The cabin was too small.
It had seemed cozy when we arrived, a rustic escape from the world. But after three days of enforced proximity, it felt like a pressure cooker.
Every breath Guilermo took seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. Every time he moved, the floorboards groaned, sending vibrations through the soles of my feet that my hyper-sensitive nerves interpreted as touch.
The s****l tension was unbearable.
But it wasn't just desire. It was hunger. It was biology screaming at us to close the circuit.
I sat at the small kitchen table, staring at the map of the Hollows. My shoulder was healing, but it still ached when the weather turned, which was constantly.
Guilermo was pacing.
He had taken off his jacket. He was wearing a thin gray t-shirt that clung to his chest. I could
