Braving the Storm (Crimson Ridge #2)

Chapter 12

I t’s extra cozy this morning.

The weight of my blanket feels like utter perfection, as if I’m safely cocooned. Warmth seeps through every part of me, radiating down to my toes.

Last night, I slept better than I have in… well… ever?

My eyes are still scratchy, and my head kinda throbs a little in a way that I’m not sure whether I should be concerned and start researching how far away the nearest medical center is, or if it’s nothing to worry about.

Honestly, one positive I can glean from recent events, is that after dropping into such a deep sleep, I feel a whole lot less like someone who is running from her past and more like a brand new woman.

Yet, when I go to adjust my weight and stretch, I realize it isn’t the heaviness of the blanket that feels so damn exquisite.

That pressure is coming from another body.

An extremely large body.

Oh my god.

My eyes pop open and that’s when it all rushes back in. Vivid technicolor replays begin sizzling through my brain of everything that happened on the kitchen counter last night .

How I practically nuzzled my uncle’s hand in desperate search of a morsel of attention.

Then, what came immediately after.

Sharing a bed.

Sharing. A. Bed.

Now? Well, now… I’ve somehow woken up tangled with his figure, spooning on this minuscule mattress, and the giant tattooed arm belonging to a man I shouldn’t be in bed with at all is draped over my waist, securing my back against his chest.

What’s worse is that my body already knows .

I have to squeeze my eyes shut and suppress a moan. Even though my brain might be lagging behind, struggling to catch up on events, my pussy is alert and awake and begging for attention. She has a megaphone in hand and zero intention of paying heed when told to politely sit down and shut up.

The intense ache between my thighs is unbearable.

As is the location of my uncle’s hand. Because I don’t want to dare lift the blanket to confirm what the lusty bitch occupying my brain has already gleefully discovered.

His forearm bands across my waist, and as I follow the sensation of every point of contact, I follow that heavy weight to where his hand rests over the top of my sleep shorts.

At first, I refuse to believe the facts as they are excruciatingly presented. The reality currently pressed hot and seductive over thin cotton.

However, a single, tiny shift of my hips confirms everything I’m unwilling to admit to myself.

The feeling of him cupping my sex, while asleep, sends sparks and shivers racing beneath my skin. Two minutes ago, I was asleep and blissfully unaware of what was happening here. Now I’m awake, and my body is already coiled tight, begging for release, all thanks to the fact he’s holding me.

I mean, he’s holding a very fucking intimate part of my body, but as far as I can tell, it isn’t a conscious decision on his part. He’s dead asleep behind me. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the reverberations of his deep breathing flow through me from my spine to my chest, and it’s hypnotic.

God, I need to move. I need to very quietly and carefully escape from this clusterfuck because my ovaries feel like they’re about to start whining out loud if this unintentional teasing continues a moment longer.

As I try to plan my extraction from beneath his impossibly strong hold on me, that’s when I feel it. There is absolutely no ignoring the sizable truth.

The impressive length of him digging into my lower back, and this time I genuinely have to bite down on my bottom lip to suppress the horny gasp that threatens to escape.

Holy shit. He’s fully hard. His hands are all over me. I’m almost panting with need and utterly confused because there is no way a man like him could be attracted to a girl like me. Even in his sleep.

This is a level ten alert. Def con one. Sound the emergency warning system. Shit is about to detonate. Every inch of my skin tingles with static and desire, and my thighs squeeze together. His fingers are right there, resting on top of the scorched material covering my pussy.

My plan yesterday had been to get on a dating app, but then, after everything that happened with those messages and my fall, I now don’t want to go near my phone. Besides, I’m sure I remember hearing something at one time about limiting screen time if you’re concussed.

Oh god, but I’m so unbelievably horny.

As I make another tiny shift, clenching and squeezing in my futile effort to ease that unbearable ache, I wince, not because of my head, but rather because that small movement just revealed the truth of exactly how slick my pussy and upper thighs are.

Well, shit. My body has been on a sexual starvation diet for so long, it only takes a second to confirm exactly how soaked I am.

Clearly, with a banged-up head and all, while I’ve been sleeping, my body has responded to his touch, and I’m left battling the urge to bite down on my pillow and scream .

I have to fight about a thousand other urges floating to the surface like champagne bubbles. Namely, ones that involve straddling my insanely hot uncle and waking him up by demanding that he fucks me so hard I see stars.

If our situation was different… would he be interested in me? If he was awake, would his body respond in this same way?

Other than mistaking me for someone else that first night, and looking out for me, there have been a few moments where I’ve been left wondering. But then he’s impossible to read. Brooding and quiet, yet charming as sin, when he fixes me with those bright blue eyes I could drown under the weight of.

God. He’s big. The size of him pressing insistently against my spine is enough to leave me breathless. And I’m so unbelievably morally fucked up because even though I should be moving away, I’m still lying here, and I’m stealing the touches and warmth of him pressed along the length of my back and ass and thighs, touching almost every part of my body with his. Stealing all of that touch, I’ve grown so desperate for over the years.

Even if he’s giving it to me unknowingly.

Nope. No. Briar, you need to get yourself out of this disaster right now. You’re tired, you’re needy, and this man has been good to you.

Don’t go spinning this into a golden thread of meaning when there is absolutely nothing to whatever has happened during the night.

He’s obviously accustomed to having women in his bed, and I’m sure that this is just reflex for him. After years of entertaining his bed buddies.

Ugh. Why does that thought—even just the droplet of an idea forming of him being with someone like that, of being with a woman—make me want to growl?

Then, a more serious thought douses cold water all over the flames that have been licking at my core beneath his hot palm.

How many women has he fucked in this very bed?

How many others have been tangled with him in these sheets, as they cry his name into the wilderness, while he fucks their brains out?

That sends a chill, trickling ice straight to my toes. Galvanizing me into action.

Fuck this. I need to get myself away from whatever devilish little twisted-up monster has taken hold of my thoughts.

Slipping out from under his arm with all the skills of a ninja, my body slides as gently as possible from the bed, and I tiptoe my way to the bathroom in the filtered gray murkiness of pre-dawn. I don’t know if I hear him stirring in the bedroom behind me, but I’ve never been more grateful for a lack of creaky floorboards or squeaking door hinges.

At least I’ve extracted myself from what could have been an extremely awkward situation. If he wakes up in bed alone with morning wood, there’s nothing unusual about that, right? Happens to guys all the time.

My fingers grip the edge of the bathroom door as I hover in a state of indecision, should I leave it open or closed? Last night, he insisted on me keeping it open while I showered, and right now, I don’t know what would be worse—leaving it open when I really, really need to take care of the situation between my thighs, or closing the door and risking that he’ll barge through like a snorting bull.

Weighing my options rapidly, I figure it is much more likely that my attempts to quietly get myself off in the shower are going to be rudely interrupted if I close this door. So I suck in a breath and step toward the shower. As I flip the water on and begin to quickly ditch the hoodie and sleep shorts I’m wearing, my mind drifts back to being in that bed and the sensation of being wrapped in those strong arms. The heat and forceful weight of him still lingers on my skin.

Surrounded by all of that sensory overload, I’ve now had a fragmented glimpse at what it must feel like to have someone love and care for you. Despite being so unfamiliar to me, is that what it’s like when a person can’t go a night without touching you ?

God. I spent too long trapped in that house, sleeping on my own.

It’s better if we have our own rooms, babe. I work late and can’t sleep unless I’ve got my own space. I know you’ll understand.

Ugh, it was such a classic line; why the hell I let myself fall for it is a nightmare I don’t intend to revisit.

Stepping into the tub beneath the stream of hot water, I can’t help myself from wondering if the man who had my body wrapped tight in his grasp this morning… was there any chance he thought about me at all through those hours of sleep. Did his subconscious know it was me , or was it another woman he dreamt of taking up that spot in his bed?

I’m so tightly wound, just the lightest, briefest brush of my fingertips over my hard nipples sends a swirl of pleasure blossoming in my core. The water drums a steady beat into the bottom of the tub, sluicing across my skin, and even though that door is wide open, even though I wish I could use my vibrator carefully hidden inside my bag, I have no other choice.

This is something my body needs. I can be quiet and quick about it. All I need to do right now is take the edge off this insanity.

Bracing one hand against the wall, I shift my weight so that one foot rests on the ledge. My fingers slide down through my slit, and the slippery wetness waiting there for me tells me everything I need to know about how desperate my body has been.

With that hand, I part my pussy lips and glide a finger over my swollen clit. Holy shit, the relief that floods through my veins is a powerful, heady feeling when I finally make contact with that part of me that has been in need of attention.

Pleasure bursts through me beneath the circling motions; it’s not going to take me long to shatter into a thousand pieces. Between the heat of the water and the desire running like liquid fire through every inch of my skin, I can feel the heat flush my cheeks and my chest, building and intensifying with each rub over the bundle of nerves.

My eyes squeeze shut as my fingers claw against the tiled wall. Everything glows and tingles, and that coil winds tighter. The same sensation as last night when I had a rugged cowboy standing between my knees. He loomed over me as I sat there unmoving, tall and imposing, like the pine trees surrounding this cabin. The press of his fingertips against my nape damn near had me whimpering, just like I’m at risk of doing right now.

I can’t make a sound… I can’t—

“Briar, are you ok in there?”

Oh, fuck. Oh, god. My fingers jerk away from my clit. Embarrassment flushes straight up my chest. He couldn’t see me, couldn’t hear anything, there was no way, surely?

“Briar?” That deep, familiar voice is closer now. Too close. He’s inside the bathroom, and I see the faint shadowy outline of his presence on the other side of this flimsy shower curtain.

“Umm. Yep. Just needed a quick shower.” I stammer out. As my hand drags up over my hip, I wince, realizing the slick trail of my arousal coating my fingers has left a residue behind.

“Are you sure you’re ok in there?”

Something akin to a strangled noise comes out of me instead of words.

That, unfortunately, draws him closer. I’m nearly convulsing with embarrassment and panic.

“Do you need some help in there, darlin’?” His voice is raspy with sleep and doing that deep, sensuous thing that tempts me to fling this curtain aside and launch at him.

“Need a hand?” He’s so close I see the shadow of his hand when he yawns and reaches up to thread roughly through his hair.

Oh my fucking god. I want to dissolve down this drain right this second.

“No—No, I’m fine.” Stammering, I can only hope to all things holy that the pounding shower spray on the base of the tub disguises my strained tone.

“You hungry?” Even over the drumming water and hammering of my pulse, a heavy rasp of sleep coats his voice, and my mind immediately wanders to illicit places. I’m making everything so goddamn sexual, and I need him to go the fuck away so I can get myself off. I need to successfully get rid of this tornado of lust flying around, trapped beneath my skin, and him standing over me in the bathroom is not helping any of this highly inappropriate confusion I’ve been experiencing.

“Thanks, some breakfast would be great.” Do I sound like I’m falling apart in here? Because I’m about one second away from combusting.

He doesn’t answer for what feels like an eternity. “Ok.” Then, his footsteps retreat.

Relief interlocks with a torrential downpour of self-judgment as my fingers seek out my clit. This time it’s desperate, hard, fast circles when I reach out for that precipice I had been so close to before.

Sparks begin to creep up from my toes. God, all I can see behind my eyelids as they fall shut again and my head drops forward is him .

I try my hardest to picture someone, anyone else. But I’m evidently a slut for the man only a few feet away.

I shouldn’t picture him like this, but he invades my lust-soaked brain.

His strong arms.

Tattoos filling my vision, when he snakes his hold around me from behind.

It’s his rough hands seeking out my breasts, my stomach. His hard planes of muscle cover my back, and that sensation of his arousal digs into my spine.

The rumbling sound of pleasure fills my ears as he feels just how slick and slippery I am. How swollen my clit is, just for him.

Deftly nudging my hand out of the way, he takes over.

Let me take care of you , darlin’ . Let me show you what you need.

Holy shit, my body ignites.

There’s a ringing in my ears, and my knees almost buckle as the wave crashes immediately. Driving fast and hard through me as soon as I picture the man who I shouldn’t be thinking about at all touching me.

With fumbling hands and my heart galloping like the wind, I turn the water off—because I’ve definitely been in this shower too long—feeling the intense sting of disappointment as silence envelops me.

The man I can’t bring myself to stop craving, who is just down the hall, is one I cannot ever have.

And more than anything, I have to admit the glaringly obvious reality.

I might have wanted him to go away before.

Yet the truth is, I wish he had joined me.