## Chapter 3: The Blanket (The Blanket)
The tent flap snapped shut, leaving only the rhythmic pop of pine resin and the low hum of crickets. I gathered the heavy wool blanket from the cooler, its edges still carrying the day’s sun. Spreading it over the bed of pine needles and damp soil, I pressed out the uneven lumps. The fire’s glow painted the clearing in amber, but beyond its reach, the woods held their breath. Mom’s soft footsteps had faded minutes ago, leaving us alone in the quiet.
“Lie with me,” I said, voice low enough not to carry past the tree line.
He didn’t need prompting. The canvas of his shirt still held the day’s warmth, smelling of camp smoke and dried sweat. He settled beside me, his shoulder a solid weight against mine. I reclined, tilting my face toward the canopy. The sky was a scattered sheet of diamond dust, untouched by streetlamps or power lines. I traced the air above us. “Orion’s belt,” I murmured. “Three bright ones. And there, the hunter’s sword, just below the knee.” I shifted, my forearm grazing his. “Cassiopeia. That crooked W over the ridge. The Big Dipper pours into the north like an inverted cup.”
He wasn’t watching the constellations. His attention pinned me. I felt it first—a slow, deliberate shift in the air as he turned his head. His gaze moved from my temple to my cheek, lingering on the pulse at my throat. The night had dropped the temperature; a chill pricked my shoulders, but his breath fanned steady and warm against my lower lip.
“Kiss me,” I said. Not a request. A certainty.
He didn’t rush. His hand rose, calloused palm skimming my jawline, fingers catching the damp curl at the back of my neck. The roughness of his grip contrasted with the tenderness in his hold. He leaned in, the space between us collapsing until his mouth found mine. The kiss was deep, unhurried, tasting of coffee and camp air. His other hand slid to my waist, thumb pressing through the thin cotton of my dress, mapping the curve of my hip.
I broke away just enough to unbutton the top button. He watched, eyes tracing the motion, before his own hands went to his collar. The wool blanket crinkled beneath us as he rolled, covering me, his weight grounding me to the earth. The ground was cool, seeping through the fabric, but his body radiated heat. I traced the line of his collarbone, feeling the steady drum of his heart beneath his skin.
“You’re sure?” he asked, voice rough.
“I’ve been sure since the car pulled in.”
His fingers found the hem of my dress, pushing it up to my ribs. The air kissed my exposed thighs. I arched into him, guiding his hand lower. The scratch of pine needles and the distant hoot of an owl framed us. He pressed a kiss to my stomach, then another, lower, before his mouth found me. The sensation was sharp, electric, pulling a quiet sound from my throat. I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling the coarse strands against my palms, while the firelight flickered across his shoulders.
When he returned, he shifted us, rolling onto our sides so we faced each other. The blanket wrapped around our backs, a shield against the damp earth. He pulled my dress over my head, letting it fall to the side. The cool night air settled on my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. He traced my ribs with his fingertips, slow and deliberate, mapping the rise and fall of my breath.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
I did. The stars blurred into a halo above us. He kissed my neck, then my shoulder, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. He pushed into me, slow and deep, the friction drawing a sharp intake of breath. The ground felt solid beneath us, unyielding yet yielding. Each movement was measured, syncing with the crackle of the fire and the rustle of leaves. I wrapped my legs around him, anchoring him closer, feeling every shift, every pulse.
His pace quickened, driven by the quiet urgency of the woods. I reached back, fingers digging into his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. The world narrowed to the press of skin, the scent of pine and smoke, the scattered stars overhead. When the climax broke, it was quiet, a slow unraveling that left us breathless against the wool.
We lay there, tangled in the blanket, listening to the fire settle. His chest rose and fell against mine. I traced the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble scratch against my fingertips.
“Last night,” he said finally, voice low.
“The best one,” I replied.
He brushed a stray hair from my forehead, his gaze steady. “Rest now, baby girl.” The woods held us, and the stars kept watch.