Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Can I—”
Yes, I want to say. You can do whatever you want to me. But he’s cut off by the sound of the outer door opening and closing.
Iris moves swiftly, jumping away from me quicker than I can blink. He picks up the bag of firewood, gently nudges me aside, and then slides open the big steel door.
Iris smiles easily. “Hey. I was just showing Saint around. You know, emergency protocol and shit if we’re ever stuck out here.” He’s his breezy, casual self, and I have no idea who he’s talking to, but if it’s Trav, he should kill me here and now.
There’s no way I can hide this raging hard-on. I look up at the exposed ceiling and think unsexy thoughts. Losing my entire squad. Almost dying. A body that feels broken compared to how it used to be.
Okay, now I’m good.
Atlas sticks his head through the door. “I thought Iris might’ve locked you down here to be a dick. I came to check.”
I walk past Iris on my way out but say to Atlas, “I was worried about him doing that myself. But he was a good little boy.”
Mostly.
Chapter Eleven
Iris
See, I shouldn’t be trusted. I definitely shouldn’t be left alone with Saint. What always starts as innocent comments quickly turns to offering myself up to him. Only this time, we both knew I wasn’t joking.
We were so close to crossing lines, and the thing is, I should be thanking Atlas and metaphorically kissing his feet. Instead, I’m thinking of ten different ways I could kill him in his sleep. Because I almost had Saint’s lips on mine.
I had his muscular physique against me. Right within reach.
And then Atlas ruined it all.
I take back what I said about him being the nicest one on the team. I hate the guy.
Saint doesn’t look at me once for the rest of the night, and I’m so stoically quiet, everyone asks if I’m okay.
No, I’m not okay. I almost fucked everything up, and the stupid thing is, I still want to do it. I still want to risk everything for one night with Saint because this is the Brock Harlow.
I’m certain not being allowed to only adds to my body’s desire to take him. On my knees, on his knees, against the shelter door, in a tent, I don’t care how or when. I just want it to happen.
But when he sends himself to bed and the others slowly trickle inside, I can’t bring myself to go to him.
I’m the rule breaker. He’s the good boy.
If this is going to happen, I want Saint to be the one to take that step.
So, I go to my tent. Alone. And more sexually frustrated than I’ve been in a long time. I kick off my shoes and socks and lie on my cot, tempted to jerk off, but there’s that little bit of hope left inside me that’s holding out for Saint to come do it for me.
And as if my hoping turned to wishing and I have some magic genie or higher deity on my side, they grant me my wish.
I feel his presence more than see it. I can make out a shadowy figure, and it’s too dark to know who it really is, but I know it’s him.
“Did you mean it?” he asks softly.
“Mean what?”
“We could have one night and then forget about it?”
“Yes. Get your ass in here.” I hit the battery-powered light on the side of my cot to illuminate the tent in a warm but dim glow.
But Saint still hesitates outside.
“What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer. I can’t push him into this. It’s not fair.
“Saint, come inside. We’ll just talk if you don’t want to do more.”
His gorgeous face appears and then the rest of him, and he takes the spot on the ground, leaning against the mesh of the side of the tent—in the exact same position I took when I was distracting him from all his thoughts.
“I want to,” he says. “You have no idea how much I want to. It would be like sending a big fuck-you to all those repressed feelings from ten years ago, but … I don’t want to betray Trav after everything he’s done for me.”
“This has nothing to do with Trav. This is unresolved shit from before either of us even knew him.”
Saint throws his head back. “I sometimes admire you for being able to rationalize breaking the rules, but other times, it’s like you don’t get it.”
“I do get it, more than you know. I also owe Trav my life. When the army claimed to accept LGBTQ soldiers and then turned their backs when one of us would complain we’re barely tolerated let alone embraced in our squads, he pulled me out. He got me out when I started making too much noise and made a name for myself—in a bad way. I won’t ever betray Trav. That’s not what this is.”