Page 20 of Stuck with Me

After I unlock the door and set inside what survived the failedone-and-done trip, I return to the scene of the accident. A few jars of salsa, a couple cans of beans, and a jar of nacho cheese lie scattered in the snow. Thankfully the cooler didn’t open.

By the time I gather it all and bring it into the cabin, I’m shivering. Being inside doesn’t help. The only source of heat in the cabin is the wood stove, and since I haven’t had a chance to get it going, there’s a bite in the air.

Fuck this.

It’s not hard to decide to ditch the groceries to put away later and take a hot bath. I’ll never warm up if I start out this cold. And the old clawfoot tub in the bathroom is one of my favorite things about the cabin.

I kick my snow-covered boots off and abandon them on the rug by the wood stove. As I shuffle down the hallway in my fuzzy socks, I gather the hem of my sweater and pull it up and over my head. The bathtub is exactly how I left it, clean and with my favorite bottle of bubble bath sitting on the ledge.

While I wait for the tub to fill, I peel my wet jeans off and discard them onto the tile floor. My socks come off next, one by one. I reach around my back and unclasp my bra, freeing the girls before tossing the lacey bra onto the pile. Shimmying my matching undies down my hips and legs, I kick them off, flinging them farther than the rest of my clothes.

My teeth chatter while I wave my hand under the running water to ensure it’s still hot. The last thing I can handle tonight is running out of hot water. I’m growing impatient while I wait for the tub to fill, and my body continues to shiver.

Picking up the book of matches, I light a few candles in the bathroom while my icy fingers tremble. I can hardly stand waiting any longer for the tub to fill and cross my arms, the agitation building. I try rubbing warmth into my arms, the friction from my hands doing an adequate job. My palms glide down my sides, and then across my stomach.

I slide my hands down my hips before running them toward the insides of my thighs and my core tightens. Subconsciously, one palm reaches my center and skims my pussy. I suck in a breath. My senses are on high alert, almost as if the combination of the warmth and physical contact is waking me up from a deep sleep.

A few minutes ago, I was waist-deep in my grief, freezing, and agitated. And now all I want is to forget all of that. To feel something other than grief and loneliness and sadness. I’m suddenly horny. And of all people, Mr. Cabin-Stealer is who comes to my mind. My insides are buzzing, and as my hand skids over my clit, my arousal is already felt on my palm.

My head dips back as my eyes flutter shut for a moment while my fingers drift lower and begin teasing. A highlight reel of Mr. Cabin-Stealer plays in my mind. A fine ass in fitted Wranglers. Long legs. A chiseled and stubbled jawline. Graying hair at his temples. And the imagination of that cock he was so quick to brag about.

And that fucking cowboy hat.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy.

My breathing quickens and I flutter open my eyes as steam hovers over the surface of the rising bath water and billows into the room. The candlelight flickers against the wood-paneled walls. My finger slips in and out of my pussy, and just when I add another finger and feel the clenching around them, the bathroom door pushes open with a loud creak. I whip around and shriek.

“Sorry, I-I-I didn’t know anyone else was here,” Nico says, looking just as frightened as I feel.

Stumbling forward, I smack my shin on the stool resting in front of the tub. Despite the fiery pain that shoots up and down my leg, I don’t have enough self-restraint to remove my fingers from my pussy. It’s been a long ass time since I’ve had an orgasm. Too long, clearly. Because I’m at the height of coming undone and I’m fully prepared to finish myself off right in front of him.

But it takes me a long moment to notice—he’s standing here in only a pair of boxer briefs.Tightboxer briefs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout, frustration humming through me.

“I could ask you the same thing?”

But I think we both know whatI’mdoing.

Regretfully, I remove my hand from my pussy and prop it on my jutted hip. “You get a good fucking look?”

He’s quiet for a moment. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard. “Didyou?”

He’s got a point. I’ve been staring atandfully appreciating the solid bare chest only a few feet from me. Broad shoulders and firm pecs lead down to abs so defined that saliva pools in my mouth.

Hot damn.

My fingers itch to drag over the muscle there. But his abs of steel are no match to the impressive V at his low hips that are like an arrow pointing to what is probably his best quality. His dick is clearly hard by the size of the bulge in the front of his tight underwear.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip.

“You really have no decency, do you?” the growl in his voice scrapes against my skin.

It’s obvious he’s insinuating me masturbating only seconds ago, unable to stop even after he walked in on me, and then I smacked my shin.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Is a woman pleasuring herself indecent in the South?”

His eyes darken. “No, but most women would stop when someone caught them,” he shoots back, his voice growing gruffer.

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