Chapter 11: No Bed

He kissed me, and I let him.

His mouth left mine only to find my jaw, my throat, the hollow under my ear.

"Marit," he said against my skin, and the word shook.

"Don't talk."

"You said no bed."

"I said no bed," I said, and dragged his shirt up over his head. "I didn't say anything about the floor."

He laughed, a short ragged breath, and then his hands were under my sweater.

They were huge and rough and hot, and they spread across my ribs and my back and pulled me against him.

I felt the whole hard length of him through his jeans.

"Then we keep the rules," he said, grinning against my mouth. "I'm only standing very close to one."

"You're a bastard."

"You started it."

I pulled my sweater off myself and threw it across the cabin.

He stopped grinning.

He looked at my bare shoulders in the stove light.

He looked at the plain grey bra and the rise and fall of my chest.

"Look at you," he said hoarsely.

"You're looking."

"I told you I would."

He laid me down on the pile of blankets he'd made by the stove and followed me down.

His mouth went to my collarbone, and then lower.

He closed it over my breast through the cloth and sucked until I arched off the floor.

I buried my hands in his black hair.

"Anders."

"Again."

"Anders."

He growled, and the sound went straight through me.

He got the bra open with one hand and put his mouth on my bare skin, hot and slow.

My hips came up to find him without my asking.

"Take these off," I said, tugging at his belt. "Now."

"Say please."

"I'll bite you."

"Promise?"

I bit his shoulder, hard, and he swore and tore his belt open himself.

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