One man tents aren’t meant for sharing
I wanted to write bed sharing. So I did.
One man tents aren’t meant for sharing. Neither are sleeping bags. Too bad they don’t have any choice…
Killian Jones’ rather bony elbow dug into Emma’s back. Wincing, she scowled then retaliated by shoving her icy cold right foot backwards until it was wedged between his bare legs, causing him to mutter profanities under his breath.
Today was such a fucking mess. She was cold, tired and mentally drained from an afternoon of drudging through the forest with… him .
“Swan…” he groaned, the low timbre of his voice cutting right through her body making her gut clench.
“Keep your arms to yourself, buddy,” she snapped, her frown growing deeper.
“Gladly,” he quipped, flopping dramatically onto his stomach. The extra-large sleeping bag that housed the pair lurched in his direction, spinning her onto her back and somehow wedging her arm beneath him.
“Urgh!” she cried, tugging herself free, thanking God and all the stars that the man was at least wearing an undershirt.
He turned his head. Though it was late, it was summer and the night sky still provided enough illumination to see his expression: a smug grin combined with raised eyebrows.