Jerking her head up, she glared at him. But she obeyed, moving up and down, letting her legs slide farther apart in the mud to get him even deeper. She arched backward, bracing a hand behind her as she worked him over.
He watched her throughout, a brow quirking, biting his lip, his eyes gliding from her face to their connection and back. But when his eyes snapped back up and he gave her what she interpreted to be a smirk—mocking her—she sat up and slapped him. Hard.
It startled her as much as it surprised him; they both froze, looking at each other in disbelief. But only for a second. Mac snarled, and Cassidy was once again slammed into the mud; another shriek startled out of her.
“Mac!” She braced her hands against his chest.
Grasping her hands, he slammed them over her head as he slammed into her, nose-to-nose with her. “This what you want?”
Holy hell, she should be scared witless, but she was already sliding toward orgasm. Bucking beneath him, she answered, “Yes!” while driving her heels into the mud, lifting against him.
Grinding his mouth against hers, he drove her into the earth with the force of his thrusts, not relenting in either speed or strength. She struggled beneath him, writhing, her body gripped in violent tremors as she cried out against his mouth, every part of her flesh becoming a conduit of sensitivity as she came, the violence of it, her utter lack of control stunningly erotic.
As the pieces of herself struggled to find their way back themselves, Mac came, as well, his mouth leaving hers as he did so. No sooner had he reached his release than he was tearing himself away from her, scrambling back in the reverse of how they’d initially started, with him climbing over her. Only this time, he had one of her wrists still in his grip, and he jerked her up into a sitting position.
“You hit me.” His incredulity swirled with controlled anger.
“You pissed me off,” she said breathlessly, the rapid pace of her heart not entirely due to what he had just done to her; this Mac, this face-painted Mac, was an unknown to her. Whatever line he was walking, she didn’t want to push him over.
“Whilewe were fucking?” he snapped out.
Cassidy felt vulnerable as his eerie eyes raked over her. She confessed, “I thought you were laughing at me.”
“Fuck’s sake.” He pushed to his feet and pulled her up, as well. Without giving her a second look, he dragged her after him toward the cabin.
Cassidy slipped in the mud as he hauled her behind him, then she stumbled up the stairs to keep up with his pace. Fred was lying unconcerned on the porch, his brows lifting as Mac led her by; it was a scene he was accustomed to seeing.
Inside the cabin, Mac headed straight for the bathroom, turning on the light. “Get in the shower.” He whipped her forward toward the stall.
She caught herself on the tiled wall, looking back at him. She was unable to hide her reaction. He’d been frightening outside, but in the light, he was more so. Her eyes widened as she stared, the detail of the black, green, and brown paint not only on his face but his ears and neck, as well. It had taken him time. What had he been doing—thinking—while applying it? “Mac,” she gasped.
He frowned as he dropped his head, not looking at her, as though he’d forgotten his appearance. He gestured toward the stall and said more softly, “Get in.”
She reluctantly took her eyes from him and turned on the shower. But before she stepped in, she reached back and held out her hand to him. He stared at her hand like it was a foreign object. She prompted, “You’re as covered as I am.” More so.
His gaze went beyond her to the shower, at the water falling into the stall, then back to her. Whatever thoughts he had were hidden behind shuttered eyes and the camo paint. After his initial hesitation, he moved forward, gently escorting her into the space with him.
Without words, they washed each other. He assisted with the snarls of mud in her hair; she rinsed the mud from the scars on his back. The only words spoken were when she was successful in ridding the last of the camouflage paint from his strong jaw; she smiled up at him and said, “There you are.”
A brief spark of warmth illuminated his eyes as she said the words before it was extinguished.
The water turned off; he wrapped her in a towel and instructed her to find one of his shirts. She didn’t argue. The mood was somber; it was the first time she’d walked on eggshells around him. So she entered the bedroom and opened the drawer containing his T-shirts, withdrawing a dark blue one and slipping it on.
She folded the towel over her arm and finger-combed her hair before going into the main room. Mac was wearing cutoff sweatpants and leaning back against the kitchen counter, his head down, arms folded over his bare chest. He only glanced up as she walked in before resuming his contemplation of the floor.
So many thoughts started running through her head: what she’d admitted to him tonight, their volatile sex. But that was her baggage. First and foremost was what she’d walked up onto tonight. So she started with, “Fred woke me up.”
Mac’s eyes lifted to her, guarded.
She wondered if he could hear the blood racing through her veins because it was deafening her. “I was asleep, but he whined and paced. He was frantic.” She glanced toward the screen door. “What was that, Mac?” Her eyes begged him for an explanation.
Mac looked from her to the door, then back. “My bullshit, Day.”
Cassidy took a step toward him. “Mine now, too.”
“Nope.” He said it so quietly, she wasn’t sure he’d spoken.
“Why was Fred upset?” she asked. When he didn’t answer her, she took a few steps closer, demanding, “What would have happened if I hadn’t shown up?”