Chapter Twenty-Five
Sienna
Carson didn’t move, and he didn’t breathe.
Neither did I.
His mouth hovered just above mine, the warm whisper of his breath brushing my lips in the dimness of the tent.
Outside, wind rustled through the pines, the lake lapped quietly against the shore, and the Butterfields’ tent was far enough away that the world felt narrowed to one impossibly small point: the space between us.
“Say something,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
“If I say anything, I’m going to do something we’ll both pretend we didn’t plan.”
My heart thudded. “Who said anything was planned?”
“You’re in my sleeping bag,” he breathed. “Everything about this is planned.”
I felt the smile forming before I could stop it. “It wasn’t the plan.”
His fingers touched mine softly, far too intimate for two people who kept claiming professionalism. His hand, resting just beside my hip, flexed like he was holding himself together through will alone.
“Carson,” I whispered.
He closed the last inch of space between us.
The kiss wasn’t careful this time.
It wasn’t testing.
It wasn’t the slow burn that had been driving us both insane all week.
It was heat, immediate, and certain.
His mouth claimed mine with a hungry, almost aching urgency, and my fingers curled into his shirt like I’d been waiting to do it for centuries.
The sleeping bag shifted around us, the nylon whispering with every movement as his lips deepened the kiss. The rhythm was intoxicating, from slow to faster, then slow again, as if he were trying to memorize my breath.
When he pulled back, barely, his voice came out unsteady. “Sienna.”
“Yes,” I whispered, breathless.
“You’re shivering.”
“You’re the one doing that.”
“Doing what?” he murmured, brushing his lips against mine again, teasing.
“That,” I breathed, tugging him closer.
His low laugh rumbled through me as he kissed me again, deeper, his hand sliding up my back through the fleece layers I’d stubbornly worn, his touch warm even through all the fabric.
I melted into him, literally melted, as though my bones had dissolved and the only thing keeping me upright was the strength of his arm around my waist. His fingers pressed lightly at the curve of my hip, drawing me closer in the cramped space until our bodies aligned with no room left between.
I gasped against his mouth.
He inhaled sharply at the sound. “Sienna…”
“Closer,” I whispered, surprising even myself.
He let out a breath like he’d been punched, then pulled me in fully, shifting us until I was half on my side, half against his chest, his leg tangled lightly with mine. The movement sent a shock of heat through me so intense I had to bite back a sound.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“No,” I whispered honestly. “You?”
“Not even a little.”
We kissed again, slow at first, tasting, learning, but it deepened and grew hungrier.
His hand cupped my jaw gently, like he was trying to be careful even as the electricity between us surged out of control.
My fingers slid up the back of his neck, into his hair, and he made a soft, rough sound against my lips that made something inside me tilt dangerously.
“God,” he murmured, kissing the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the soft space just beneath my ear that made my breath catch. “You’re… incredible.”
My heart tripped. “I’m not.”
“No,” he whispered. “You need to hear this.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, each pass of his lips deliberate, almost reverent. His hand slid to my waist, holding me in a way that wasn’t just desire; it was grounding.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured into my skin. “I knew it the moment I saw you.”
I laughed softly, breathless. “You didn’t even like me at first.”
His smile pressed against my cheek. “I liked you way too much at first.”
Heat curled through me, warm and spreading, tinged with something deeper, something dangerously close to emotion.
I tugged him back to my mouth, and this time the kiss turned molten, all restraint slipping. He kissed like a man trying to hold back a tidal wave and failing beautifully.
His thumb brushed beneath the hem of my fleece, bare skin, and my breath caught so sharply I worried I’d wake the sleeping guests.
“Sienna,” he whispered, the sound broken.
“I know,” I breathed. “Me too.”
His hand hesitated, then spread gently over my hip beneath the sleeping bag, pulling me flush against him. Every nerve in my body lit up.
He kissed me with a kind of focus that felt like being chosen, like being seen. Each brush of his lips grew warmer, deeper, his breathing unsteady as his hand slipped along my waist, tracing my curves through layers of fleece and wool, as if learning me by shape alone.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispered.
“You said layers were smart,” I managed.
“They were.” He kissed my neck, slow, devastating. “Now they’re in my way.”
My fingers dug into his back. “This isn’t fair.”
“No,” he said, kissing my collarbone through my shirt. “It’s not.”
I shifted closer unintentionally. My body wanted his more than my mind could keep up with. My hands ran along his thighs.
He stilled.
So did I.
“Don’t do that unless you mean it.” He smiled with an intensity that made my body surge with desire.
I meant it.
I really meant it.
I guided his lips back to mine in answer.
He made another soft, guttural sound in his throat and kissed me like he couldn’t stop himself, like he had been trying to hold back for days and had finally broken.
His hand slid under the hem of my fleece again, warmer this time, bolder, splaying over my skin. His touch was fire…slow and deliberate fire. His fingers moved up my side, leaving a trail of heat under my shirt that made my breath catch.
I arched slightly into him, unable to stop the movement.
He exhaled sharply. “Sienna…”
“I know,” I whispered again, because words were failing and need was taking over. “Please don’t stop.”
His thumb stroked my waist. “Tell me if you change your mind.”
I shook my head. “I won’t.”
He kissed me again deeply and hungrily, as he claimed me, and I noticed the world blurred softly around the edges.
The sleeping bag rustled as he shifted over me, bracing himself carefully and strongly.
His weight settled over me just enough to make my breath crack in my throat. His hand traced the line of my hip, lighting every nerve it touched.
My fingers slid under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles. He inhaled sharply, lips faltering for a second before kissing me harder and deeper. Every movement was more urgent than the last.
I tugged him closer as our bodies aligned with a heat that made every rule, every argument, every reason to be careful evaporate into nothing.
“Carson,” I whispered against his mouth, breath trembling. “I want—”
He kissed me before I could finish, swallowing the confession, answering it with one of his own.
His hands slid beneath the fleece, the sleeping bag shifting, heat rising between us like a matched spark.
Everything was warmth and breath and tangled limbs and the quiet, aching sound of two people trying desperately to stay quiet in a tent that felt too small for this much electricity.
His lips brushed my ear, my jaw, my throat, every kiss dissolving another piece of my restraint.
“You’re… incredible,” he whispered again, voice broken. “I can’t—God, Sienna, I can’t stop.”
“Then don’t.”
He lifted his head, eyes dark, locked on mine, one breath apart.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
And as he kissed me again, stealing the air between us as everything else drifted away.
The tent.
The rules.
The lies we told ourselves.
The world outside.
There was only him.
Only us.
Only the moment his hands slid beneath my layers, and the sleeping bag closed around us like a cocoon of heat and inevitability—
And everything melted into something we could never undo.
The sleeping bag rustled around us, the nylon whispering against my skin as Carson’s body settled just a little more fully over mine.
The world outside the tent might as well not have existed.
There was only the heat of him, the steady strength of his arms braced on either side of me, the warmth radiating from his chest, his breath mingling with mine in soft, uneven pulls.
His lips traced a path down my cheek, slow and reverent, as though memorizing me one inch at a time.
I hadn’t expected him to be gentle.
But he was.
Beautifully, devastatingly gentle.
“Sienna,” he whispered again, voice shaking just enough to undo me, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do.” I slid my hands up his sides, feeling the shift of muscle under my palms. “You’re not exactly hiding it.”
He mumbled something like a laugh, but it dissolved into a low, quiet sound when I tugged him closer, guiding him down until his fingers brushed my cheek.
His nose skimmed mine, and his lips traced my jawline.
Every touch was fire.
“We’re supposed to be professional,” he murmured against my skin, as he kissed the hollow just beneath my ear.
I shivered. “We’re terrible at it.”
His hand slid beneath my fleece again, fingertips tracing my waist in a slow, deliberate curve that made my breath stutter.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered.
“I know.”
His thumb stroked a warm line along my hip.
“But I’m not stopping you,” I breathed.
He made a sound that told me exactly how thin his restraint had become as he kissed me.
He kissed me like he needed the air in my lungs.
I curled my fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, and he followed without hesitation, his body aligning with mine in the narrow sleeping bag until there was no space left between us. His weight settled just enough to ground me, his knees brushing mine, his chest pressed against my ribs.
Heat flared dangerously low in my stomach.
His hand moved again, slow but certain, exploring the curve of my waist as though the layers between us were thin as tissue.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered against my mouth.
“I don’t,” I whispered back, already leaning into him again.
His breath caught. “Sienna…”
The way he said my name, rough, reverent, and hungry, felt like its own kind of kiss.
I brought him back to me, lips meeting his with need so sharp it made my pulse trip.
He responded instantly, his hand sliding from my waist up to my ribs, tracing the faint rise and fall of my breath.
The sleeping bag tightened around us as we shifted, his thigh brushing mine, sending another hot jolt through my nerves.
The way his body moved against me made my head spin.
I could feel him trying not to rush, trying to keep control, trying to be the steady, grounded one…
But the soft little sound I made when his hand curved over my hip nearly broke him.
He kissed me harder, deeper, his breath tangled with mine, our movements increasingly urgent in the cramped warmth. The sleeping bag slid down slightly as we shifted, letting in a little cold air that only made his warmth more intoxicating.
“Sienna…” he whispered again, like a prayer he was scared to finish. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Good.”
He let out a breath that trembled. “I want—”
“I know,” I breathed. “Me too.”
His head fell to my shoulder for a moment, like he needed one breath to steady himself. His hand slid up my back, anchoring me to him.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been trying not to do this,” he murmured.
“Then stop trying.”
He lifted his head, and our eyes met.
And that was the moment everything changed.
A quiet understanding passed between us…something deeper than heat, something heavier than attraction, something neither of us could pretend anymore.
He kissed me again, slow and deep, all heat and tangled breath and unspoken want. My fingers ran beneath the hem of his shirt, brushing warm skin, and he inhaled sharply, almost breaking the kiss.
“Sienna…” His voice was wrecked now. “I’m trying so hard to be careful with you.”
“You are,” I whispered, kissing him again, softer this time. “But I don’t want careful.”
He froze, but only for a heartbeat.
Carson exhaled softly, like surrender.
His hand slid beneath my fleece again, skimming up my side, fingertips tracing heat across skin, slow enough to make every nerve in my body feel newly alive. I arched into the touch without meaning to, a quiet gasp escaping me.
He shut his eyes as if the sound physically hit him.
“Please,” I whispered, fingers curling into him. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth found mine again, and I kissed him back with equal urgency, pulling him closer until our breaths tangled and the last inch of distance vanished.
Outside, the forest stayed quiet.
Inside, everything burned as we stripped our clothes. The sleeping bag shifted, our bodies shifting with it, warmth and tension and the quiet, reckless promise of what was coming. His hand slid from my waist down to my hip, guiding me closer, and the world spun fast.
This wasn’t safe.
This wasn’t smart.
This wasn’t planned.
But it was real.
And it was us.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my mouth.
And as his hand traced a slow, devastating line along my skin and I kissed him again, sinking into the heat, the closeness, the absolute inevitability of him, and I knew this was the best mistake I’d ever made.