Love Against All Odds

Zoe - Love Bites

I lay back on the bed, my gaze following Oskar as he moved around the room, gathering his scattered clothes. The small space of my tent bore vivid testimony to the previous night's escapades—the aftermath was everywhere. Clothes lay tossed without care, a chaotic trail from the entrance to where I now rested. The bed was dishevelled, sheets twisted and half-dangling to the floor, pillows flung aside in the heat of the moment. The chest of drawers bore a few articles too, abandoned in the urgency of our desires, and the carpeted floor had not been spared, its usual neatness disrupted by our fervent energy.

It had been a night unlike any other, wilder and decidedly rougher, as if each frenzied touch and every desperate kiss were meant to leave a lasting impression, to etch a memory deep into our very skins.

I glanced over at Oskar's bare back as he bent to retrieve his shirt, the morning light catching the stark contrast of vivid scratch marks against his skin. Some of the deeper welts were still fresh, faint traces of blood marking their intensity. An initial pang of guilt washed over me, knowing I had caused him physical pain. However, this feeling was swiftly engulfed by a surge of possessive pride—I had marked him indelibly, each scratch a token of our wild abandon.

My gaze shifted subtly to notice a conspicuous love bite on Oskar's neck, its dark hue a vivid contrast against his otherwise pale skin. This intimate and glaring mark was sure to set tongues wagging throughout the camp. I could nearly hear the speculative whispers echoing between the tents, crafting narratives filled with intrigue and assumption. There would be those who might even venture to guess it was Drew, the ever-flirtatious daughter of Aphrodite. 

 The very idea sent a spike of irritation through me.

Despite his evident disinterest, Drew's unabashed pursuit of Oskar was more than a mere annoyance—it was a persistent thorn in my side. Each of her smiles, each seemingly accidental brush of her fingers against his, was a deliberate challenge to our relationship. It was incredibly frustrating to watch her continue her advances as if, through sheer persistence, she could erode his restraint. 

Oskar deftly slipped into his jeans and pulled on his boots. 

He turned to face me, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as his eyes scanned my relaxed posture on the bed, the sheet nonchalantly wrapped around my form. "Are you starting the day, or... just going to lay there all day?" he teased. 

He stood towering over me, his gaze drifting down my body. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

Despite the rising heat between us, a silent reminder of our responsibilities outside these canvas walls nudged at my consciousness. We couldn't afford to seclude ourselves in the tent all day, lost in each other, as much as the idea appealed to me.

Running a hand down his bare stomach, I felt the familiar contours and scars, my fingers lingering on the one that traced a near-fatal strike. 

 "Keep touching me like that, and I'll be getting undressed again," he murmured his voice a low growl that vibrated with thinly veiled promise.

Teasingly, I moved my hand toward the front of his jeans. Oskar's jaw clenched visibly, and he stepped back, evading my advance. I couldn't help but smirk at his reaction.

"Bella," he warned. 

"Fine, I'll see you at breakfast," I said. 

Oskar slung his t-shirt over his shoulder and started toward the tent flap.

"Do you have to be shirtless all the time?" I called after him, my words carrying a playful challenge.

Oskar turned, a smirk playing across his features. "Does it make you uncomfortable? That people will see how feral you are?" he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

I rolled my eyes; so, he had noticed the marks. Not only did he not care, but he also seemed to revel in them. "Put a shirt on," I retorted, half-serious.

Oskar chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "See you at breakfast, Bella," he said, and with a wink, he was gone.

I let out a long, resigned sigh and collapsed back onto the pillows, the softness cradling my body as I stared up at the worn canvas ceiling of the tent. The faint morning light filtered through, casting muted shadows that danced lazily above me, but my mind was elsewhere—still on Oskar, his teasing words, and that insufferable, irresistible smirk.

Gods, Oskar was going to be my death. I could feel it in how he looked at me and effortlessly ignited something wild and uncontrollable inside me with just a glance or a touch. It was more than just the physical pull; it was how he seemed to read my thoughts, challenge me, and push me to the edge. He stirred a reckless abandon I didn't know I possessed, and despite the chaos he brought into my life, I found myself hopelessly addicted to it.

The thought should have worried me, should have made me pause. But as I lay there, heart still racing from the intensity of our morning, I realized, with a growing sense of calm, that I didn't care at all. If Oskar would unravel me piece by piece, then so be it. I would let him. There was something undeniably intoxicating about being caught up in the storm, Oskar, and right now, I had no desire to escape it.