And then, just when Lily thought she might cry out in needy frustration, his full mouth slowly came over hers. Like a match had been dragged down the walls of her veins, a fire exploded in her blood, and she didn’t let him pull away, chasing his lips, opening to him, soft and pliant. The kiss felt nothing like last time; none of the anger and hurt, only pleasure that promised to stretch her to the breaking point. God, she’d forgotten the undiluted bliss of kissing Leo, of focusing every drop of energy on the way his lips felt, the wet slide and drag of them, the teasing licks and deep, sweet invasion of his tongue.
She couldn’t keep her hands still; there was too much to touch and feel. Everything from the shape of his mouth to the heat of his skin to his perfect, quiet sounds felt tailor-made for her. Outside there was the rush of the river, the swirl of wind through sagebrush, the insistent clicks and chirps of insects. But in here there was only breath, the sound and feel of kissing, the soft noises they couldn’t hold inside.
Maybe they would just kiss like this until morning. Maybe the sun would rise, and they’d still be here, unable to get enough of how it felt to lick and taste and suck. Lily suspected that kissing Leo could satisfy her forever, but then he made a fist in her hair, licking a hot path up her neck, and something turned over in her. Her body cautioned that without deeper relief, she might crack open and spill fire everywhere.
A warning bell rang, quaking in her arteries, pounding down every limb. Lily wanted him with a broken-glass intensity. Her hands were greedy, gliding everywhere she could reach, palms flat, fingertips a blaze of sensation. Leo’s arms tightened, pressing her flush against him, and he read her posture, rolling forward when she rolled back, and inside of the tight sleeping bag he came over her, hips shifting between her legs, arching forward when she rose, and the relief of him there, the compound bliss of his weight and the pressure of him—desperately hard, just where she needed it—made her cry out. She was nothing but hollow ache. If he reached between them and touched her, he’d know without words that there’d never been anyone that turned her on the way he did. Leo dug down, but not for that. He bunched his shirt up her body and over her head, tossing it somewhere to the side. She wanted to cry at how good he felt when he came back against her, the slide and heat and solidity of his bare chest on hers.
He pressed forward, rocking into her, and his mouth rested on hers, open and overcome, and when he quietly asked her, “Does that feel good?” she wanted to bow down in gratitude to the universe that, no matter what else happened to him when they’d been apart, these essential elements of Leo—sweet and attentive and inquisitive—hadn’t vanished.
Her brain flashed, How did we ever end? How did I not get on the first plane to New York, or demand he get on the first plane back to me? What she’d felt for Leo—what she felt for him still—was too big to name or tame, too big to shove back in a box when he went home. And if he stayed, she couldn’t even promise not to fuck it up, but it wouldn’t be because she didn’t want him.
His mouth sucked her neck, his hips shifted forward and away, grinding so good, and even through the boxers—the pair he wore, the pair of his she wore—it was enough. No, not just enough. It was perfect, he was exactly what she remembered, exactly what she’d needed. Moving together like this, Lily felt the pleasure stretching, and shoved her hands beneath the fabric of his boxers, cupping his backside, pulling and urging him harder, faster, and his mouth came to hers, open and soft and distracted. Could anything but love tear her into pieces so quickly? With a flush across her skin, pleasure seared through her, warm and metallic, flooding her vision with spots of light until she slowed to a breathless stop beneath him.
Leo stilled. “Did you?”
Nodding, she pulled him forward, urging, and Leo’s breath was hot on her chin, his sounds turned broken and tight. Lily reached up, digging her hands into his hair, dragging her teeth along his jaw, and his deep groan cut through the tent, vibrating in her bones. He jerked away, reaching between them, coming with a shaking moan.
In the deep silence that followed, her head was full of laughing gas; her heart felt like a wild creature had spawned in her chest cavity. Leo braced above her, breathless, and she ran lazy hands up his sides, counting ribs with her fingertips.
He let out a raspy laugh, lowering himself to rest on his elbows, half of his body out of the sleeping bag. “Holy shit.” He reached for his pack, digging in. Lily cleaned up with the disposable wipe he handed her while he unzipped the sleeping bag a bit, letting some cool air wash over their heated skin.