Josie Guerrero is focused on one thing: getting accepted into the prestigious art studies program within the Art School at the University of Southern Washington. With thirteen weeks to create her sophomore portfolio, she knows she can't afford any d...
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The night sky is dusted with shimmering golden stars.
I tilt my head back a little more to admire them, smiling at the feel of Micah's calloused hands sliding up my bare thighs as an icy breeze whispers across the creek. His gaze is a heavy weight, lazily skimming my thighs straddling his hips, up the too-thin fabric of my dress, lingering on the swell of my breasts, before ultimately settling on my face. My cheeks warm under his stare, and I finally drop my gaze to meet his when his fingers wrap around my wrists and gently tug me down until I can taste his spearmint breath on my lips.
"We should get out of here," he murmurs.
We should. The temperature dropped significantly when the sun set, and the goosebumps ravaging my body are only getting worse with each gust of wind. But even freezing half to death in the middle of this sleepy forest, not a single part of me wants to leave. Seven days. That's all that's standing between me and my sophomore portfolio deadline. Seven days. And somehow, being lost in the middle of this tangled forest with Micah makes that timeline feel a little less suffocating. A little less daunting.
His thumb traces one of the small patches of dried paint on the inside of my wrist, and my lips pull down at the thought of losing this. I can't. Not yet. Not when this could be the last time I'll see him before my deadline. Not when every night this week has ended with my fingers between my thighs, uselessly attempting to recreate what his felt like.
"Can we stay a little longer?" I cup his face to brush my fingers along the dark stubble on his cheek, ignoring the soft shiver that shakes my shoulders, but the second my frozen hand touches his warm skin, his eyes fly wide open. The temperature difference is so stark it seems to burn my fingers, and a gasp sounds in my throat at the hot pinpricks that shoot up my hand. Somehow, even shirtless, he's as hot as a furnace, and I'm bordering on hypothermic.
"Jesus, fuck, Jo." He sits up, keeping me straddled on his lap as he snatches the blanket beside us and wraps it around my shoulders, pulling me close to absorb his body heat. Cupping my hands between his, he brings them to his lips and blows long breaths of hot air against my icy fingers until the numbness slowly eases. My heart warms at the gesture, nearly jumping in my chest at the undeniable glint of worry flashing in his eyes. When his jaw ticks as he catches my shoulders shake with another subtle shiver, my mouth dries at the much headier energy radiating from him in waves. It's absolute as it spreads, and a calmness I've never known wraps around me like a hand finding mine in the dark. It washes over me, igniting a heat deep inside as I meet his eyes, finally putting a name to the energy — armored, protective.
And that calm, that infinite warmth flickering deep in my chest at the feeling of being here in his arms, at being cared for so tenderly, my breath catches in my throat as I name that one too — safety.
His eyes meet mine over our joined hands, sending a rush of goosebumps cascading down my arms and chest in a languid heat that finally settles between my thighs. He tracks the trail of goosebumps that tighten my nipples beneath the thin cotton of my dress, and another wave of heat ripples down my spine when his eyes darken at the sight.
