Roughing It

19. Hudson

CHAPTER NINETEEN

hudson

I stand under the soothing stream of the shower, letting it ease the ache in my arm. It doesn’t do shit for the one in my gut, though. Kirk’s call and Blakely’s reluctance to talk about it carved out an uncomfortable hollow.

But when we do talk, what can I say? Blakely, even though you frustrate me beyond belief, I could see myself falling in love with you. It’s been less than a month, but why don’t you give up your life of luxury and stay here with me in my cabin in the woods? All those things we don’t know about each other? No biggie. We’ll figure it out.

Sounds like a great conversation. One sure to go my way.

I lather her delicate, floral shampoo in my hair. It’s worth her yelling at me to have her scent on my skin. Despite my prodding, she didn’t say much after we returned to the cabin, just showered and ate before curling up in the recliner near the fire. She’s upset, but I can’t tell if it’s with me or for me.

The whole arrow debacle was my fault. I swear, she short-circuits my brain. I’m making rookie mistakes left and right. Still, I’ll spend the rest of my life as the village idiot if it means she’ll stay.

Can I see a future with Blakely? Fuck yes, I can. The two of us sitting on the swing, looking out over our land every night for the next fifty years. Making love, fucking, teasing, sparring. Babies. Grandbabies.

My stomach churns. It’s a pipe dream. The doomsday clock started ticking the moment I met her, and it won’t stop until this thing we’re building is left in tatters. Despite knowing that, I don’t have it in me to regret a second of my time with her.

She came into my life like a goddamn wrecking ball—a sassy, bratty, beautiful force of nature. How the fuck do I go back to being alone, working day in, day out, living for everyone but myself?

Sighing, I turn off the water, grab the towel I set nearby, and open the shower curtain.

And holy shit. All my worries about what comes on day thirty-one fly from my mind. Because standing before me is my Spitfire, clad in a white lacy bra, stockings, and a matching pair of cheeky panties. My cock rises to half-mast at the sight.

With a saucy smile, she straightens the tiny paper nurse’s hat pinned to her hair. “Nurse Blakely reporting for duty.”

“Where’d you get that?” I ask, eyeing the red cross she’s drawn in Sharpie.

She clears her throat and taps her foot. “I said, Nurse Blakely reporting for duty, Mr. Brooks.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Mr. Brooks?”

“Yes, I’m your personal nurse during your stay here at Hidden Pines Hospital. The first thing we have to do is get you in bed.”

Blakely grabs my hand and tugs me forward. I follow her, curious how far she’s planning on taking her little role-play game. She stops at the head of the bed and bends over, making a show of fluffing my pillows and pulling the covers back. Then, she unwraps the towel from my waist, pats the mattress, and gestures for me to lie down.

I do as she directs. “What next?”

“I have to bandage the wound.” She grabs a shiny pink bandaid from the bedside table and carefully places it on my arm. “How’s that feel, Mr. Brooks?”

“It feels like a bandaid.”

Her eyes narrow into thin slits. “I was planning on checking your muscle control by having you,” she pauses and leans forward, using her elbows to push up her beautiful tits, “squeeze a few things. But if you aren’t taking your treatment seriously…”

Well, shit. Half-mast just became fully raised.

Stifling my laughter, I eye the bounty of cleavage just out of my reach. “No. I am. I am.” If my baby wants to play, then I’m gonna fucking play.

She nuzzles her tits against my lips, and I close my eyes, the silky press of the lace cool against my skin. After a few more teasing brushes, she pulls away.

“Hmm, I think you’re ready for stage two of your treatment plan.” She kisses my forehead and, with a hip-swaying sashay, makes her way through the cabin to her disaster zone. I watch her dig through one of her suitcases until she finds a small black drawstring bag.

In a flash, she’s at the bedside with a bottle of clear liquid and a slim, purple vibrator in hand.

“This is exactly what you need to take your mind off your injury and get you back on your feet, you poor sweet man.”

“Yes. I’m horribly injured. Please treat me, Nurse Blakely.” I say, voice deadpan .

She twists my nipple before handing me the toy and dripping lube onto it. “Make sure you cover it completely.”

“Where’s this going, baby?”

“It’s Nurse. And you’ll see.” Blakely’s eyes lock on mine as she slowly peels off her white lace panties. Placing one foot on the bed, she takes the bottle, adds a drop to her index and middle fingers, and reaches between her legs before spreading her pink lips. She gives me an impish smile, and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Go ahead. Slip it in.”

I take a moment to appreciate the splendor before me. Her cunt quivers from the weight of my eyes.

“Go on,” she whispers. “Have to check your depth perception.”

I work the toy in and out of her pussy until it’s nestled inside her. She lowers her leg and shifts her hips as if adjusting the vibrator. Fuck, she’s so hot.

Her voice is breathy. “Now, I’m giving you the remote. We must ensure you have full function in your fingers, so I’ll need you to press those buttons.”

This wonderfully wicked woman. I’d let her shoot me with ten more arrows if this is what it leads to.

Eyeing the remote in my hand, I press one button. A faint buzzing fills the air, and Blakely’s corresponding gasp and wriggle bring a smile to my lips.

She kisses the bridge of my nose, grabs the bottle, and climbs onto the bed, arranging herself in my lap. I capture her lips with mine and press a random button on the remote, loving it when she twitches. Her soft lips graze over my bearded jaw, my lips, and neck. She kisses and licks her way down my chest.

The lower she gets, the higher I turn up the vibrations on the toy. Her wiggles and moans are my rewards.

She widens my legs, nipping the soft skin, then positions herself so her pussy is right above my thigh. I give the remote another push.

Blakely whines, her head falling, squirming at the new pattern pulsing inside her. “It seems your cognitive functions are at the appropriate levels.”

Sassy little shit.

“Now it’s time to test your reaction response rate.”

She steals the air from my lungs when she envelopes the length of my cock in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the base, coating it in her spit. Her sultry gaze fastens on mine as she bobs her head up and down. Then she pulls off, undoes her bra, rubs lube over her chest, and my mind explodes.

If I wasn’t already in this woman’s thrall, I am now. She plumps her full tits together and nestles my cock there. I watch, jaw dropped like I’m trying to catch flies, as my cock disappears into the snug, slippery warmth of her cleavage. Each time the head appears, she darts her tongue out to lap at it.

Blakely Bradshaw is a motherfucking vision. Her ocean eyes hold mine, the little paper hat now askew on her head. I hit another button on the remote, and my smirk turns into a growl when she grinds her hot pussy against my leg.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous with my cock sliding in between those perfect titties.”

Two more firm strokes, then she shifts and lowers her mouth to take me deep. The sounds of her mouth working me mixes with the quiet buzzing of the toy, her mewls, and my groans.

“Rub your pussy on me until you come while you choke on my cock.”

Like the good girl she sometimes is, she rides my leg until she falls over the edge, sucking me deeper when she gasps as she comes. This is some sort of divine torture .

With a strangled grunt, I say, “Enough, Blakely.”

Dropping me with a pop, she looks up. Face flushed, lips puffy. “You can finish in my mouth. Or on my tits. Or anywhere else you want.”

“Goddamn, baby. Get up here, so I can taste you.”

She climbs up my body before turning her back to me, her hips at eye level.

“Fuck yeah, I can work with this.” I reach out and palm her ass, squeezing a cheek.

“Maybe you should test your other reflexes.”

I flex my fingers and give her ass a swat. But as I reach between her legs to tug the toy from her pussy, she passes the bottle of lube to me.

“How else might you test your dexterity, Mr. Brooks?”

Her warm tongue twirls around the crown of my cock and laps at the slit. I can’t wrap my head around Blakely’s words. Is she saying what I think she is?

“To be clear, baby, you want me to—” When she grazes her teeth down my shaft, I lose my words and hiss as I will myself not to fuck her face.

“Test your abilities. Show me you have mastery over your fingers and mouth. But don’t take the toy out.” She grins at me over her shoulder, and I swear I half-come just from the desire on her face.

To keep from spilling too soon, I focus on her. I jerk her hips, drawing her closer to my face. Then I spread her open and explore, kissing and licking the outer rim of her tight pucker, all but losing my goddamn mind at the feral sounds she makes. I wrap my arms around her lower back, keeping her from wriggling out of reach, and redouble my efforts, wanting to send her crashing into pleasure like a star falling from the sky.

It’s a downright intimate and vulnerable thing to trust a partner with every part of your body, and Blakely is giving it all to me.

“Fuck!” she cries, her head coming up from my lap at the sensation of my tongue teasing and swirling between her cheeks.

“You like that, Spitfire? Like my tongue and mouth on your pretty little asshole?”

“Oh god… it’s Nurse,” she whimpers before dropping her head and taking my cock into her hot mouth.

Fingers dig into my thighs, and I’ll wear those crescent moon marks with pride. I’m doing this to her. I’m wrecking her.

Releasing her from the bear hug I have on her hips, I coat my middle and ring fingers in lube and trace them around her asshole. Blakely’s entire body flushes a beautiful shade of pink as I press the pad of my middle finger into her tight hole. “Relax, baby. Breathe.”

She giggles around my cock before raising her head. “The last time you told me to relax and breathe, I shot you with an arrow.”

My barked laugh echoes in the cabin. Her mouth is going to be my undoing for so many reasons. Refocusing, I slip my finger past the first ring of muscle, my other hand caressing the twin dimples on her lower back. One finger in, I use my thumb to add pressure on her clit, rubbing small circles. Then I press in my ring finger, stretching her slightly as I slowly pump in and out.

We lose ourselves in satisfying the other. Blakely licking and sucking my cock, caressing my balls. Meanwhile, I work her clit; the vibrator rumbles inside her, and my fingers and tongue explore her ass. The only sounds are our collective moans. The only goal, pleasure .

Together, we fall apart. Together, we meld into something new.

Blakely collapses on me—her skin, slick and sticky with sweat, glistens. I shush her when she whimpers as I ease the toy out of her, mindful of her oversensitive pussy.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby.” At my core, I’m a caretaker. My brothers. The business. And now Blakely.

I bundle my precious cargo into my arms and run a bath. When the water’s just right, I set her in the tub. While she soaks, I wash my face and hands and brush my teeth. Then I swap out the sheets, making sure everything is ready for us to crawl into bed.

Post bath, Blakely all but floats to the mattress, sleep creeping into her eyes the moment her head touches the pillow. In the dark of the cabin, she lies in my arms, her supple body melting into mine while I play with her hair.

“Hudson?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I shot you.”

“I’m not.”

She snort-laughs before burying her face in my side.

God, I’m so fucking gone for this woman.

DAY EIGHTEEN

Blakely’s snores fill the otherwise silent cabin. I hug her sleeping form, and she curls into my body, tucking her face against my chest without waking.

The past few days have been taxing. Between the lake incident, as Blakely refers to it, the post blowing up online, and the exertion of shooting, we’re both exhausted. We crashed right after our playtime last night, and neither of us stirred.

Every night Blakely goes without a nightmare about falling into the water—she refuses to say she almost drowned, stubborn little shit—the better I feel about things. I’ve kept a close eye on her, but she’s masking a lot with the heat between us.

Fuck. I am, too.

Ever since our conversation about my family and her questions about what I thought my life would be, I’ve been wondering. Am I pushing so hard at Peak Adventures because I want it or because of expectations?

I absentmindedly curl my fingers in her hair. I appreciate her perspective, but I don’t agree with her. Dad’s methods were hard-assed, but for better or worse, they forged me into the man I am today. I wouldn’t be the guide, the brother, the man I am without my experiences.

Plus, I love my job. Parts of it, anyway. Bookkeeping and spreadsheets and all that bullshit can fuck off. But doing this, what I’ve been doing with Blakely, that part fuels me. Teaching her basics, showing her how to forage, watching her hit the target—those things give me purpose.

I can’t see doing anything else with my life, but the idea of a Blakely-shaped hole in it makes me wonder if I could be happy in a city like Austin.

My lip curls at the thought. All those people. All that noise. No peace. No stars. No thanks.

And what would I do? My skills are fucking niche. I could lead guided hunts, but it wouldn’t be the same as working at Peak Adventures with my brothers.

How long before my bitterness over being trapped in a smoggy, loud urban sprawl with a bunch of city types snips the threads Blakely and I twined together?

No, I belong in Trail Creek, and something deep inside me says Blakely does, too.

But it’s time I live beyond being my brothers’ keepers or the steward of my parents’ business. And fuck do I wish it could start with keeping this woman here with me.

It’s later than I ever stay in bed, but I don’t wake Blakely. Instead, I focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her legs tangle with mine, how her small fists clench the sheets, the tickle of her breath against my skin. I’ve spent the last six years in an empty bed. When I date, it’s never like this. There’s no sharing a bed for more than a night. How quickly this has become my new normal.

I groan before returning my attention to her, smelling her hair and running my palm over the small of her back in tender strokes. She stirs in my arms, and my fingers travel lower, grazing against the swell of her ass, before drifting to rest on her hip. Her skin is so smooth, so touchable. I love the contrast of it to the rough calluses of my hands.

“Morning,” she yawns, stretching her limbs. I follow her movements, appreciating the arch of her spine and the sigh she makes as her muscles pull taut. She holds the stretch longer than needed, lifting her chest higher into the air and letting out a soft moan. Unable to resist the sight before me, I pounce, securing her body beneath mine.

“Mornin’.” I pepper kisses over her collarbone. “Sleep alright?”

“I did. What time is it?”

“Eight forty-five.”

“Did I ruin your plans for the day? I must’ve been sleepier than I thought,” she asks, combing her fingers through my bed head.

“Nope.”

Blakely pushes at my chest, so I roll over, giving her breathing room. But not too much. I can’t physically bear not to touch her. I casually drag one hand over her exposed stomach before settling it on her ribcage. The lazy circles I draw on her skin raise goosebumps, and she squirms closer.

“So—” There’s a halting croak in her voice as she speaks. “You said Trail Creek is small?”

“Yep.”

“Are the people nice?” she asks, nibbling her lip.

I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to puzzle out what’s going on in her head. There’s a soft blush on her cheeks and visible tension in her brow.

“Yeah, I mean, there are assholes like anywhere—Jacob Ashford springs to mind; that guy’s a massive tool—but for the most part, it’s a friendly town. Why?”

Her noncommittal hum and shrug won’t work.

“Blakely, what’s going on?” My eyes narrow. There’s more to her question than she’s letting on.

With a sigh, she says, “I grew up in a town the same size as Trail Creek. And honestly? It was awful. People gossiped and knew all my business, but when I needed them…”

“Hey, finish that thought.” I brush my lips against her temple.

She stiffens like she’s preparing for a blow. What the fuck is she about to tell me?

“I’ve never told anyone the whole story. Not even Kirk. He knows the gist, but that’s all.”

I save her lip from being gnawed by her teeth. “Go on, baby.”

“People knew I didn’t have enough food or clean clothes. They knew my mom disappeared for days at a time, leaving me on my own. Knew the men she brought around were scumbags. And no one did anything. Except judge me.”

Anger bubbles in my gut. What is wrong with people? She admitted she grew up poor and didn’t have a relationship with her parents, but shit. This is straight-up neglect .

Tears well in her eyes, turning them the color of the ocean after a storm. “I told you I left home at seventeen because of a fallout with my mom?”

“Yeah.”

“It was April of my senior year. I was getting ready for school one morning. Mom was on day three of a bender, but her current live-in, Wayne, was home.”

My instincts drive me, and suddenly, Blakely is in my lap, her head pressed to my chest. If it’s something universe-shattering, I need my hands on her. Need to keep her safe.

“He tried to kiss me. Thankfully, it wasn’t more than that.”

I exhale.

“But it was enough. I kneed him in the balls, ran out of the trailer straight to school, and told the counselor what happened.”

A surge of pride prickles in my chest. “Good for you.”

She presses her nose to my neck and breathes me in. If it comforts her, she can stay this way forever.

With a humorless laugh, she says, “Instead of helping me or calling the cops or anything, she said it was my fault for walking around in such distracting clothes. You know, Bible Belt, sins of the flesh bullshit.”

“What the fuck?”

“By the time I got home from school, the rumor mill was already abuzz and everything I owned was in my car. I tried to talk to my mom, but the trailer door was locked. I sat on the rotted, sagging porch steps—the same ones I’d spent so many nights on, wishing on stars—listening to my mom yell at me through the thin walls. Wayne told her I attacked him, and when I tried to explain what happened, she accused me of being jealous and trying to steal him from her.”

The urge to smash something rides me hard. The wood pile will be replenished by the end of the day. That much is sure.

“I tried to find somewhere to stay, but it wasn’t like I had many friends. Thanks to the counselor, Wayne, and my mom, it was already all over town that I’d tried to kiss my mom’s boyfriend, gotten mad when he turned me down, and hurt him in retaliation. I left that night. Drove for hours, anything to get out of west Texas and away from Hawthorne.”

“You were seventeen. No one came looking for you?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t have a cell phone or a bank account. My whole existence could fit in the backseat of a used Chevy Metro.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Austin.” A grin tugs at her lips. “Everyone in Hawthorne used to talk about Austin like it was this den of depravity, so I hightailed it there. The bright lights and endless city sounds were so different. I loved it. I mean, I hated it too, but at that point, it seemed about as far away from Hawthorne as I could get.”

I shelter her in the warmth of my larger body. “What happened when you got there?”

“I got lucky. I’d been sleeping in my car. Shit, Hudson, you’re crushing me.”

It doesn’t register that I’m squeezing her. But the thought of teenage Blakely alone in Austin, sleeping in her fucking car? A growl thunders in my throat.

Her lips brush against mine, and I let her soothe me because I’m a selfish bastard. It should be me comforting her. She’s so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for. She should’ve punched me in the mouth the first time I called her a princess.

“You done squishing me, Bear?” At my sheepish nod, her dainty fingers smooth the wrinkles from my brow. “An older couple who owned a small brunch place gave me a job waiting tables and washing dishes. The unspoken agreement was I could sleep in the backroom. Before it was a restaurant, it was a home, and they left the shower untouched during the remodel, so like I said, lucky.”

I swallow. She’s being so open. With her body last night and with her heart and memories now.

“Sylvie and Buster, the couple who owned The SweetStack, helped me get an apartment once I’d saved up some money. Eventually, I had enough to take some adult learning classes. Turns out I have a knack for graphic and web design. I ended up staying on at The SweetStack until I’d build up a steady client base.”

She sighs. “I way overshared, didn’t I?”

“Nope. I love hearing all about you.” Frowning, I say, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I have some… hangups with small towns.”

Under-fucking-standably. “I can’t speak for everyone, but most folks in Trail Creek are decent. They’d never stand by and let something like that happen. And even if they did, I sure as shit wouldn’t.”

Blakely’s petal-soft lips skim against the pulse point in my neck, but she doesn’t say anything.

“How about we go into town tomorrow? Let you check it out for yourself.” This might backfire, but we have twelve days, and I plan to enjoy every minute. The guaranteed time promised to me. If taking her to Trail Creek—a factor I didn’t know I was contending with—increases her chances of staying longer, who am I to complain?

“I’m not sure. I’m supposed to stay out here in the wilderness.” She weakly gestures around us.

“Kirk’s on vacation. And besides, you’re a grown-ass woman. You’ve shown me more than once you do what you want.”

This earns me a smile. A small one that barely curves her lips, but it still has me staring at her like a moonstruck moron. Her lips meet mine in a fleeting kiss. I grunt, partly at the sneak attack and partly at how quickly she ends it.

“And today?” she asks.

Grinning, I say, “Today feels like a hot spring day.”

“No knots or navigating?”

“Nope, just relaxing.” I scrape my teeth over the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, then gently suck. She moans and tilts her head, giving me the access I crave. “No phones. No worries.”

Blakely softens at my touch. “You forgot one thing,” she whispers against my lips. “No swimsuits.”