Mostly I can’t believe there’s a guy who genuinely wants to spend time with me and have a connection with me beyond one that happens when we’re naked. I know that the bar is so low for me when it comes to men, which makes me not trust my own judgment a lot of the time, but I can trust my judgment about Russ.
Russ nudges the chest with his foot, watching it move an inch. He picks it up, his biceps bulging with the weight. “I can do this alone, you don’t need to help.”
Oh, Lord. I am a weak, weak woman. “I want to.”
It isn’t far to the shed, which is less shed and more storage building and, within the minute, I’m flustered from walking behind him, watching his back muscles flex, and holding open the door for him. He drops the chest on the floor in the dark room and thankfully there’s no need for us to do anything else. I shouldn’t head in too and let the door close behind me—but I do.
There’s a light in here somewhere but I have no desire to find it, small streams of sunlight pour in from some upper windows and it’s just enough to let my hands find him.
We don’t say anything as his hands find my shoulders and mine find his waist, his move up to my neck and mine move up to link at the back of his neck. His mouth finds mine, sweet and slow, like he’s trying to memorize the moment his tongue moves against mine. Pushing my body close to him, I sink my fingers into his hair, stretching onto my tiptoes to try and be even closer.
He grips the back of my thighs, maneuvering my legs around him, sitting me on the nearest solid surface. Every touch is perfect but it’s not enough and I still want more. I feel drunk on him; drunk on lust and secrecy and the forbidden.
His mouth travels along my jaw and down my neck. “I want you so badly.”
“You can have me.”
He’s hesitating going further, rightfully so, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want him to rail me against whatever it is my ass is perched on. This is not the place I want to be found with my panties down. The kids aren’t allowed in these buildings and I watched them all head back to their cabin. Neither of us would ever risk that.
Every other member of staff is the risk.
Which annoyingly makes it like ten times hotter than it would be because we might be caught and those familiar feelings I’m used to chasing start to return. The ones that make your nerves feel like livewires and your system is flood with endorphins. It’s addictive, but it’s problematic, and even with all of the different warning sounds alarming in my head, I still want him to test the steadiness of whatever is under me.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispers.
“We definitely shouldn’t,” I whisper. “But if you happen to want to, then just know, I can be super quiet.”
Russ’s laugh is low and husky, dirtier than normal and I start to throb. That’s where I’m at—throbbing at dirty laughs. “You’re so smart,” he teases, and I swear this man is trying to end me. “But I love it when you’re loud.”
His mouth is back on mine and I use my legs to pull him closer to me, groaning when his erection presses into the apex of my thighs. I’m ready to say fuck it and get on my knees, but that’s when something falls, scaring the shit out of the both of us.
He kisses me again, slow and gentle this time, rubbing his hands up and down the back of my thighs, and then there’s definitely something moving.
“What the fuck is that?” I ask, reluctantly unhooking my legs and putting them back on the floor. He helps me down as I pat around the wall to find the light switch. Flicking it on, the whole room lights up the boxes and shelves full of equipment.
“I can’t see anything . . .” he says, as confused as I am.
“I don’t thin—” That’s when the biggest possum I’ve ever seen in my life scurries in front of me and I scream so loud, I’m surprised the building doesn’t tumble down.
Russ is convinced the universe sent a possum to stop us acting like sluts and make us get back to work.
He’s also ashamed that the school system, or my many summers at this very camp, didn’t teach me that possums aren’t dangerous. If they’re not dangerous, why do they have such pointy teeth? And no, he didn’t really use the word “sluts” but whatever he said went straight over my head because his hand was hovering on my lower back and I was still uncomfortably wet and horny.
Fucking possums.
I’m keeping myself extra busy tonight being camp counselor extraordinaire; no dance too hard, no hot chocolate too many. Anything to keep me busy and away from the hockey player who has me acting irrationally. Irrational isn’t unfamiliar to me. Irrational because of a crush has never happened before.