Free Web NovelChapter 91: Chapter 91 - I Can Do It Myself
Night settled in fully, cold and heavy, the kind that pressed close and erased distance, leaving only the small pocket of light they allowed themselves. Iyisha knelt in the snow beside Aaron, hands already sore inside her gloves, breath puffing white as she worked.
She had never seen this done before.
Not like this.
The deer lay open between them, body stripped of life and warmth, the sight still sharp enough to make her grimace even as she forced herself to keep going. It was messy. It was bloody. It was nothing like the clean idea of hunting she had carried in her head. And yet she watched every movement, every cut, every pull, knowing that if she ever had to do this alone, this knowledge would matter more than comfort.
She was working the hide.
Pulling. Heating it carefully near the edge of the fire. Scraping with slow, controlled strokes the way Aaron had shown her, removing what needed to come off so it would not rot later. Her arms burned. Her jaw clenched as she leaned her weight into it.
At least now I know how, she thought grimly, lips tightening as she worked. If I ever have to.
Aaron continued packing the meat beside her, movements steady and practiced, wrapping portions tight, stacking them carefully so nothing touched the ground longer than it had to. The smell of roasting deer meat drifted through the cold air, rich and sharp, cutting through the metallic edge of blood and snow, making her stomach twist with hunger despite herself.
Beyond the small circle of light, Malcolm and Fennigan moved through the dark, shapes more than men now, taking turns on the perimeter, rifles low but ready, eyes on the tree line where night hid too well.
Aaron paused and glanced at her.
"Pull harder," he said, not unkind, just direct.
She adjusted her grip and pulled again, muscles protesting as the hide finally gave way a little more.
"Like that," he added, then turned back to the fire, rotating the meat with a practiced hand, watching it carefully so it cooked through without flaring.
Iyisha swallowed, steadying herself, and kept working, the night filled with quiet labor, the kind that kept people alive.
After they ate, the good kind of full settled into Iyisha’s body, the kind that made the cold easier to ignore and the work feel worth it. Warm meat, real protein, not rationed or thin, and she understood then one of the quiet pros of going out to hunt.
You ate better. You felt stronger. You remembered what food was supposed to do. freewebnovel.cσ๓
Aaron wiped his hands and nodded toward them. "Rest first," he said. "We’ll rotate."
Fennigan agreed with a hum, already shifting back toward the perimeter.
Malcolm took Iyisha with him without a word.
The tent was small but solid, the air inside noticeably warmer the moment they ducked in and zipped it closed partway.
Malcolm moved with the same calm efficiency he always did, laying out the bedding, checking the ground, adjusting the packs so nothing pressed wrong. Iyisha did not wait. She wriggled into the space he cleared, boots off, body sinking down with a quiet sound of relief.
He pulled the zipper the rest of the way, sealing them in.
"Cold?" he asked.
She shook her head and scooted closer instead, tucking herself into him, her back fitting easily against his chest. His body was warm, solid, the heat of him spreading through her fast, easing the last of the chill from her hands and feet.
Malcolm settled around her without comment, one arm firm at her waist.
She sighed and relaxed fully for the first time since they left the compound, liking the way this felt, the closeness, the quiet, the simple comfort of being held while the night stayed outside.
She shifted a little, settling more fully against him, and that was when she felt it, unmistakable even through layers, firm and warm against her hip. The realization made her huff out a small laugh, more tickled than embarrassed.
"You’re hard," she said quietly.
"Hm," he answered, low and noncommittal, and he did not move away.
She tilted her head back just enough to look at him, curiosity mixing with warmth. "Are you tired?"
He stayed frozen, not pulling away, not responding, just still beneath her, like he was thinking through something he did not want to name.
Iyisha felt it, the pause, the distance that was not physical, and it only made her want to close it.
She leaned in and kissed him again, harder this time, not careful, not tentative. Her lips pressed into his with intention, warmth spreading through her chest as she shifted closer, her knee sliding between his, her body fitting into his space like it belonged there.
Her hand slid to his waist, fingers curling into the fabric at his back, anchoring herself there as she kissed him again and again, slower now but deeper, letting herself feel the heat, the tension, the way his body reacted even if he did not act on it.
He let her.
She felt it rise in her before she could stop it, heat pooling low and sharp, the closeness doing more to her than the cold or the exhaustion ever could.
Being pressed against him, feeling the solid line of his body and the warmth trapped between them, made something inside her unravel fast.
She kissed him again, deep, dragging her lips over his like she could drink him in, like she needed more than her body could carry. Her hand fisted at his back, nails catching in his shirt, hips shifting against him, slow but certain, chasing sensation.
She wanted him.
Right now. Right here. Whether he touched her back or not didn’t even matter because the wanting burned, and she had already surrendered to it.
She was breathing hard, mouth parted against his, chest rising fast as she moved against him, needing more. The heat was thick under the sleeping bag, her skin flushed, her pulse racing. Every kiss, every shift of her hips, made it worse. Her body was buzzing. Her lips were swollen. Her thighs already slick.
Then he stopped her.
His hand came up to her waist. Gentle. Firm. Still.
She froze.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t push or pull. Just that quiet pressure telling her enough.
Iyisha stared at him for a second, breath catching in her throat, her lips still close to his, her whole body tense from how badly she wanted to keep going.
She turned away.
The sleeping bag zipped around them left little room to move, but she made space anyway, pulling away from him as far as the fabric allowed, her back to his chest, her jaw tight.
She understood. They were out here. Aaron and Fennigan were a few steps away. This tent wasn’t soundproof. They were exposed if something went wrong. Of course he didn’t want more.
She understood all of it.
But understanding didn’t mean she felt better.
Her nipples were hard, aching under her clothes, each breath making them throb. The wetness between her thighs only made it worse, slick and warm and impossible to ignore. She clenched her legs together and it sent a sharp pulse through her belly, not relief, just more frustration.
She was pissed. Not at him. At herself.
For wanting. For chasing it. For needing something he clearly wasn’t going to give. For being so sensitive now that every little shift of fabric was too much.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slow.
She couldn’t take it anymore. It was as if every second ticking by under the same tight sleeping bag was making her body burn hotter. The stillness, the lack of touch, his silence. It all made the ache worse.
She bit her lip in pure annoyance and surrender.
She didn’t need him.
She could still feel how hard he was against her thighs, unmoving, just there. That was enough to drive her crazy.
Her hand moved before she could even think it through, brushing over her breast, squeezing it, pinching once to ease the tension rising fast under her skin. Then she slid lower, down her belly, across her thigh, her fingers warm as she imagined it was Malcolm’s hand between her legs. Touching her. Wanting her.
She clenched her teeth as her finger brushed over her clit, the contact sharp and unbearable in the best way. She opened her legs wider under the bag, letting her fingers work, flicking softly, circling, her breath hitching.
It was going to be fast. It had to be.
She couldn’t hold back.
Not when she knew he knew.
His breath changed. Just slightly. But she caught it.
That alone sent another rush through her.
He was still hard yet still doing nothing.
She bit her lip again, harder, holding back every sound. No moaning. No whimpering. Just her hand moving, her slickness making everything hotter, faster, needier.
Her body twitched as she slid a finger into her wetness, the heat of it overwhelming. She curled slightly, trying not to make a sound, trying to stay quiet while everything inside her begged to come undone. Her breath stuttered in her throat as she pushed deeper, her body tightening around her own touch.
The muscles in her legs jumped, her hips giving a small jolt she couldn’t control.
Then she felt it. His hand.
He reached down and curled his fingers around her leg, lifting it, pulling it over his thigh, spreading her wider without a word.
The sleeping bag shifted. Her skin met his. Heat collided with heat.
Still, he said nothing.
Still, he didn’t move.
But he was there. Holding her open. Letting her do it. Letting her keep going.
