Page 128 of Craving Consequences

Heat crackles beneath my skin as I scramble to a sitting position. My abused asshole protests the motion, but I bite back the grimace and reach for the sheets. Finding them gone, I grab the pillow and stuff it into my lap.

A bit late for modesty, but it’s all I got right now.

“I have no idea,” I admit, unable to meet the other man’s prodding gaze. “That definitely wasn’t on my bingo card.”

Lachlan snorts a laugh. “Can’t say I was expecting it either.”

We sit in silence for several heartbeats. Just two guys marinating in the aftermath of ... whatever the hell that was. The air is thick with the scent of sex, sweat and damp earth. It’s such a natural odor, something primal and calming, yet my limbs are still trembling.

“It didn’t bother me,” he mumbles quickly and quietly, like he needs to get it off his chest quickly. “None of it. Just so you know.”

He’s not looking at me, but staring hard at the window, at the smudge of gray seeping through the curtains.

I clear my throat and swallow. “Thanks.”

A beat passes before he asks quietly, “But you’re good?”

Was I? Aside from some aggressive shits, nothing’s ever violated that area of my body before. But am I mad about it? That’s a hardnoplace for a guy, right?

“It was weird,” I confess shifting on the bed and reigniting the dull pang between my cheeks. “Different.”

Lach nods slowly. “But like you’re okay? We need to go find Everly and I want to make sure you’re not going to lose your shit on her.”

I blink and tilt my head in his direction.

“Do I look like I’m losing my shit?”

Maybe it’s something on my face. I am a little shellshocked, but I thought I was holding it together pretty well.

“You look spooked. She’s already freaking out and if you’re not okay with what just happened, maybe you should stay here.”

“What? No,” I blurt. “Look, I wasn’t expecting it, but given the number of things we’ve done to her in the last several days, getting pissy about her trying something on us would be a bit hypocritical, wouldn’t it?”

Lachlan shrugs. “Yeah, it would be, but also...”

I bump my left shoulder and give a nod. “Yeah, like I said, it was weird, but I’m not mad about it.”

Why am I telling him? It’s Everly I need to convince.

Without waiting for a response or further conversation, I chuck the pillow aside and shove off the bed. I locate my sweats, ignore the sticky smear of everything coating ... everything, stuff my legs in and stalk from the room.

Lachlan doesn’t say anything, but I hear him moving behind me. I don’t pause or wait for him. I figure he was grabbing clothes because he’s wearing his black sweats when I hit the landing of the stairs and glance back to find him hurrying after me.

The boards creak beneath our feet as we jog down the stairs. The house is heavy with the lingering scent of rain, dampearth and wet pine. It seems to cling to everything, the familiar humidity of camping. I don’t linger to enjoy it as I stalk barefoot past the living room, pausing only briefly to scan inside before rushing to the kitchen. It, too, sits empty.

My heart skips in my chest, a nervous trot that I have to ignore as I push in the direction of the sunroom.

“She wouldn’t leave,” I say, more to myself, but also to Lachlan.

“She can’t,” Lachlan points out. “I mean, she could walk, I guess.”

I ignore that last statement. I’m not about to get twisted up in the image of Everly strolling through the wilderness in nothing but sheets. She’s not stupid. She would never do that.

I’m fully convinced I’m right when I spot her.

A tiny, curled figure lost in the puffy cushions of an old rocking chair. Her knees are drawn to her chest, toes peeking out. Her wild mane is a tangle of curls around naked shoulders and a face shiny with tears.

Soft, hazel eyes stay settled on the lake splayed far below the ridge, down a steep incline past a wide patch of yard.

---