Sharing a Tent with My Best Friend's Brother

Chapter 2

Within minutes, my entire body was shaking.

A warm flood soaked between my legs, and I curled into a tight ball, my face pressed against my knees, my hands fisted in the sleeping bag.

Breathe. Just breathe.

It'll pass. It has to pass.

But I knew it wouldn't.

The heat built relentlessly, my skin too tight, every nerve ending raw and electric.

I worried I would wake someone up with my ragged breathing.

In the darkness, Colt shifted.

He rolled onto his side, and I felt his gaze on me even before he spoke.

"Wren?"

His voice was low and rough with sleep.

I did not answer.

"You're shaking."

My body betrayed me with a violent tremor.

"Leave me alone," I croaked, my throat dry.

But he did not leave.

He sat up, crawled closer on his elbows, and I could smell him before I saw him—cedar and horses and warm skin, a scent that made my stomach flip.

He reached out, his palm pressing against my forehead.

The touch was like lightning.

Every nerve in my body short-circuited.

I gasped, my back arching involuntarily, and a climax ripped through me, so violent and sudden that I bit through the skin of my lip.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and shameful.

"Your forehead feels normal," he murmured, frowning in the darkness.

"But you're burning up."

He touched my cheek, and another jolt shot through me, worse than the first.

I could not breathe.

I could not move.

He looked at me, moonlight catching the concern in his eyes.

"No fever," he said slowly.

"But you're trembling like a leaf."

I pushed him. Hard.

He fell back, startled.

"I'm fine," I gasped.

"Just—just give me space."

I scrambled for the tent flap, not caring that I was wearing only a thin tank top and shorts, not caring that my legs were bare or that the wind bit at my skin.

I just needed to get away.

I fell out of the tent into the cool night air, my feet sinking into cold earth.

The bonfire was dying embers, glowing orange in the distance.

I stumbled forward, desperate to reach the water trough, to throw myself into the icy water and cool the fire raging under my skin.

But I did not make it.

My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the grass.

Behind me, Colt's footsteps were fast and heavy.

"Wren!"

He caught up to me in seconds, his hand closing around my arm.

"Hey—what's wrong?"

Every touch sent fire through my veins.

I did not care anymore about hiding it.

When he eased me up, I leaned into him, all my body weight pressing against his chest.

I felt his warmth, his hard muscle, his steady heartbeat.

And I soaked through my shorts, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

"Do you have a fever?" he asked, pressing his hand to my forehead again.

I could not speak.

I turned my head away, and I saw his eyes drop downward—to the hem of my shorts, bunched around my thighs, to the dark stain spreading across my soaked underwear.

He looked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

But he did not leave me.

He cleared his throat, his voice strained.

"Let's get you to the barn. You can sit down."

Half carrying me, he guided me across the yard, his arm firm around my waist.

The night air was cold, but his body was furnace-hot against mine.

I could feel every ridge of muscle along his side, and that only made the fire worse.

We reached the barn door, and he pushed it open with his shoulder.

The smell of hay and horses enveloped us, a familiar, earthy scent that somehow steadied me for a moment.