Roughing It

25. Hudson

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

hudson

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

Camping is a part of who I am. Every key memory from my childhood is camping-related, and as I’m learning, those experiences color who I am as an adult more than I thought.

But camping with Blakely? That’s a trial in motherfucking patience. Bo had more camping common sense at seven than she does in her thirties. It’s not for lack of trying, though. She’s come a long way over the last twenty-seven days and is doing her best, but damn, her skills are rough.

After she recovered from being fucked into oblivion—and a tree—I tasked her with setting up our tent for the night. She’s been practicing knots for close to a month, but the entire thing looked like shoelaces. Bunny ears and wide floppy loops. She was supposed to secure downed branches to help build a windbreak but ended up with loosely tied fire kindling and a lean-to instead of a sturdy shelter.

It took me half an hour to undo her work and another one to set the campsite up correctly.

I’m gonna have to show her more about knots in a hands-on way. Make her appreciate their beauty. My dick jumps at the idea of Blakely bound in rope, intricate knots biting into her skin. Her hands bound to my headboard or behind her back.

Fuck. Now that would be a sight.

The crackle of the fire and Blakely’s off-key singing shake me out of my fantasy. I watch, a smirk on my face, as she slides a marshmallow onto a skewer and holds it over the fire.

Knowing what’s coming, I pierce multiple marshmallows onto my stick.

“You’re gonna burn it.”

“There’s no right or wrong way to toast a marshmallow,” she huffs.

“Considering yours is melting into the fire, I’m gonna have to disagree.”

She pulls her skewer from the flames, frowning at the charred ruins. The glassy sheen of tears has me on high alert.

“I can’t even toast a marshmallow. How am I so bad at everything?”

My stomach rolls, guilt churning, since I thought the same thing. Shit, I’m an asshole. And I can’t handle it when my girl cries. “You built the fire tonight.”

“I can do one whole thing off your mile-long survival skill list. Hurray, me.”

“Building the fire means you also figured out how to create potable water.”

A small smile pulls at her mouth. “That’s true. I did.”

Giving her a soft kiss, I say, “And you proved mastery of first aid a while ago.”

Her laugh relaxes the pangs in my stomach. She scoots her camp chair closer to mine while burning more marshmallows beyond edible. She’s happy, so I don’t mention the other skills—like navigation.

Motherfucking navigation. I lost her for over two hours today when I sent her on a fifteen-minute circular path alone.

And after the elderberry incident, I didn’t ask her to forage.

Overall, if I rate my city girl on her skills, she’s getting a D-minus. And yeah, I’m curving up for sleeping with the teacher.

Blakely eyes my toasted marshmallows, pouting. Heaven fucking help me, it’s so damn cute. Her plump bottom lip juts out, begging me to nip it. So, like a chump, I trade my skewer for her lump of charcoal.

“I’ll share, Bear.” She takes a bite and offers me a nibble from between her lips.

I take her up on it, my teeth grazing her lips as I pull away. When she extends a sticky hand, I lick the sugary remains from the pad of her thumb, biting hard enough to make her shudder.

She snags my lips in a deep kiss, dropping the skewer to the ground. Who the fuck needs marshmallows, anyway?

The idiot inside me wants to tell her she could eventually be an outdoor expert, and we could have two thousand nights of campfires and marshmallows. All she has to do is stay. Instead, I guide her into my lap and tilt her head. My hands brush over her face as I gaze at her. Slowly, I lower my mouth to hers, lips barely touching, a glancing caress. Then another. Tender, chaste, but longer than the first. I hold my mouth a hair’s breadth above hers, breathing in her air, not ready to let go of this moment, of her. “Spitfire, I…”

The crash of thunder jolts us. One drop of rain. Then a second and third.

Frowning, I glance up. Heavy, rain-laden clouds hide the stars that were peaking through the branches.

November weather is usually calmer than this. Typically storms peter out around August, but our fucking luck. Tugging Blakely to her feet, I say, “Get in the tent.”

The wind picks up, whipping around us. Before she moves, the sky bursts open, rain pelting down like tiny bullets. Shit.

“Blakely! The tent!” My bark is louder than the scream of the storm.

With wide eyes, Blakely shakes her head. “I can help!”

My protective side demands she go inside, but she’s a stubborn shit. So I point to the chairs. “Collapse those and rake the coals.” She nods and gets to work despite the water dousing her.

While she does that, I check the latches. I’m not upset about redoing those knots now. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to our shelter during a storm. Once I’m sure we’re tethered, I crawl in and join her.

“What a way to end the evening!” Blakely laughs as she unzips her jacket and yanks off her rain-soaked boots.

“We’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I go through my mental checklist: the tent lines are secure, the windbreak is tight, and the waterproof tarp is double-knotted.

“Of course you won’t.” She says it like it’s as obvious as water being wet.

Damn, if her certainty in me doesn’t make me feel like more. Taller. Bigger. Smarter. I’m Superman.

A brilliant flash of lightning illuminates her face, and while she’s shivering, her cheeks are rosy from running around, and her hair hangs in riotous waves around her head. Fucking gorgeous . A man possessed, I move forward and pull her flush against my body before claiming her mouth.

My tongue delves between her lips, a hint of fruit, wine, and sugar lingering there. Her flavor overwhelms me, and when she curls her body against mine, deepening the kiss, I shift so my knee goes between her thighs. Blakely rocks against me, her desire as evident as mine. We trip over the edge of another rule I broke for her—an air mattress.

She goes to lie down, but I grab her. “Nope. Not yet. You didn’t listen to me out there.”

Her chin lifts, and her shoulders go back. “You needed my help.”

I bite my lower lip. “Sure did. But now I need you to listen.”

Pulling her in, my hands grip her hips, and I kiss the spot beneath her ear. “We’re about to put this mattress to use, baby. Fucked you against a tree yesterday, gonna fuck you in the rain tonight.” She squirms, clenching her thighs, and I chuckle. “But only if you can be a good girl and listen.”

“Tell me what you want me to do, Bear.” That fucking nickname. I love the way it sounds on her lips.

I slip off my wet clothes, leaving them in a messy pile at the mouth of the tent. Then I sink onto the air mattress, stroking myself. “Undress for me.”

Blakely locks her eyes on mine as she peels off her clothes. She stands before me, clad in a pair of pale blue panties and a matching lace-covered bra. An ugly voice dredges up resentment. She has twenty-plus sets of matching underwear. She doesn’t belong out here with me.

Growling to drown out the rain and my inner critic, I say, “Keep going. All of it.”

Reaching behind her back, she unclasps the hooks on her bra and flings it away from her body, letting her full breasts spill into the open air. Then she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, inching them down her legs.

“Now that you have me bare, Bear, what do you want? Tell me.” It’s my own private show, Blakely’s beautiful body highlighted by the dim glow of the lantern and the occasional flashes of lightning.

My voice comes out husky. “Put your fingers in your mouth, get them nice and wet, then use them to touch those gorgeous tits.”

“Touch them? Like this?” She sweeps her slim fingers over her pink nipples, all the blood in my body speeding south when they stiffen into peaks.

“Tug them. Twist them.” She loves the pain-pleasure line, and, again, she does as I ask, tugging and pinching the supple skin and sensitive tips of her breasts, a whimper slipping from her mouth. Can’t believe this woman is with me.

A sudden crack and thunderous boom shake the tent, but Mother Nature won’t drown me out. Louder, I give another command. “Move your hands lower. Glide them down your stomach, across your hips, in between your thighs, but don’t touch yourself. Not yet.”

As her hands move, so do mine. My speed matches hers, smooth slide for firm stroke.

“Slip two of your fingers inside your perfect pussy. Tell me how it feels.”

Blakely parts her curls before pushing her index and middle fingers inside. Her head falls back, and a wanton noise fills the tent as she dips in and out of her cunt. “It feels good, but not as good as you.”

I palm my cock. “Are you wet, Blakely? Tell me.”

“Yes, I’m dripping. But I wish it was your thick fingers inside me.”

“Are you close to coming?”

“Yes, I’m getting cl-close. You w-watching…”

“Stop,” I breathe the word, barely audible over the pouring rain, but she complies with a whine. “Good girl.”

Surges of lightning illuminate her flushed skin, her peaked nipples, the glisten between her legs. Need overpowers my intent to drag this out, and I crook my finger, beckoning her to me.

The air mattress isn’t ideal for what I want to do, but there’s no way I can stop. Blakely crawls to me, and fuck if the sight doesn’t have precum leaking from my dick. When she gets to me, sitting her wet pussy on my abs, I demand, “Feed me your fingers.”

Her pupils blow out, eating up the blue-green iris. Hand shaking, she offers it to me, and I lick her fingers clean, just like I did with the marshmallow earlier.

Rolling, I pin her beneath me and then move back, settling on my knees. “Put your legs on my shoulders.” She follows my order without delay—little shit. Only listens when she wants to.

I spread her legs on either side of my head, knees hooked around my neck. Wresting her hips upward, I lift her lower lips to my mouth, relishing her, lapping and laving her cunt, my tongue delving into her before flicking over her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Goddamn, your pussy is heaven.” I release her clit and murmur, “Let me touch you. Give you what you need.”

“P-put your fingers in me. I w-want them.” I slip two fingers into her cunt and pump my hand. She twitches against my mouth and hand and moans. “More.”

“Come on my tongue. You’re close. Don’t fight it.” Two fingers become three, and Blakely arches with a choked sob.

Her orgasm explodes on my tongue as another crash of thunder shakes our small tent. I lick, suck, kiss—a man bewitched by this city siren who blew into my life like the storm raging outside—desperate to gather every drop of her release. I never stop stroking her, curling my fingers, prolonging her orgasm, keeping her quivering in my arms.

When she melts into a boneless puddle, I lower her legs and chastely kiss her stomach. “Get on your hands and knees.”

She looks at me through heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes and clamors to her knees, bouncing on the springy air mattress.

“Need help?” A glare is her reply, and I smirk and hold my hands up in apology.

Finding her balance, she tosses her hair and, grinning over her shoulder, says, “Don’t make me wait.”

I lay over her back and nibble her ear before kissing the tops of her shoulders and back. Then I line my cock up with her gorgeous pussy and thrust. I sink deep, my body flush against hers.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and warm, always ready for me.”

“More, Hudson, please.”

I groan, her heavy pants and purrs for me to take her harder threaten to dissolve my control. Gritting my teeth, I pump my hips, driving deeper. She matches the punishing pace I set, pushing back against me time and time again.

My teeth nip her ears, jaw, neck, shoulders, anywhere I can reach. Blakely claws at the mattress, at the canvas walls, searching for purchase, but the tent can’t give her the support she needs. So, I cradle her back to my chest and wrap my fingers around her throat, applying light pressure. My other arm snakes down her body, my thumb rubbing her clit as I pound into her.

Every flash of lightning, every roll of thunder is matched by a stroke, a touch, a kiss, a bite.

“You look so pretty with my hand around your neck, moaning for me. Give me all those noises. You love the way I fuck you.”

A desperate keen falls from her lips, followed by a cry of my name. “Hudson! I’m so close. I n-need… ”

Everything about this woman is fucking perfect. “What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Deeper, h-harder.”

Her pulse flutters under my palm as I give her throat one last squeeze before guiding her cheek to the bed. Snagging a pillow, I slip it under her so she’ll have extra friction and plant one foot on the ground. With her ass higher and positioned for better leverage, I fuck her like tomorrow may never come. I clutch her hips, my fingertips digging into her flesh, holding her as if I can keep her from leaving me.

My balls tingle, and warmth spreads through me. Another couple of?—

Pop!

We freeze. Before giggles—hers—and groans—mine—fill the air. “Not stopping. Too close.” The mattress deflates beneath us, but it does nothing to stop me in my pursuit of pleasing her. “Need your pussy to strangle my cock and drain it dry.”

I deliver a sharp slap to her ass, loving the pink blossoming there. She clenches around me, so fucking tight.

“Fuck that pillow, baby. Rub your sweet little clit against it.”

Blakely humps the pillow, hungry mewls and desperate whimpers spurring me on—faster, harder. Her walls clasp around me, that familiar, exquisite tightening. We’re both so close.

“Come for me, now.” I punctuate my command with two more quick spankings.

The sounds of her pleasure drown out the rumbling thunder and bring me over the edge with her, and I fill her. Every nerve in my body sings her praises. Every bit of me lives for her.

Blakely collapses beneath me, my softening cock slipping out of her as the lower half of her body sinks into the ruined mattress. She’s a glorious mess, her breathing ragged.

I roll us, cradling Blakely to my body. I’ll be damned if she’s sleeping on the fucking ground. My fingers walk up and down her spine, and my lips kiss her damp skin. The salty-sweet taste tingles on my lips. “You okay?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Need to clean you up.”

“Too sleepy.” Her voice is thick with contentment, and she snuggles into my arms.

I shift her, ignoring her little protest. Digging through our bags, I find the package of wipes and use one to clean the mess between her legs. I’d rather push it all back in…

Minutes later, Blakely’s soft breath brushes against my bare chest. Masculine pride roars through me. I fucked my girl into oblivion. Brushing the hair from her face, I fist my cock, adjusting us so I can slip back inside her, not ready to lose the heat of her pussy. The feel of her around me.

I’m an idiot, but I’m not stupid, and I’m going to drink my fill of her while I can.

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT

The ambient sounds of wildlife moving in the dark stir me from sleep. My movement wakes Blakely, so I stroke her back, kiss the top of her head, and pull a sex-strewn blanket over us. My only goal is making her as comfortable as possible.

My dick twitches where it’s buried inside her. She’s wearing me like a glove, and it’s goddamn exquisite.

“Shh, baby. It’s early. Go back to sleep.”

“Bear?”

“Yeah, Spitfire?”

“I love camping with you.” She buries her face in my neck, her eyelashes fluttering against my skin.

Something warm swells in my chest, radiating outward like the glow of the sun. I pull her closer. “I love camping with you, too. Even if you’re terrible at it.” Slim fingers pinch my nipple.

“Rude.”

Hours later, I wake to soft puffs of air against my chest, soft hair tickling my nose, soft curves under my hand, and the hard ache of the ground against my back.

I ease out of her, the desire to rub one out and mark her with my cum only outweighed by the need to take care of her. So I pile the blankets around her so she’s safely nestled. A pouty frown clouds her face—a brat even in her sleep.

My brat.

“You’ll be fine without me, baby,” I whisper to her sleeping form. With the words comes a stirring of something ugly inside me. I don’t want her to be fine without me.

Shit. I tug on my jeans and throw my flannel over my chest, not bothering to button it. Yanking my boots on, I crawl out of the tent, in need of a stretch and a piss.

The campsite fared better than I expected. Downed branches lay near the tent, but we didn’t lose anything. I get to work, doing what I can to find tinder. I rake the coals, moving the dryer ones to the top, and once the fire is going, I set about prepping breakfast.

Two days. She’s leaving me in two days. Even though we both know Trail Creek, being away from that influencer bullshit, is better for her. While I don’t agree with her choices, I have grown to understand them. There’s a reason for the persona, for the mask, but goddamn, she’s so much more without it .

The weight of it looms, heavy, hanging over me. I just met her, and now the universe is ripping her away.

The loud zip of the tent precedes Blakely’s stumbling footsteps. She ambles towards the trees to take care of business before joining me by the fire. While she uses some of the water I boiled to rinse her hands and brush her teeth, I study her.

Her mussed hair, sleepy eyes, and, best of all, the large hickey on her collar. Mine. The possessive roar reverberates through me.

“Did you make this?” Her eyebrows rise as she takes in the fresh coffee and frittata.

I grunt, letting her know I cooked it all. Who else would’ve?

“You’re such a fucking catch, Hudson Brooks.” She stretches on her tiptoes and kisses me. As my tongue seeks hers, she pulls away and plops onto one of the camping chairs. “So, are you making a plate for me, or is this a self-serve situation?”

I let out a rough laugh. So goddamn sassy. If she were standing, I’d swat her ass. But like the whipped fool I am, I divvy up a slice of the eggy casserole and drop it on her lap. This pain in the ass, this thorn in my side, is the best thing to ever happen to me.

And then I fuck it all up by saying, “Stay.”