Chapter 3: The Woods
The rain hammered the truck’s roof like a frantic heartbeat, a relentless percussion that drowned out the city beyond the fogged-up windows. Inside the cab, the air hung thick and warm, saturated with the scent of damp denim, Griffin’s lingering cologne – something woodsy and warm that always made Cam’s stomach flip – and the faint, metallic tang of the old Ford’s interior. Cam sat rigidly, staring out at the blurred streaks of streetlights on the wet windshield. Weeks. He’d vanished for weeks. No calls, no texts, just… silence. And now this. Rescuing her from that creep outside the late-night coffee shop, his knuckles scraped raw again, a fading bruise high on his cheekbone barely visible in the gloom. The one from Harley’s place, where he’d taken a beating protecting her… had it really only been weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime.
"You gonna say anything?" Griffin’s voice was low, rough with an emotion Cam couldn’t quite place. Guilt? Exhaustion? He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, hands tight on the worn leather steering wheel.
"What is there to say, Griff?" Cam’s voice sounded small, swallowed by the drumming rain. "You disappear. You show up. You get into fights. Rinse, repeat?" She traced a pattern on the cold passenger window with her fingertip, avoiding the sight of his profile, the strong line of his jaw now tense. The remembered vulnerability in his eyes when he’d pulled her close in Harley’s dim apartment warred with the hurt simmering inside her now. "You scared me. I thought… I didn't know what to think."
He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to deflate him. "I know. Fuck, Cam, I know. Things got… complicated. Family shit. Bad shit." He finally turned his head, his warm brown eyes searching hers in the dim light filtering through the rain-streaked glass. The lamplight caught the remnants of that bruise near his temple, a stark reminder of the violence he absorbed. "I didn't know how to explain it. Didn’t want to drag you into it."
"And leaving me in the dark was better?" The question cracked, revealing the raw edge beneath. "I thought you were hurt. Or worse."
"Worse than hurt?" he asked softly, his gaze intense. "Is that what you thought?"
Cam looked away, blinking hard. "Sometimes." The admission was barely a whisper.
Silence stretched, filled only by the storm’s symphony. Then, Griffin shifted. He shrugged out of his thick flannel shirt, revealing a plain, dark t-shirt beneath. "You're shivering," he murmured, holding the flannel out. "Take this."
She hadn’t realized she was shivering. A tremor ran through her, part cold, part the lingering adrenaline, part the sheer, painful proximity of him. She took the shirt numbly. It was warm from his body and smelled overwhelmingly of him – that woodsy cologne mixed with fresh rain and the faint, clean scent of his skin. She draped it around her shoulders, the fabric swallowing her small frame. The familiar scent enveloped her, a tangible piece of him that made her throat tighten. It was the scent of safety, tangled now with confusion and resentment.
"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling the shirt tighter.
He didn’t reply. Just watched her, his expression unreadable in the gloom. The space between them in the truck cab felt charged, crackling with everything unsaid. The memory of their first time, the raw intimacy of it, the shock of him finishing inside her and her panicked reassurance… it all flooded back, amplified by his closeness now. Weeks of absence couldn’t erase the visceral imprint of his body against hers, the feel of him moving inside her.
Suddenly, his hand moved. Not tentative, but deliberate. His fingers brushed the back of her hand where it clutched the flannel. The contact was electric. Cam flinched, not pulling away, but startled by the jolt it sent through her. His touch slid up her forearm, over the sleeve of his shirt, his calloused fingertips igniting trails of heat on her skin even through the fabric. Her breath hitched, loud in the sudden stillness between drumbeats of rain.
"Cam," he breathed, his voice thick. Just her name, weighted with so much – apology, longing, a desperate need she could feel radiating from him.
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. The warmth in his brown eyes was back, intense, magnetic. The hurt was still there, a dull ache, but it was momentarily eclipsed by the overwhelming pull she always felt towards him. The confusing mix of anger and yearning tightened her chest.
He leaned in slowly, giving her space to pull away. She didn’t. His large hand slid from her arm to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing the high curve of her cheekbone. His touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the strength she knew lay coiled beneath his skin. He searched her eyes, asking a silent question.
Her body answered before her mind could formulate words. She tilted her face towards his, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. It was permission enough.
His lips met hers. Softly, at first. A tentative brush, a question mark against the tension. It was different from the desperate passion of Harley’s apartment. This was hesitant, seeking, weighted with the weeks of silence. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and tasted faintly of coffee and rain. He kissed her slowly, deeply, pulling the breath from her lungs. His hand slid into her hair, tangling in its length, holding her gently but firmly. The kiss deepened, turning hungry, a dam breaking. Weeks of worry, anger, and longing poured into the connection. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him with a soft gasp. The taste of him, the familiar heat, flooded her senses, momentarily washing away the confusion. She kissed him back, her hands finding his shoulders, gripping the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer across the center console. She felt the hard muscle beneath the fabric, the remembered strength.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, both breathing raggedly. "Missed you," he rasped, his voice raw. "Every fucking day, Cam."
Tears pricked her eyes, but they weren't angry tears anymore. Just a release. "Griff…"
"Need you," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple, then her cheekbone, trailing scorching kisses down to the sensitive skin of her jaw. "Please." His hand slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, then back up, slipping beneath the borrowed flannel shirt, finding the soft cotton of her own t-shirt beneath. His fingers traced the waistband of her jeans, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine.
Her own need surged, hot and undeniable. The rational thoughts – the weeks apart, the unanswered questions – receded, buried under the wave of sensation and the magnetic pull she’d always felt towards him. She answered by tilting her head back, exposing her throat to his seeking mouth. His lips found the pulse point there, sucking gently, sending a jolt straight to her core. Her hands fisted in his hair, urging him on.
He unbuckled his seatbelt with a sharp click, the sound startlingly loud. Then he leaned further, maneuvering awkwardly in the confined space, his hands sliding under her thighs. He lifted her easily, pulling her across the console and onto his lap, straddling him in the driver's seat. The flannel shirt fell open. The gearshift pressed awkwardly against her hip, the steering wheel against her back, but she barely registered it. She was consumed by the heat of his body beneath her, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her denim-clad thigh.
His hands slid under her t-shirt, his palms hot and rough against the skin of her back, then sliding around to cup her breasts through her bra. She arched into his touch, a low moan escaping her lips as his thumbs found her nipples, rubbing them into hard peaks. He kissed her again, fiercely now, his tongue tangling with hers, swallowing her gasps.
"Griffin," she breathed against his mouth, her hips instinctively grinding down against the hard length straining against his jeans. The friction was delicious, maddening. "Touch me."
He didn't hesitate. One hand stayed kneading her breast while the other slid down, fingers deftly flicking open the button of her jeans, dragging the zipper down with a rasp. His hand slipped inside, beneath the waistband of her panties. She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers encountered the wet heat between her legs. He groaned, the sound vibrating against her throat. "So fucking wet for me," he murmured, his voice dark with desire. "Even after everything?" His fingers parted her folds, finding her clit already swollen and sensitive. He circled it slowly, deliberately, the pad of his thumb applying perfect pressure.
"Oh god," Cam gasped, her head falling back, her hips rolling against his hand. Weeks of pent-up tension coiled tight inside her, threatening to snap. "Yes… like that…" The confined space, the relentless rain on the roof, the scent of him surrounding her – it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His touch was masterful, knowing exactly how to build her pleasure, just like the first time, but without the hesitation. He slid a finger inside her, then another, stretching her, curling them just right. She cried out, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers. "Griffin!"
"Need to feel you, Cam," he growled against her neck, his breath hot. "Need to be inside you. Now." He withdrew his fingers, making her whimper at the sudden emptiness. His hands went to his own belt buckle, fumbling slightly in his urgency. He shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the head slick with pre-cum, glistening in the dim light.
He lifted her hips slightly, his eyes locked on hers. "Guide me," he rasped. "Put me where you want me."
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She reached down between their bodies, her fingers trembling as they wrapped around his hot, rigid length. The feel of him, the velvet-over-steel reality of his cock in her hand, sent another wave of dizzying need through her. She positioned him at her entrance, slick and swollen. She hesitated for only a heartbeat, suspended between the ache of his absence and the overwhelming need for connection, before sinking down onto him.
He filled her completely, stretching her, a deep, satisfying burn that quickly melted into pure, liquid heat. "Fuck, Cam," Griffin choked out, his head dropping back against the headrest, his hands gripping her hips hard. "You feel
The damp moss felt like a cool balm against Griffin's bare back as they lay tangled. Cam's cheek rested on his chest, rising and falling with his slowing breaths, her hair smelling of sweat and crushed ferns. His softening cock still nestled inside her warmth, a thick, sticky reminder. "We never did find the fucking Bloodroot," he murmured again, his voice rough, his fingers tracing idle circles on the curve of her hip where her dress was still rucked up.
Cam hummed, a vibration against his skin. Her own mind felt pleasantly fogged, limbs heavy like wet sand. She shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at the tender scrapes on her knees and palms from the rough bark of the log. The raw ache inside her was deeper, a sweet throb that echoed each beat of her heart. "Doesn't matter," she breathed, the words muffled. "This was… better." A blush warmed her neck.
He chuckled, a low rumble she felt more than heard. His hand slid lower, fingertips brushing the sticky mess coating her inner thighs, mingling with the remnants of his release inside her. "Yeah," he agreed, his gaze fixed on the canopy above. "Definitely better." He paused, that familiar heat simmering back into his eyes as he looked down at her. He gave her hip a gentle squeeze. "You okay? Knees hurting?"
"Little bit," she admitted, lifting her head to meet his warm brown eyes. The concern there, mixed with the lingering lust, made her stomach flip. "Worth it." She saw the flicker in his gaze, the way his cock twitched inside her, already stirring again against her sensitive walls. A fresh pulse of wetness answered it. His hand moved from her hip to her ass, kneading the flesh possessively.
"Fuck, Cam," he groaned, his hips rocking up subtly, pressing himself deeper into her slick channel. "Feel you getting wet again." He shifted his weight, rolling them carefully. The moss yielded silently. Now she lay on her back, the cool, velvety surface beneath her, his body a warm blanket above. He braced himself on his elbows, looking down at her flushed face, her dress a rumpled halo around her waist. "Wanna see you. All of you."
He kissed her deeply, his tongue demanding entry, tasting the forest air and their shared salt on her lips. His hand slid between them, fingers sliding easily through the wetness coating her swollen folds, finding her clit. He rubbed it with firm, knowing circles. Cam gasped into his mouth, arching off the moss. "That's it," he growled, breaking the kiss to watch her face. "Get that sweet cunt ready for me again."
He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock catching against her slick opening. He pushed in slowly, deliberately, filling her resisting warmth inch by thick inch. Cam cried out, the stretch intense, delicious, her inner walls fluttering in welcome. He sank deep, pausing when fully seated, grinding his hips in a slow circle. "So fucking tight," he rasped, sweat beading on his forehead. "Like you’re milking me already."
He started to move. Long, deep thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in, hitting that spot deep inside that made her see stars. His pace was steady, possessive, the wet slap of skin echoing softly under the trees. He watched her face, captivated by every gasp, every flutter of her lashes. "Look at you," he breathed. "Taking my cock like a fucking dream. Your tits bouncing… that pretty mouth open…" He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth through the thin cotton of her dress, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak. She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair.
The pleasure built like a storm surge. He shifted his angle slightly, driving harde