What the hell is going on? I do as he says and he walks me to the very edge of the water and stands behind me before grabbing my arms and bringing them together so both hands are on the base of the pole.
“Hold on to the pole tightly when you cast; you don’t want to throw it.” He puts his large hands over mine and I can feel his calluses against the tops of my hands. His arms are wrapped around me and my backside is flush against his front. I feel like I’m about to burst into flame with the delicious heat of his body radiating against my own. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
“Ready?” he asks. I nod. He pulls my arms back and flicks the pole so the fly goes sailing out into the water. “Just like that. You try.” We do it a few more times and I don’t want to step away from him.
“You’ve got it,” he says, and I smile as I cast the line a few more times. His warm breath causes a few stray hairs to blow across my face. I tilt my head back and up and he tilts his head down to meet my gaze. I see his eyes drop from mine down to my lips and I instinctively dart my tongue out to wet them. Just as I think he’s going to lean down and kiss me, he removes his arms from around me, stepping back and severing the connection between us.
“Let’s go.” He leans down and picks up his pole as he points toward the water and we gingerly walk out into the river. It’s not too deep, but I can feel how cold it is through the waders, and I’m glad I wore layers. The current isn’t too strong, but I can feel the resistance as I anchor my legs.
For a little while, we both cast our poles, and every once in a while, he reaches over to correct or assist me. I ask him a few questions and he answers in his normal, clipped manner.
“I’m getting a little hungry, how ‘bout you?” I look over at him.
“I could eat,” he replies.
I reel in my line and turn to make my way back toward the riverbank when I trip and fall straight into the water.
“Ahhh!” I yelp as I go down and scream when the cold water starts filling up my waders.
“Shit!” I hear Sawyer say as he makes his way toward me. I desperately cling to the rod in my hand, scared to let it go as I struggle to stand up. It’s no use. The water is weighing me down too much and I can’t stand up. I’m frantic now—trying to drag myself to shore—when I hear a loud, bellowing laugh.
“This isn’t funny!” I scream as panic grips my throat. Sawyer reaches down and pulls me up by the shoulder straps, dragging me to shore. I step out of the soggy waders as my entire body instantly breaks out in shivers.
“You’re okay.” He grabs the waders from me and turns them upside down to pour out the water.
“I—I lost th-the pole,” I say between chattering teeth.
“Don’t worry about it. You got any extra clothes in that picnic basket?”
I shake my head no.
“I think I have something. Hang on.” He steps out of his waders and jogs over to the truck. He returns a moment later with a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.
“Here. The pants are going to be big, but it’s better than staying in cold, wet jeans.” I nod and reach for the sweatpants, but he tucks them quickly between his legs.
“Wait. Let’s get you out of this sweatshirt first,” he says before reaching for the hem to pull it over my head.
“No, wait!”
It’s too late. He pulls it over my head in an instant, and I’m left standing in the skintight white tank top that’s now wet and see-through. I glance down and see my nipples about to rip through the shirt. Shit! In my haste this morning, I completely forgot to put on a bra.
I look up and see his eyes staring straight down at my tits, which are now very much on display. I quickly cross my arms over my chest—attempting to cover myself.
“Too late, sweetheart, already saw them.” He doesn’t seem fazed. I grab the hoodie from his hands and turn to walk toward the truck.
“Don’t look!” I practically shout as I open the passenger-side door so I can change behind it. I peek over the edge of the window to make sure his back is facing me when I undo my wet jeans and peel them down my legs. I’m standing in the middle of the damn woods in nothing but a soaking wet shirt and a black lace thong. I kick off my shoes and remove my soaked socks before realizing that I forgot to grab the sweatpants from him. I gasp and look up to see him standing on the other side of the door—holding up the pants.
“You forget something?” That smirk is back.
“Give them,” I say, unamused.
“Now, I’d like to see a little gratitude, Miss Prescott.”
Is he seriously flirting with me? Now? When I’m standing here in my goddamn underwear hiding behind a truck door?
“Please,” I say with an outstretched arm.
He takes a step toward me. “Please what?” Another step.
“Please may I have the sweatpants?” I can feel my heart beating in my throat.
Another step.
He’s just on the other side of the truck door, looking at me through the glass of the window, with the door still covering most of my body.
He rounds the corner of the truck and stands over me, taking another step toward me so I have to back up. The backs of my legs hit the running board and I realize I have nowhere else to go.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I cover my breasts again.
He tosses the sweatpants on the floor of the truck and reaches down, picking me up and practically tossing me onto the seat of the truck. He doesn’t say a word as he picks up the pants and begins to put them on me. He picks up one foot at a time, placing each in a pant leg before slowly dragging them up my thighs.
“You’re shaking.” His voice is low and thick. I don’t know if I’m shaking because I’m cold or because he’s dragging his fingers up my thighs as he pulls the pants further up my body. I place a hand on either of his shoulders as he lifts me and pulls the pants the rest of the way on. I don’t know what’s happening in this moment, but I know I don’t want it to stop.
“Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart.”
There’s that term again. His tone is stern, but it sounds like he’s choking the words out. My knees are on either side of his hips and my hands are still on his shoulders.
“Like what?” I ask as I bite my bottom lip. His hands squeeze my waist even more tightly and a small groan escapes his lips.
Six
Sawyer
Fuck me.
I watch as she bites her bottom lip. Does she know what she’s doing to me? I can feel my dick about to rip through my jeans, but I don’t care. My resolve is slipping. I don’t know how much more temptation I can take from her.
I didn’t mean to look at her breasts, but when I pulled her sweatshirt over her head, her pert little nipples were staring at me through her shirt. My mouth salivates at the thought of sucking them into my mouth.
“Get in the fucking truck.” I lean forward, my mouth a few centimeters away from hers.
“I’m in the fucking truck,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I release my hands from her waist and step back, swinging her legs forward before I slam the passenger-side door shut. I don’t bother looking back at her as I walk around and pick up my gear. I toss everything, including her wet clothes, into the back of the truck before climbing in myself.