Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
ALMA
I wake slowly, surfacing from somewhere deep and warm.
For a few suspended seconds, I don’t open my eyes. I just exist in the silence beneath the weight of the comforter. There’s a faint scent of cedar and smoke…and him. My corners of my mouth quirk and I find myself outstretching my arm, reaching out for the warmth of his body.
I’m met with cool sheets instead.
Eyes shooting open, my head swivels around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. The other side of the bed is empty, only a thin ribbon of morning light slipping through the curtains. It’s as if he was never there.
My stomach dips before my brain can catch up.
He left.
The thought is irrational and immediate, but then I see it—a small square of paper on the nightstand, folded once, my name written in a very clear, all-male handwriting.
Don’t panic. Back soon.
- C
A breath of relief leaves me. I almost laugh. Of course he’d know panic would be my first instinct. Lying back down, I stare at the ceiling with the note resting over my heart as hard proof that none of this was a figment of my imagination.
It’s then last night threads through me in quiet flashes…
The firelight against his face, the unshaken rhythm of his voice, the way he touched me like I was worthy.
Desirable even after I’d done. I wish I could say it was purely adrenaline, that the trauma bonding and shared criminal liability forced our hand.
The forced proximity of the cabin, the fact there was only one bed, and I made him lay down with me…
But I’d only be lying myself.
It’s clear something had been building long before we even got to the cabin. Something unexpected and inexplicable—like gravity finally giving in.
I wrench the covers off and all but jump out of bed before I can overthink it further, padding into the bathroom for a shower.
The old pipes groan when I turn the dial, and soon steam begins to gather in the small space, blurring the edges of everything until the mirror no longer reflects someone I entirely recognize.
It’s not until I’m under the water that I allow myself to feel it.
The ache.
The warmth.
The memory of Crew’s hands playing me like a fucking violin.
Tilting my face into the spray, I close my eyes. I was married for six months and I don’t remember ever feeling chosen the way I did last night. The thought lodges somewhere tender, drawing a hand up to my chest.
What does this mean?
What are we doing?
There’s a body dissolving in a sulfur pit not far from here, my entire future exists in a haze of legal improbability, and yet the most dangerous thing in this cabin might be the way Crew looked at me like I wasn’t fragile.
The bathroom door opens then, charging the air subtly yet immediately. Even over the rush of water I can feel it, the awareness that sparks low in my belly before his voice meets my ears.
“Alma?” His tone is nothing short of careful.
“I’m in here,” I call back, hating the way my pulse betrays me.
There’s a pause, then the quiet thud of boots and the muted sound of fabric hitting the floor.
The curtain draws back just enough for him to step inside, and suddenly the shower feels impossibly smaller, the steam thicker, the world narrowing to only the space between us.
Water slides down his shoulders, tracing lines I’m somehow familiar with despite the fact I hadn’t seen them clearly in the dark.
He doesn’t touch me, just stares down at me, his eyebrows knit together in the middle of his fine face.
“Hi,” he says softly.
My heart rate jumps up another notch. “Hi.”
Those blue eyes, brighter now in the daylight, move over my face. They’re not possessive or hungry, but assessing. He’s making sure I’m here, present in the moment.
That I’m okay.
“I wasn’t far,” he explains. “Just wanted to get a head start and check on the pit.”
I nod. “I read your note.”
A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “And?”
“I didn’t panic.”
“Good.”
He steps closer now, allowing the water to cascade over both of us. Brushing the wet strands stuck to my cheek, his thumb lingers just below my ear as if touching me somehow grounds him as much as it seems to ground me.
“You slept,” he murmurs.
My head bobs again. “So did you.”
Crew hitches a shoulder and allows the spray to rain down on his face, his hand scrubbing down its length. “Eventually.”
There’s something fragile in that admission, something that doesn’t quite match the man who calmly orchestrated the disposal of my husband and cleaned up my tracks. It also doesn’t match the man who fucked me into another dimension until I passed out.
“Crew…” I start, unsure of what else to say.
What happens when this is over?
Was last night just… last night?
Will I ever see him again?
He reads the uncertainty before I can form it into words, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Stop overthinking. We’re allowed to just…be.”
Just be.
The simplicity of it makes my throat tighten because I don’t want simple.
As crazy as it may sound, I think I… I think I want more than just survival with him.
Closing the tiny bit of remaining space myself, I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palms. His breathing shifts, but he doesn’t rush me or try to take the lead.
When I rise onto my toes and kiss him, it isn’t frantic or confused.
It’s as intentional as it was last night.
No, more.
The water falls around us, warm and constant, as his hands glide up my back.
His touch is firm but unhurried, a silent reminder that everything between us is chosen, not forced or out of pity.
For a few suspended moments, the world outside the shower ceases to exist. There’s no past, no thoughts of the future or what consequences may lie ahead, just the heat of his mouth, the slide of water over skin, and the quiet, terrifying realization that whatever this is—it’s not an accident.
The thought has me pushing up onto the tips of my toes, my arms tightening around his neck. “Does just be mean I can tell you I want you again?”
‘Cause I do, desperately so.
Crew hums as his lips find mine. “Yes, because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you too.”
Thank God.
“Take it,” I say between kisses. “Take whatever you want.”
The growl that rumbles from deep within his chest is nothing short of feral.
All it takes is a couple steps backward and he backs me into the shower wall, tightening his hold around my waist as the look in his eyes turns predatory.
Hooking one of my legs over his forearm, he easily swipes the head of his cock through my pussy lips a few times, and then he’s in, filling me slowly.
My eyes wrench shut just as Crew groans and flexes his hips, stretching me out to capacity. “God, you feel so good.” His voice comes strained, like it’s taking everything in him not to fall over the edge. “I swear I dreamed of this pussy.”
“So do you,” I breathe out, burying my face in his neck. “I’ve never had someone fuck me the way you do.”
He plunges in and out of me, the tempo lazy and unhurried, though at one point or another, I find myself face front to the tiles with the pads of his fingers digging into my hips.
My moans, his growls, our skin slapping…
every sound is amplified through the steamy space, heightening the moment until he brings a finger to my clit and I fall apart again.
And again.
And again.