Naked Love

by Ann, Jewel

My heart stops and the air in my lungs freezes as his cheek brushes past mine. Of course my stupid nipples boing out because they just don’t know any better.

  God … he smells good. It’s not just his clothes.

  My lips part and my eyes leaden as his lips ghost next to my ear and his hand slides along my arm. Every inch of his naked torso radiates heat, and it’s igniting mine.

  “Give me my underwear,” he whispers.

  It takes my mushy mind several seconds to realize he’s not going to kiss me or seduce me—NOT that I want him to do either.

  I don’t.

  My nipples are just being rebels. I’ll have a talk with them later.

  After a pause, I jerk my arm away as he tries to take his shirt from me. “It’s a shirt you big jerk, not your—”

  The letters J-O-C on a wide waistband come into view as I dangle them between us.

  My nose wrinkles. I drop them like they’re on fire.

  Jake, of course, grins. “The dirty ones are in the side pocket if that smell does it for you even more.”

  I die—not like a peaceful passing, more like a slow, torturous death where the murderer insists on embarrassing his victim before inching the tip of a knife into his victim’s carotid artery.

  “Nothing about you does it for me.”

  His eyebrows slide up his forehead as his gaze dips to inspect my chest. “You sure about that?”

  Mother trucker …

  “I’m cold.”

  “You have sweat along your brow.”

  “It’s a cold sweat.”

  “It’s like eighty degrees in here.”

  “I have a sluggish thyroid.”

  His grin grows a fraction as his gaze dips to my mouth again for a brief second. “You should sprinkle kelp on your food.”

  “Where’s the key to the truck?”

  “What do my underwear smell like?”

  I squint at him, desperate for a really good comeback. I need one. He’s been one step ahead of me this entire trip. I NEED to get the upper hand, just once.

  Vegan farts? No. That won’t give me the upper hand.

  Asscrack cologne? No. That’s dumb.

  Dick cheese? Maybe.

  Putrid pubes? No. I’m not sure he has them. Maybe he’s shaven in that region. I direct my gaze to just below his abs. It’s too dark to say for sure, but I’m certain there’s a teasing of a happy trail, surely that thing doesn’t end in a barren convergence of skin, two low-hanging sacs, and a bobbing appendage.

  Biting my lips together in contemplation, I glance back up at him. “Stop staring at my boobs.”

  “Stop staring at my junk.”

  “Oh my gosh!” I climb to my feet, finding the center of the tent where I can fully stand. “You are so full of yourself. I was not staring at your junk, I was just seeing if you had …”

  He lies back, propping his head up on a bent arm. It does nice things to his abs.

  Avery … you suck.

  “If I had what? Junk?”

  “Hair.” There. I just said it.

  He runs his other hand through his thick head of hair. My nipples are screwed.

  “I used to have a shaved head, but I’ve had hair for several years.”

  My teeth work side to side. One chance. I just need one good chance to get the upper hand, but he snags it every time.

  “But … that’s not the hair you were looking for. I’m guessing.”

  “The key, Jake.”

  He grins, scratching just below his navel at the start of his happy trail. “It goes all the way.”

  “The key, now.”

  “The sun’s not up. I’m not letting you start my truck. There are other campers nearby. You don’t need to make noise and fill the surrounding air with exhaust. Settle in with your dog and you can charge it in a few hours.”

  I glance back at Swarley, now sleeping in my spot. “I need to pee. I’ll be back later.” I shove my feet into my flip-flops. “Or not at all if I can find a kind soul to take me to the nearest airport. My sister will pay you a lot of money for returning Swarley to L.A.”

  Jake sits up, pulling on a tee and grabbing a flashlight. “Your sister can keep her money. If you find this kind soul, then I’m certain they will figure out a way to get your sister’s dog back to her.”

  “Where are you going?” I ask as he stands close to me—too close.

  “I’m taking you to the toilet up the hill.”

  “I know how to get there.”

  He moves past me and unzips the tent flap. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Then why are you taking me?” I follow him out of the tent and chase his long strides.

  “Because there could be a few strangers in this camping area that are not kind souls.”

  I stumble on a rock and catch myself before landing on my face. “I took a self-defense class. I have skills.”

  Jake stops, letting me make it out in front of him, strutting all of my confidence.

  “Ahhh!!!” My scream muffles in his large hand as he covers my mouth with it and restrains my arms to my sides with his other arm snaked around my body. I wriggle and scream, but I go nowhere, and my screams are muted to nothing more than a soft pulsing hum.

  “Show me your skills, Avery,” he whispers in my ear.

  All of my attempts to twist free, headbutt him, elbow his ribs, basically anything, are thwarted by his solid body encasing me like a concrete tomb.

  “What if a kind soul held you like this? What would you do? Let me tell you …”

  Unexpected tears sting my eyes.

  “You would shit your fancy pants, ruin your manicured nails trying to unsuccessfully claw at Mr. Kind Soul’s arm, then you would end up tied to something cold while he made you feel absolutely anything but sexy. You’d long for the days of dick cheese buying you expensive shit then using you for a good lay.”

  Before I blink out a single tear, he releases me, takes my hand, and pulls me up the hill to the toilet.

  “False confidence is dangerous to your health, your self-esteem, and your entire soul. You need to be something a helluva lot more than a compilation of expensive labels.” He lets go of my hand at the door to the shithole with four wood walls and no sink.

  I swallow back the pain and the fear and push open the door. With my back to him, I shrug. “It was a free class. Two hours. I had a crush on the instructor. He told me I was a natural at self-defense. He said I had good moves.”

  Jake grunts a laugh. “I’m sure he did. Men tell women whatever it takes to get into their pants.”

  When the sting of the truth starts to hurt, I step into the nasty stall, hating that the walls don’t go to the ground or block the sound of me peeing.

  “I can’t see anything.”

  He points the flashlight into the foot gap at the bottom of the wall.

  “Thank you.” I almost choke on the words, but he walked me up the hill and now he’s holding a flashlight for me.

  “What do you say?” I hold a squat to prevent from touching anything as I tinkle.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not talking about the flashlight. What do you say to women to get into their pants?”

  Again, no toilet paper. How did I forget to grab a few tissues? I shake and pull up my panties and pink silk night shorts. I open the door, feeling all kinds of disgusting.

  No toilet paper.

  No sink.

  Who lives like this? Aren’t there laws that require a sink with a toilet? Maybe only flushable toilets.

  Flushable toilets … best invention ever.

  Jake stands from his squatted position where he held the flashlight for me.

  “What?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Don’t shake your head. Why were you looking at me like that? Is it my hair?” I smooth both palms over my fragile locks. I need my hairdresser like a heart attack patient needs a heart surgeon.

  Hairdresser STAT!

  “Wha
t’s up with your hair?” He inspects my head with the light like I had done to his perfect feet, only I don’t think the grimace on his face has anything to do with my perfect hair. “Why are you messing with it all the time? Scratching your scalp all the damn time? If not lice, is it psoriasis? A yeast infection?”

  “Jeez.” I shove the light away. “I told you not to mention my hair. Don’t talk about it, don’t look at it, and whatever you do don’t touch it.”

  He brings the light back up to my head.

  “Stop!” I try to shove him away again.

  “Fair is fair. You were inspecting my feet for a really long time.”

  I don’t need a mirror to know that all the blood has drained from my face. How the hell does he know that? “What?” I whisper.

  Taking one step closer, he aims the flashlight between us so his flip-flop clad feet are illuminated. “When you were searching for the keys, you stopped to stare at my feet, and…” he smiles “…the rest of me.”

  My jaw unhinges. “You are so full of yourself. I was not looking at any part of you, especially your ugly, stinky feet.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But if I had been looking at your fungus-infected feet, how would you have known since you were sleeping?”

  “It’s hard to sleep when you keep telling me to wake up.”

  A gasp catches in my throat. “You bastard! If you were awake, why didn’t you answer me?”

  I hate his grin.

  Stupid, stupid grin. I don’t care how white his smile happens to be, it’s a terrible grin.

  I hate the way his eyes smile. Yep, smiling eyes. I bet it’s an early sign of something like … foot fungus or erectile dysfunction.

  “As we speak, mosquitoes are buzzing around us, but I don’t acknowledge them. I’m aware of their pesky little buzzing, but I’m not going to let them ruin my trip or keep me from sleeping.”

  “Oh … my … god … Are you comparing me to a bloodsucking insect?”

  “If the overpriced shoe fits …” He’s grinning like …

  Gah!

  I don’t really know what his grin resembles. It’s mocking, flirty, devious, and incredibly infuriating because he only smiles like that when he’s poking fun at me.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” I plant my hands on my hips.

  He shines the flashlight in my face. “What question was that?”

  I flinch, backing away from him and the smell of the shithole behind us. “What do you say to a woman to get into her pants?”

  His lips purse. “I ask them if they want to smell my underwear.”

  Before my mouth falls into yet another offended gasp, I grit my teeth and formulate … something.

  What? I’m not sure. I have skills. I just need to use them to my benefit. Sadly my guy-skills involve a lot of flirting and … other bodily exchanges.

  Forcing my jaw to relax, I plaster on my best smile—the one that gets me all kinds of things from men who have posed a bigger challenge than Mr. Kale Salad.

  “I bet they do.” I bite my bottom lip, closing the distance between us. Running my fingernail down his defined chest, I trace some of his ink before teasing the waistband to his boxer briefs peeking above his low riding shorts. His abs tighten even more. “I bet they want to smell every inch of you.”

  “Avery,” he warns in a gritty voice.

  I slip my fingernail just under the waistband, giving it a teasing tug while shifting my gaze to meet his hooded eyes.

  Shit … I swallow back the saliva pooling in my mouth. I’m falling apart in the middle of my one chance to take the lead—get the upper hand. I’m turning myself on as much as him. His cock is waking up, but dammit if I’m not feeling my own arousal tingling between my legs.

  I was wet just from him saying my name in that unhinged voice. The timbre in it is almost too much to take.

  Almost … but the need for revenge trumps it.

  I curl both hands into his shorts, clutching his briefs too.

  “Ave …” He shakes his head slowly, but when he swallows hard, I know I’ve got him. Jake is a lot of things, but he’s still just a guy who would let the world end around him if it meant that a woman was going to get on her knees and take him in her mouth.

  “You know what I’m craving, Jake?” I lace each word with as much seduction as I can, which isn’t hard because … I’m so damn aroused.

  His lips part and I know he can’t even speak. Yeah … I’ve got this.

  I give him a sexy, sly grin. “Revenge.” Yanking as hard as I can, I pull down his pants, snatch the flashlight, and run like chased prey to the tent.

  “Oh my gosh. Oh shit. Oh, oh, oh!” Panic inflames my veins as I navigate the uneven terrain while thinking of what I just did, but more than that … what I just saw.

  Holy Batman! I saw Jake’s junk and it’s not at all junky. It’s almost as perfect and big as his feet. When it sprang free, it nearly poked my eye out. Skidding into the tent, completely breathless, I zip it shut and punch the air a hundred times in celebration before shoving Swarley off my sleeping bag and sliding into it until just my eyes peek out of the top.

  I did it! I’m the queen, not a princess. Queen Don’t Mess With Me Avery.

  My lungs hold my breath hostage as twigs crack beneath the approaching footsteps. Not even the thick sleeping bag hides the visible shaking of my body. I’m nothing more than a bundle of adrenaline and hormones.

  Horny.

  I’m so horny I could hump an inanimate object like Swarley does.

  Light flickers and Jake unzips the flap and picks up the flashlight that I accidentally dropped while hurrying to get inside here.

  “How old are you?” He pins me to the ground with a stern glare.

  I don’t blink, but what he can’t see is my grin, and it’s every bit as big as his stupid, ridiculous, making-fun-of-Avery grins.

  “Five? Are you five, Avery?” He shrugs off his tee.

  I allow one blink to prevent my eyes from drying out. De-panting someone is not really a five-year-old prank. It’s probably more of a thirteen-year-old prank, but I don’t actually correct him because I’ve never pulled someone’s pants down out of revenge. Had I done it before, then I surely would have known to keep my face at a safe distance from the springy appendage.

  After I refuse to give him more than a blink, he eases onto his sleeping bag and shuts off the flashlight.

  “Avery?”

  I contemplate giving him any sort of response, but after a few seconds, I hum a questioning response. “Ahhh!” I gasp then yelp as he grips my sleeping bag and pulls the whole thing, with me trapped in it, onto his body so we’re nose to nose, and the head of his still-erect cock nudges the apex of my legs. I swear cocks are natural pussy homing devices. “I’m claustrophobic,” I say on a panicked whisper. My arms are trapped. I can’t move.

  Still, I’m desperate to widen my legs an inch for very shameful, once-a-hussy-always-a-hussy reasons.

  Jake’s nose brushes mine as his minty breath invades my personal space, or maybe it’s his personal space. Things are a bit weird at the moment. I’m not sure whose space we’re occupying. “When you least expect it, I’m going to pull down your pants and sniff your panties … probably in public. You’ve been warned. Understood?”

  Oh my god …

  With as much ease and at the same lightning speed that he snatched me from my spot, he returns me to the ground next to Swarley.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Day Four

  Ozark National Forest

  Jake buys a new T-shirt.

  I used to be a people person, but you ruined that for me.

  Day Five

  Ozark National Forest with hard water, deteriorating hair, and seven out of ten fingernails chipped, ripped, and cringe-worthy.

  Jake buys a new T-shirt.

  Scratch N Sniff

  Dumbass.

  Day Six

  Ozark National Park. Shitty cell phone signal. We don’t leave the campsite.
I contemplate slitting his throat or my wrists.

  Day Seven

  STILL in the freaking Ozarks! I have never been so disheveled from my witchy head to my calloused toes. We make a food run—thank god. I had to swing another fasting session because I ran out of Addy’s snacks. In all fairness, Jake offered me some of his food, but with the looming threat of losing my pants in public, I couldn’t risk getting anywhere near him or his food.

  Jake winds us through the mountains to a small grocery store.

  “Get your shit and I’ll meet you at the checkout. I’ll roll down the windows, but I have a feeling Swarley could go into a barking frenzy no matter what.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, patting a gentle hand over my hair.

  “Fucking lice.” Jake rolls his eyes.

  “It’s not lice, asshat. I told you that.” I chase him into the store. He grabs a basket and sets off toward the produce. I grab a basket and make my way to end caps with sale items.

  With fifteen dollars’ worth of snacks in my basket, I make my way to the checkout.

  “Well damn,” I whisper when I come across a stand of T-shirts with funny sayings. But not just funny sayings—THE perfect shirt to wear for my travel companion.

  Life is short and so is your penis.

  But … it’s ten dollars. Food? Or revenge?

  It’s a no-brainer. I exchange my first choice of food items for five ninety-nine cent pouches of Pasta O’s with tomato sauce. The tax on the shirt leaves me with less than five dollars left to my name. I might have to pawn off something to make it back to L.A. without starving.

  Maybe Swarley?

  I inwardly giggle.

  Jake frowns at my small bag when he loads his expensive produce onto the conveyor belt. I smile. Yeah, it’s pretty shitty food, but so worth it.

  “Did you get some tea tree oil for your lice?” He stares at my hair after paying for his groceries.

  “Nope.” I fish out my new shirt and hold out my bag for him to hold.

  Of course he can’t just take it. He has to scowl at me like holding it is the most inconvenient thing he has ever had to do. After he takes it, I head out the door and slip on my new shirt, whipping around to face him while walking backward as he walks forward, inspecting my shirt.