He’s beginning to worry… and I don’t blame him. With a cripple for a companion and a busted shoulder to boot, his odds of sticking true to those words are getting smaller and smaller with each passing second.
And me? Well, “me” left “worry” back in Tampa… along with my sensibility, my doubt and most of my dignity.
More sounds of zipping pull me back from my thoughts, planting me back into reality as Trevor unfolds the blue sleeping bag onto the floor.
I watch him closely, taking note of everything. He relies heavily on his good arm now, so much in fact that I feel twinges of guilt. His breathing is heavy, deep; I can practically feel his exhaustion.
The chill in the air is even more biting than before. He’s trying hard to mask it… but the body doesn’t lie. Goose bumps run down his muscular forearms. The blonde hair that sprouts there stands on end.
There’s no way that I will let him spend another cold and uncomfortable night outside of the sleeper. There’s no way that even I could sink to those levels of cruelty. But to not do so is almost dangerous.
Because my body – like his – will certainly betray me.
And from the second Trevor slinks into the bag against me, my body will most assuredly sink into him, responding in that way that only he can seem to make it react. My instincts tell me to not to do this. They tell me to do a lot of things.
But it’s too late. Trevor is removing his extra layer of clothes. He is preparing to climb inside of the sleeping bag with me. The words freeze on my lips.
I ignore my instincts. As usual.
I crawl into the open bag, jeans and all, packing my body against one side to create more space. Shortly thereafter, Trevor joins, and we are once again huddled against one another: our bodies aligned hip-to-hip, front-to-back… groin-to-glutes.
My ankle still smarts and I’ve probably got a bruise on my butt from taking that fall, but the second Trevor jumps into that blue sleeper, I forget everything. I forget the pain. I forget myself.
Pressed up against me, his body is like a bundle of sensation, affecting my senses in a million different ways. His chest is warm against my back. His nose is cool against my temple.
And before I can muse about the feel of any of his other body parts, I am dozing off, dreaming about fantasy places: imagining a paradise I’ve never seen.
Kat
Dawn approaches like the rumblings of a symphony. I wake up to the sounds of a busy forest. I smell the scent of green grass. I feel the moisture of an overnight rain. As vibrant as my dreams just were, my reality is even more vivid.
A November-ish night has given birth to a springtide morning. I watch the buds of the leaves and flowers from an opening in the tent, almost wishing it were the opposite. As beautiful as this dewy dawn is¸ I’d love to see the other side of it. I’d love to witness its change in fall as opposed to spring.
Seeing the leaves change colors. Watching them wither away. It’s funny to me how the forest’s death is even more beautiful than its bloom.
I open the flap of the tent further, letting the sunshine burn out last night’s doubt. I find a renewed resolve in this daylight that I couldn’t quite discover late last night. I dismiss my misgivings from yesterday.
Trevor wakes up shortly after I do, and I can see that he’s in even more pain than he began with. His teeth are as clenched as my fists, and I have to squeeze my hands even tighter to keep from reaching out to him.
His eyes look over at me, glancing down at my tightly held fingers. As if my reservations weren’t enough, Trevor keeps me at bay with his eyes, shaking his head slowly to prevent me from coming closer.
“I don’t want you to worry about me, Kat. I’ll be fine. Let’s focus on you. How’s your ankle?” He peers at me with concern, letting his gaze wander to my hurt leg.
I say nothing… because I’m speechless… frustrated… angry… flattered.
Here he goes again: reading me, interpreting my body language and laying it bare for all to see. No one but my older sister, Elena, has managed such a feat, and she’s my blood.
This thing with Trevor… It’s invasive. It’s intimate. It’s absolutely, fucking scary.
When he infiltrates my mind like this, he turns it numb, rendering me listless: anesthetized. I feel overcome: sedated against my will.
I stumble awkwardly towards him, letting him assess my ankle without protest. His hands are careful; his touch is chaste. And yet, with Trevor, there’s always this underlying current that flows beneath his compassion: a hint of something else that contradicts the innocence on the surface.
Once he is finished, I slink away from him, trying to gather my scattered thoughts, my wits… my sudden yearnings.
I turn away abruptly, needing more distance than this small clearing can afford. I find myself searching for the easiest way of getting it.
Trevor is a distraction: a sometimes welcome one, at that, but I can’t let him derail my train. If I do… knowing his effect on me… I’d never get back on track.
I mumble something about washing and Trevor hands over his soap. I decide to take a cold “shower.” God only knows how much I need one.
Before I enter the nearby creek, I let Trevor inspect the shallower falls and streams, and I roam to pick a spot where the water runs gentler.
I stay conservative as I wash, keeping away from my… sensitive spots. My ankle is throbbing, but at least it’s immobile. I lather quickly while Trevor assesses the contents of his bag.
My bag is off-limits… and I make sure he knows it. I haven’t issued a warning word, but I keep it close and guarded. The look in his eyes lets me know he understands.
If I verbalize an order to stay away, I fear I may pique his interest. Trevor’s just as hardheaded as I am (maybe more) and I’d rather not tip him off to anything.
I think about my plan as I rinse my hair in the gentle falls. I’d say it’s going pretty well. God, I hope I haven’t been misled.
I’ve risked everything for this… thing, and I don’t plan on stopping until I see it through. Trevor will just have to understand. It’s nothing personal.
In fact… I need him.
A splash of cold water breaks my reverie and I step away from the fall. Trevor already knows protocol, and his back is already turned by the time I make it to shore.
As I dress, I peer over at him. He’s holding that hurt arm of his stiffly at his side, and I instantly feel guilty. I shouldn’t have let him carry me. I should’ve been more careful.
I watch his opposite hand reach over to the injured shoulder. He groans as soon as the hand lands. I can’t stop the subsequent words from squeaking out.
“Trevor,” I call out once my jeans are on.
“Yeah…?” he grunts. I wait… but he doesn’t turn.
I slump from where I stand. “Never mind,” I scoff. I am a coward.
I stink at interacting with him. I’m either cold and bitchy or hot and bothered. I don’t know how to just… be… around him. What is it about him that sends my common sense on a swan dive off a cliff?
I turn to my own bag, affording Trevor some privacy. I hear the muted ruffle of clothing as he undresses. I don’t take another breath until I hear him reach the water.
When I feel that it’s safe, I rotate around slowly to glance back at him. He’s standing near my little fall: that gentle “showering” stream under which I bathed. I smirk as he tries to shoo a nosy duckling away.
A minute of blissful, serene silence rolls by and then something unexpected happens.
A blood-curdling cry breaks the deepening quiet, creating chills up and down my slightly damp spine. I jump up abruptly, my eyes scanning for the source of the scream. The chills become tremors when I realize that they are Trevor’s.
I plummet into the water without thought, soaking my dark T-shirt and jeans in the rough and choppy process. By the time I make it to my blonde Zeus’s side, the cries have turned to groans: frustrated guttural noises, as he holds a cr
eepily dangling arm with the other.
I feel no pain, only panic, and the ankle that was once debilitating helps me lean in closer to Trevor, providing me the leverage to inspect his body with my fingers.
“It’s dislocated,” he grits through his teeth. “I reached around to wash my back. I pushed my already bad arm too far.” He breathes heavily, sweating profusely from both the pain and the exertion. “You have to pop it back in.”
I balk, gaping with horror at his scrunched face. “What?! No. No, Trevor, I can’t.”
“Kat, you have to.”
“No, no. I’ll only make it worse. I can’t… do this.”
“But Kat…”
“Look, Trevor, I…”
“Listen to me!” he yells, stunning me into silence. “Kat, you have to. I need you.” He grunts once more in agony. “I won’t make it much further unless you do. Now, I’m going to hold my arm and show you the direction, and when I say pull, you’re going to pull it straight out, ok? Straight. Out. When I say, Kat. When I say.”
I’m almost in tears. I feel that there’s no way that I won’t screw this up, but I have no choice, anymore. He said he needs me. I can’t turn him down: can’t let him down.
I grab the lower arm that he points to, extending it upward as he sucks in a breath.
“Up, up, up,” he coaches. “Ok, Kat. Ok.” He opens his eyes finally. They are wide, gaping straight at me. “Now… pull!”
I tug forcefully outward, hearing an audible crunch as I yank.
I broke it. FUCK.
But then I hear him sigh beside me. It sounds oddly like relief. I glance hesitatingly at his face.
He looks calm now: composed. Appreciative. He glares at me.
“Good, Kat. Good job. Now… can you bring my t-shirt and the rest of the Ace bandage here? I need you to help me wrap this arm.”
I nod slowly, because that’s all I can do right now. I’m still in shock. It worked.
I turn and head to his open bag. I remove the bandage with shaky fingers and double back to stand beside Trevor.
With his instructions, I help him fashion a tourniquet on his arm with the shirt and the bandages. It isn’t until we’ve finished that I remember that he is still naked beneath the water’s surface…
The water line sits barely above his hips and securely above my waist. He is completely drenched in front of me, the lines of his muscles creating little indented roads for the water droplets to follow. His hair is plastered. His mouth drips: wet.
And he smells like… like…
Sex.
Unfiltered. Unadulterated. Unapologetic. Pure…
Sex.
That scent of soap and skin and sweat.
More sweet than sour, blended with more earth than spice. It’s fainter than cologne, milder than any aftershave. No artificial fragrance could duplicate this. This musk of masculinity; the traces of Trevor.
It’s on me: all over me.
I don’t even realize that I too am soaking wet (on the surface and beneath) until he whisks wet strands of my brown hair from my small shoulders. He leans in, planting a kiss near my collarbone.
My heart is pounding.
He places a damp kiss on my forehead, and my knees almost buckle. He hesitates before bowing his head gently into me. And then… he plants his lips on mine.
He applies the softest pressure with his mouth and then retreats ever so slightly. “Thank you, Kat,” he says softly, brushing his lips against my mouth.
He stops, keeping his lips still, barely touching my own with his.
He’s waiting…
My resistance plummets to hell. I can pretend no longer. God, I want Trevor.
I kiss him back, parting my lips so that my tongue can slip out. I lick slyly at his upper lip; I want to taste him so badly.
The kiss takes on a new life because suddenly Trevor is grabbing me underneath of my jaw and angling his mouth over mine. I slide my tongue deeper into his mouth and he sucks teasingly on it, causing me to moan, the sound humming against his lips.
My arms wrap around his back, crushing me to him. In that instant, I want everything from him: his smell, his taste… his feel. I want him to overcome all of my senses.
I’m inhaling him like a drug, and with each exhale, my desire climbs. I’m a temporary addict, soaking in that salacious high.
His cock is now between us and I can feel it rubbing at the crevice between my legs. I grow wetter than I ever thought possible, and when he lowers a thumb to rub gently at my nipple, I almost explode.
My hands shift on his body, reaching upward.
It finally takes a small “Ah” to release from his throat for me to realize that I’ve grabbed his injured shoulder. The small sound makes me hop backward, and I almost topple over in the water. His strong hand grabs onto me, keeping me upright. He gazes directly into my eyes.
But now, I am embarrassed. I look away.
This is the last thing that I should’ve ever done, and somehow, I dove right into the situation without a moment’s hesitation.
Trevor is supposed to be off-limits, forbidden: a quintessential Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am… and not in the sexual sense. When we part ways, it should be with a “Bye. Thanks for the memories. It wasn’t fun while it lasted.”
Now, things are different. I am different. I don’t like it.
So, I do what I’ve been able to do best on this journey…
Act like an asshole.
“Jesus Christ, Trevor. Can’t you control yourself?! Keep your dick in your damn pants… (I remember his nakedness)… or wherever you need to. Just keep it away from me. We’ve got more serious matters to worry about. Like how to get the hell out of here.”
He blinks, taken aback, but then his eyes narrow into slits. He stands straighter.
“Oh… I’m sorry, princess…” he says roughly, “… but I don’t think that was me moaning into my own mouth. You kissed me back.”
I freeze, shell-shocked, and my hand flies absently to my navel ring. I inadvertently play with it while my brain scrambles for excuses.
I stall. “Yeah… well… I was caught off-guard. I didn’t know… how to react.” I stare off into space as if my life depended on it.
But the magnetism of his stare brings my eyes back to his, and before long I am gawking nervously at them as they sit inches from my face.
Trevor is now standing directly in front of me and his hand is now replacing my own. He’s circling my navel piercing gently with his thumb and index finger, his brown eyes fixated unwaveringly on my lips. He leans in even closer, and my eyes flutter to a close.
His breath is soft and cool: minty with the toothpaste we used from his bag of toiletries.
“No, princess…” he drawls. “I think you knew… exactly… how you wanted to react.”
I hold my breath as he speaks, biting my lip in frustration. I’m afraid to breathe… or move… or think. No part of me seems willing to behave.
I set so many rules when it came to Trevor… and my body won’t obey a single one of them.
His thumb is now on the piercing and he takes the jeweled stud and flicks it with his index finger, causing me to shudder involuntarily. He lowers the same hand, looping a finger into my waistband, nudging me towards him… and I let him.
Subconsciously, my hands start to mirror his, my fingers drifting and settling into the toned cuts below his navel. My digits descend slowly, reaching dangerously close to the area below the water line. My fingertips skim the forbidden barrier, tempted to roam into its uncharted territory.
I let one solitary finger dip below the line… until the nearby duckling from earlier splashes into the water beside us, prompting both Trevor and I to abruptly shift our attention.
It is just what I need.
I withdraw my hands as if he were ablaze, my gaze hardening in his direction. Jeez, I am a mess around this man… and I don’t know how to stop it.
I take a deep breath before tramping away: my anger an
awkward attempt to cover up the shame beneath.
Trevor is like a fire to my senses, a veritable flame to all of my reason.
I’m an icicle turned puddle… and all I want is to be made whole again. Hard. Ice.
Anything’s better than being this bubbling, dissolving, and, inevitably, doomed disaster.
I head towards our camping gear, sloshing my way further onto the shore. I hurl the words over my shoulder at him, taking no pause in my step.
“See? This is why I’ve established boundaries, Trevor. You keep your distance… and I’ll keep mine…”
Trevor
Shit.
I’ve scared her. Badly.
I’ve obliterated almost all of the progress that we’ve made in the last twenty-four hours.
Before this kiss, I had thought of Kat as unapproachable; at the very least, she’d be considered aloof.
Now? If she touched me with a ten-foot pole, I might die of shock. Her earlier walls were merely playpen-sized to the Mount Everests that she’s now erected.
Fuck. Was what I did so wrong? Acting on the attraction that we both clearly feel? Her little sighs. Those soft moans. They weren’t imagined.
When I kissed Kat, she responded… grabbing my body and pulling me into her. Close enough to feel her breasts against me. Close enough to hear each hollow heartbeat.
She wanted the kiss as much as I did.
And now she’s withdrawn again, pulled back so far that I don’t know if I’ll ever reach her again. She’s all business-like today, discussing only the route to get closer to the national parks.
On top of that, instead of talking to me like she did before, she’s opted to write in her little blue planner, keeping her head and eyes from lifting anywhere near my direction.
I’m suddenly envious of the dusty blue notepad. What the hell is she writing in it at a time like this, anyway? That’s the second time I’ve seen her write in it since we’ve been out here in the woods: the fourth or fifth since I walked onto the ill-fated bus back in Tampa.
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