long, she was asleep.

  A gust of cold air had Corinne come awake suddenly. For a moment, she was disoriented— it was dark, only a dying fire to offer a faint bit of illumination, and something heavy was draped over half of her. A man, to be specific.

  Sheer panic filled her, then determination, and she tensed in preparation to give the fight of her life… but then he gave a sleepy groan, probably in response to how rigid she’d gone under him, and abruptly Corinne remembered.

  The blizzard— her car— her ankle— the dog— the cabin— Wyatt— the generator— the mattress before the hearth— oh.

  Then she realized the full import of what she’d awoken to: Wyatt with a thigh pressed between hers, arm around her waist and chest pressed to hers and face buried against her neck, and— oh. He’d abandoned any pretense of sleeping separately, abandoning his blankets to burrow beneath the duvet with her. It seemed Wyatt really did want a snuggle and was not shy about making it happen.

  Suddenly, any chill she had taken from the cold air dissipated. Wyatt hummed and rubbed the tip of his nose against her throat, leaving a little trail of icy fire in its wake, and just like that, Corinne was wet, the burgeoning attraction she’d felt upon first sight of him flaring into full-bore arousal.

  So this is what it’s like, she thought, not without some humor. To be this close to a man one genuinely wanted, instead of one she was settling for, because he was settling for her.

  He smelled good, clean and musky, with an underlying scent of snow. His hair was soft against her chin and, when she cautiously brought a hand to rest on the forearm wrapped so snugly around her waist, his skin was warm and smooth, the dusting of hair making her fingertips tingle.

  But while it was enjoyable to lay there and bask in the experience, it was also supremely dissatisfying not to do anything else, and soon Corinne began to feel itchy and restless. There was no way she could fall asleep with him flopped onto her, so she either had to move or resign herself to steeping in a pool of her own frustration the rest of the night. Surely she and Leo could come to some
compromise about sharing the sofa.

  As she pondered her dilemma, he shifted again, his muscle-corded thigh rubbing up between her legs. It sent a mind-blowing thrill of sensation spiraling through her.

  She had to move. But how?

  Slowly, slowly, she slid her leg out from between his, biting her lip when his thigh rubbed against her one last time. Then she waited, but he didn’t stir; good. Next, she removed his arm from her waist, trying to tuck it close to his chest, but that meant it was close to her chest as well. He grumbled and twitched his wrist from her grasp to settle his palm directly on her breast. Meager as it was, it was still exquisitely sensitive, and in her heightened state of horniness the touch felt like a thunderbolt.

  She gasped.

  Was it the sound? The sudden rising of her chest at the inhalation? Whatever it was, it woke Wyatt. His head shifted on her shoulder and his hand tightened around her breast. His knee delved between her thighs once more, drawing another gasp, and then he lifted his head to look her in the face.

  In the dim light, he looked unrealistically, improbably handsome. His mussed hair glinted golden from the flickering flames, rumpled and unruly. Shadows fell over his eyes, preventing her from seeing their expression. Was he disgusted? Appalled?

  There was movement against her hip, not a lot, just something… shifting. Firming.

  He’s getting hard.

  The knowledge of it made something clench deep within, and Corinne felt empty, hollow, hungry.

  “So this can go two ways,” Wyatt said, his voice raspy from sleep. And something more. “We can just get up and dive into a snow bank outside and forget this ever happened.”

  Sounds chilly, she thought with a tinge of alarm. “Or?”

  “Or we can give in to what we’ve wanted from the beginning and fuck each other stupid.”

  What we’ve wanted? He’d been attracted to her right away, as well? It didn’t quite seem possible, except the proof was digging a hole into her pelvis at that very moment.

  It was a bad idea. She’d only just met him. It would complicate things. Who knew how long she’d be stuck in this cabin with him? It could make a tense situation unbearable.

  On the other hand, even if it tipped their dynamic into true unpleasantness, the pleasure gained just might be worth it. She was more turned on than she’d ever been in her entire life and they hadn’t even done anything yet besides press up against each other.

  “That second one sounds like the way to go,” she found herself saying, breathless, feeling impossibly daring and reckless.

  “Oh, good,” said Wyatt, and kissed her.

  He didn’t waste much time on preliminaries or seductions, apparently feeling that since she was a sure thing they weren’t needed and… no, they weren’t. She was very ready for him, so sensitive that she could feel her own heartbeat pounding between her legs. His tongue toyed with hers, his hand slid under her shirt to pinch her nipple, and she felt another flush of heat as she grew even more slick and ready for him to be inside her.

  Which she hoped would be soon; his fingers on her nipple were beginning to make her feel frantic. Had her breasts always been so connected to her sexual reaction? Had she ever gotten so wild from their stimulation? It could be that neither of her prior lovers had ever paid much attention to them, but she thought it was more likely the current lover that was responsible. His fingers were strong and deft as he rolled and tugged on her nipple, making it swell and tighten, making her arch and writhe and whimper. It had never been like that with Kyle, even when he bothered to try. She was not prepared.

  “God, you’re responsive,” he breathed, his tone wondrous.

  “More,” she pleaded. “I want— I want—”

  “What?” Wyatt grabbed the hem of her pajama top and leaned off of her long enough to yank the garment off. “What do you want?”

  “Everything,” she whispered. “I want you to do everything to me.”

  He groaned. “Everything can be a lot of things. I don’t know if you’re ready for some of them.”

  “You’ll make me ready.” She undulated her hips against him, relishing the stroke of the hard ridge of his cock over the mound of her cunt, separated by layers of unwanted fabric, and how he groaned at the sensation.

  “I don’t think you’re ready. It might take a while.” Wyatt lowered his mouth to the nipple he’d been tormenting, taking it between his lips, and Corinne keened at the sudden suction, at the wet lashing of his tongue against the swollen tip even as his hand began to twist and pull the other.

  “Yes!” Her head swam, disbelief warring with greed— could it be possible? She was about to come after only a few minutes, and he hadn’t even touched her below the waist. “I am. I’m ready. Please.”

  “Oh, I like when you beg me,” he purred, sounding very satisfied but… also on the edge of losing control, himself.

  It should have irked her, should have made her want to shove him away and maybe yell at him a bit. Instead, she just softened and melted against him further, offering herself up to his pleasures and whims.

  “Yes,” she ended up saying, softly, her need plain. “Please, Wyatt.”

  “It would just be cruel to resist when you ask so nicely.” He shifted off her only long enough to divest himself of his sweatpants and sweater, then yank off the rest of what she wore. “Shit. You look like— like a goddess or something,” he marveled, propped on an elbow and staring down at the full display of her nudity. “I swear I’ve seen sculptures of you in a museum somewhere.”

  His erection has drawn all the blood from his head, she thought. He’s hallucinating.

  Besides, if anyone were a god, or god-adjacent, it was he: his body was the stuff of real, actual dreams, and his cock was like something from a porn film. It was long and so thick that even her long fingers couldn’t reach around it, with a flared, succulent head and a saucy upward curve that hinted at prime g-spot stimulation. She squeezed it and they moaned together when a thin stream of fluid coursed from him to trickle over her fingers.

  “In me,” she whispered. “I need that in me.”

  “Yesss,” Wyatt hissed, shifting between her legs before freezing. “Tell me you’re on some form of birth control. And that you’re clean.”

  “I’m on the shot,” gasped Corinne as she wrapped her thighs around his narrow hips. “And I’m clean. Haven’t had sex in a year.”

  “I haven’t had sex in two years. I’m clean, too.” He reached down to test the waters, as it were, and found them flowing a-plenty. “God, you’re wet—”

  He broke off to give her a ferocious kiss, hips rocking against her, before rearing back to position himself. “Ready?”

  “I’ve been rea— oh! Oh! Yes! Wyatt— yes!”

  He slipped into her effortlessly, and she devolved to incoherence. He felt better than anything else ever had, lodged so deep within her, so big and hard, and she just lay there and trembled in shocked pleasure, until she realized he wasn’t moving, either, was just trembling right along with her.

  “I’m not going to be able to take this slow,” he panted, his breath humid on her cheek.

  “Good,” was her response, and she didn’t, she wanted him fast and hard and— he withdrew and thrust again, and she cried out in ecstasy. “Like that! Just like that, don’t stop, don’t—”

  He fucked her, exactly as she wanted, without finesse or grace, fast and deep, making every nerve ending in her body quiver in delight. Corinne sank her blunt nails into the meat of his ass, using it as leverage to pull him even further inside as she bucked up to meet him. The stretch of her cunt around him was gorgeous and her head felt like it was floating off her neck, blood pounding thickly through excited veins.

  It was no time at all before she arched and writhed, legs spread as wide as they could go as she ground herself against him and wailed, the climax drawing her into a taut bow. Head back, star-blind, she cried out with every wave of sensation crashing over her.

  Wyatt thras
hed against her, cock pummeling her cunt, shouting and incoherent as he came, hands hard as he gripped her, sure to leave bruises she’d relish the next day.

  They lay there, gasping like landed trout, for long moments afterward. As the pleasure receded, eddying back, fatigue crept up. Corinne had had a hell of a day, and now a hell of a night, and exhaustion would show her no mercy. She was vaguely aware of Wyatt slipping free of her to fall to his back at her side, of his chest heaving as he fought to regain lost breath, but could do no more than raise a hand in his direction, its weight making her drop it, limp, against his hip.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, sounded as shocked and weary as she felt. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled back, and passed out.

  Chapter 7

  Wyatt came awake when a shaft of sunlight penetrated the layer of snow caking one of the windows and tried to burn a hole through his eyelids. Grumbling, still half-asleep, he rolled to his side to avoid the sun’s attempt to blind him and found himself pressed quite intimately against Corinne’s back.

  There was a split second before he recognized her, remembered what had gone on the day before— the night before— but when he did, his smile could not have been repressed even if he’d wanted to. He tucked himself around her even more closely.

  Fucking her had been incredible. Her shy enthusiasm, inhibitions sweetly yielding to her desire for him… it had been so good. He was not unaccustomed to his partners being very attracted to him, but Corinne was a different kind of woman. She didn’t distribute her affections freely, of that he was certain. That she’d wanted him enough to ignore the apprehensions he knew she had was heady stuff. He felt like he’d earned her, somehow, and it made something primal within him lift its head and roar in satisfaction.

  He had mixed feelings about having stripped down to his skivvies, before going in search of Leo. He hadn’t missed her fascination; she’d inspected his body as if trying to decide which part she’d eat first, and in that moment, he’d known he had her. He’d felt a heady rush of triumph but it quickly faded; he’d meant it as a joke, in response to her command to ‘take it all off’; he’d have done the same to Tyler, relishing his brother’s eye-rolling and snarky demands not to make him nauseous.