22. moon-bright

22

MOON-brIGHT

DAY 18

A painful, pressing need in my bladder jolts me awake at an undermined hour. Kinsey and Tiffany are passed out beside me and the camp is quiet. The walls of the tent glow, backlit, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it's not the lamps but the moon.

Carefully maneuvering to my feet, I step over Tiffany's legs and unzip the door. Thankfully, the tent is new and the sound muted. Outside is a different world from the one I left. Brightened by moonlight, the landscape is both beautiful and alien, like something out of a science fiction movie. Shadows abound, giving wavering aspects to small, spiny plants and making giants out of boulders. At least there's no need for a flashlight.

Warmth still radiates upward from the sun-baked ground, but the air is delightfully chilly. I pick my way through the sparse brush to a location safely distant from camp and quickly take care of business. As I'm walking back, I hear something that stalls my feet .

The gurgle of water.

Do I think about coyotes? Snakes? Getting lost? No, I don't. There's no voice of caution. No monitor of reason. No fear at all. My mind is as empty and dark as the space between stars.

It's not hard to find the small trail, worn by many feet over the course of years. My steps are unhurried, my heartbeat steady. Everyone's asleep. What's the harm in exploring? Maybe taking a skinny-dip in the hot springs? It wouldn't be the first time.

As my eyes adjust fully to the night, the moon becomes an inverse sun. So bright. So clear. The scent of sulfur increases, teasing my nose and ramping up my excitement. I make my way up a short incline and around an outcropping of rocks. Before me is a perfect, dark pool of water, maybe seven feet across. Steam rises from the surface.

A startled intake of breath tells me I'm not alone. When I see the sole occupant, his broad, bare shoulders glistening wetly, I'm not surprised. Why am I not surprised? On the heels of that thought is another: Of course, I'm dreaming.

"Amelia," he says, voice rigid.

I don't ask for permission before I toe off my sneakers and socks and whip my sweatshirt over my head. There are sounds in the night, but all I can hear is his breathing, suddenly loud. All I can feel is the assault on my sensitive skin as my jeans come off, then my shirt, and finally my bra and underwear.

Dream-Leo looks down and mutters, "Could have used a warning."

Dream-me replies, "Where's the fun in that? "

Water swirls and laps as he moves through the pool and offers me a hand, his gaze carefully averted. "It can be a little slippery."

The contact of his fingers is a revelation. Another follows when first one foot, then the other, hit the water.

Oh my God, I'm not dreaming.

"Holy shit, that's hot."

Despite his firm grip, I slip. And since this isn't a dream, I don't slide magically into his arms. Leo tries to catch me, but I fall sideways, accidentally kicking him in the junk— crap, he's naked— and going headfirst underwater.

I come up coughing, expelling a nose-full of water. "I'm so sorry," I gasp.

Leo is as far away from me as he can be while still remaining in the pool. His shoulders are rounded defensively, and I'm pretty sure he's checking to make sure his balls are still there.

"Glancing blow," he wheezes. "I'll live."

"Sorry," I repeat feebly.

He doesn't say anything else, his eyes closed in a prolonged wince. I shift on the natural rock seat, unable to recall a time I felt this unbelievably awkward. At least my skin doesn't feel like it's melting off anymore. The downside is I'm achingly aware that I'm naked. And. So. Is. He.

"Sorry to crash your party," I murmur. "Believe it or not, I really thought I was dreaming." Not until Leo goes unnaturally still do I realize what I've said. I force a laugh. "Whoops. Let's pretend I didn't say that."

He drops his head back against a smooth rock, arms falling to his sides and eyes opening to the sky .

"Fucking fuck. Fuck. Son of a… fuck."

His whispered words belatedly register in my ears. A queer calm drifts through me, stilling my thoughts, while an equally potent spike of adrenaline makes my heart race, my breath shallow, and my fingertips tingle.

"Truth or dare, Leo?"

His head snaps down. "What?"

"You heard me."

A pause, then a whisper of, "Don't do this."

I'm a horrible person. A slave to impulse. A user and a breaker , and he's the ultimate prize. There's a high chance that if I push this—push him until he shatters—he'll never forgive me. Or himself. Then again, it's not like we have a future together. And he's leaving in four days.

What to do… What to do… New, healthy Amelia? Or old, impulsive Amelia?

Four days.

My chest tightens at the thought of never seeing him again. I can't do it—I can't not. So I end up answering the question for him. For both of us.

"Dare."

I push from the rock and stand. Water sluices from my chest, my wet hair. Cool air tightens my nipples and lifts goose bumps. But none of those sensations compare to what I feel when I see the look on Leo's face.

Agony.

The proof of his desire brings such relief my knees almost buckle. I take a weak step forward, then another. There's a slight slope to where he sits, and the water drops below my navel. His gaze restlessly scans every moonlit inch of me that's revealed. Fierce need tightens his features, echoed by bunched shoulders and hands that I know are coiled into fists beneath the water.

"I didn't imagine it," I whisper.

"No, you didn't," he says hoarsely, like the admittance is painful. I'm certain it is, but I can't process how fucked up this is because my joy is so immense.

I take another step, every second stretching to a hundred as I capture every detail. The rapid rise and fall of his chest. Clenched jaw. Sweat beading on his brow. Lowered brows over eyes that look silver in the moonlight. Warm breeze, cool air, hot water, pulse fluttering and swollen between my legs. I vow to remember this forever.

On my last step, my thighs brush against his knees. Two seconds pass— an eternity— before his legs slowly part. One more surrender, one more crack. I stay where I am and lift a hand to his face, dancing my fingers down his jaw to his mouth. His lips part and my index finger slides inside. He sucks the tip, then bites it.

I almost collapse again.

"Leo," I whimper.

He shatters.

His hands find my hips, yanking me forward. My knees are wrenched apart, then my ass claimed as he pulls me atop him. My senses fragment, overcome. Hot skin slick against mine, his fingers tangled in my hair. A hiss from his lips as I rub against him, teasing us both. Thick. Hard. Long.

I bite his neck, then lick his earlobe and murmur, "How can something that feels so good be wrong?"

His teeth find my shoulder, clamping hard enough that I jerk. Pain pushes my pleasure higher. I'm so close to climaxing, it would be funny under different circumstances.

"Maybe it's good because it's wrong," he whispers against my skin. "Maybe you've rubbed off on me."

"You don't believe that."

His hand, anchored in my hair, drags my head back until he can look me in the eyes. Our faces are so close I feel his breath on my lips, which tingle in anticipation of tasting him again.

"Tell me the truth," I plead mindlessly.

His fingers tighten, spreading fiery sensation through my scalp. "The truth? Fine. I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you. Damn you, Amelia. Damn your sarcasm, your lies, your eyes that tell me more than your mouth ever has, your scent that drives me crazy, and your beautiful, wounded heart. You're goddamn perfect and I'm going straight to hell."

And he kisses me.