Chapter Twelve
The storm had not passed by the time nightfall had arrived, but the screaming rage of the blizzard had settled into a low, mournful howl outside the walls of the line shack.
The temperature inside had risen from deadly cold to barely warm, thanks to the small cast-iron stove glowing in the corner.
After waking from a long nap, Cassidy had been feeding it steadily with the dry cedar she had scavenged from the lean-to, checking on the horses each time she went out into the biting wind to retrieve another armful.
Sterling was still recovering and his clothes were not dry enough for him to go back out.
Her boots thumped against the floorboards as she paced the small, rough-hewn room. Five steps to the door. Turn. Five steps to the stove. Turn. She was trapped in a cage of her own making.
The immediate physical danger was over. The horses were safe in the shelter, blanketed and calm. Sterling was alive and sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, watching her with that unreadable, predatory stillness.
But Cassidy couldn’t stop moving. Her mind was a chaotic storm of numbers and threats. The Tokyo investors. The leak. The foreclosure deadline. Travis Miller. The debt. It was a cacophony of failure that screamed in her ears louder than the wind outside.
She turned, her mind grinding on the biggest question of all. “Who leaked the data?” she whispered to herself. “It had to be someone with access to the geological surveys.”
She ran through the list in her head, torturing herself. Was it Roger? No, Roger had worked for her father for thirty years. He was family. Was it Gabriel? Roger’s son was young; maybe he needed money. No way, he was loyal to the soil.
She looked at Sterling. Is it him? Was this some twisted game to lower the price? No, that didn’t make sense. He was freezing to death on the mountain with her. He wouldn’t risk his life for a discount.
“It has to be the bank,” she said aloud. “Or a neighbor. Someone who wants us to fail.”
She ran a hand through her tangled hair. She felt like her skin was too tight for her body and was vibrating with anxiety.
“Cassidy,” Sterling said in a low, commanding voice.
Cassidy stopped and looked at him.
He was wearing his damp cashmere sweater and trousers, but he looked anything but corporate. His hair was messy, stubble darkened his jaw, and the scar on his collarbone was visible where the sweater hung loose.
He looked dangerous, like the mountain had stripped away the CEO and left only the man.
“You are spiraling,” Sterling said.
“I am planning,” Cassidy snapped. “Someone has to. You said the deal closes in forty-eight hours. We are stuck in a shack with no cell service and a breached contract.”
“Come here,” Sterling said.
“I can’t,” Cassidy argued and started pacing again. “I have to figure out the logistics to get back down to the ranch house. If we take the ridge trail…”
“Cassidy.”
Sterling stood up suddenly with fluid grace and cut off her path. He grabbed her arm without hurting her, but his grip was absolute.
“Stop,” he ordered.
He pulled her toward him and looked down into her eyes. His gaze was intense, burning with a blue fire that seemed to scorch her retinas.
“You are drowning in noise,” he said. “You are trying to solve problems that cannot be solved from this room, which is useless.”
“I have to think,” Cassidy whispered, her chest heaving.
“No,” Sterling corrected her. “You need to stop thinking and turn it off.”
He reached into the corner where their gear was piled and pulled out the climbing rope they had used to tether themselves in the storm. It was a coil of black nylon, stark against the gray wood of the shack.
Cassidy stared at it, and her pulse hammered in her throat.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am going to help you,” Sterling said. “I am going to take the burden away. For the next hour, you have no responsibilities, no debts, and no ranch.”
He walked to the rusted old scrolling iron headboard.
“Get on the bed,” he said.
The air in the room shifted and became heavy—charged with a dark, erotic gravity. Cassidy hesitated, looking at the rope and his hands. She knew what he was offering: silence and a space where she didn’t have to be the executor, the boss, or the victim. She just had to be his.
She walked to the bed and climbed onto the creaking mattress. She pulled her pants off and unbuttoned her flannel shirt. The air felt cold, but the radiant heat from the stove felt comforting where her skin was bare, and the rising desire for what was coming warmed her loins from the inside out.
“Lie back,” Sterling commanded. “Spread your arms.”
She lay down and extended her arms to the sides, gripping the cold metal of the headboard. Her flannel shirt fell to the sides. The orange firelight from the stove flickered on her breasts, and her erect nipples exposed the arousal swelling up inside of her.
Sterling moved efficiently. He cut the rope into lengths with his pocket knife and tied her right wrist to the frame, pulling the knot tight.
“Tight enough?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cassidy breathed.
He moved to the left and secured her other wrist. She was open, vulnerable.
He spread her legs wide and tied her ankles to the bottom posts of the bed frame. She was spread eagled and completely exposed.
Sterling stood at the foot of the bed looking at her. His gaze swept over her body, claiming every inch of her.
“You are bound,” Sterling said. “You cannot move. You cannot fix the fence or pay the bank. You can only feel.”
He stepped closer. He reached out and slowly traced the line of her throat with his fingertips. He moved down to her collarbone, then lower, circling her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You are so responsive. I can see the pulse in your neck.”
He leaned in. “Turn over.”
“I’m tied,” Cassidy whispered.
“You have enough slack,” Sterling said. “Turn over and present yourself to me.”
Cassidy struggled. The ropes bit into her wrists, but she managed to twist her body, flipping onto her stomach. Her face pressed into the rough mattress. Her ass was raised in the air.
Sterling gripped her hips, running his hands over the smooth texture of her panties and admiring the supple roundness of her ass.
“You need to be quieted,” he said.
He raised his hand, then brought it down hard on her right ass cheek.
Smack.
The sound was sharp in the small room. The sting was immediate—a flash of heat that cut through her anxiety loop.
“One,” Sterling counted this time.
Smack.
“Two.”
Cassidy gasped at the grounding pain. It forced her out of her head and into her body.
Smack.
“Three.”
“Sterling,” she whimpered.
“Good,” he said. “Stay with me. Stay in the room.”
He rubbed the stinging flesh soothingly. Then he gripped her hips and flipped her back over. She lay there, flushed and breathless, her chest heaving.
“Do you surrender control to me?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cassidy whispered. “Please.”
“Good girl.”
Sterling reached out, gripped the waistband of her panties, and there was the sound of tearing fabric. He tossed the ruined cotton aside.
Cassidy gasped as the cool air hit her pussy. She was open to him. There was nowhere to hide.
Sterling didn’t touch her yet. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the mattress on either side of her hips and lowered his face until he was inches from her mound.
His breath was hot against her exposed skin.
“You are wet,” he observed. “You are dripping for me.”
He inhaled deeply. “You smell incredible, like musk and arousal. It’s intoxicating.”
Her scent filled the small space, replacing the smell of musty pine and old wood smoke with the raw, earthy perfume of sex. It was heavy and thick in the air.
“Sterling,” she pleaded and bucked her hips instinctively, trying to reach him.
“Patience,” he murmured.
He lowered his head but didn’t kiss her. He licked her.
Then he ran his tongue up the length of her slit.
It was a long, slow stroke that made Cassidy cry out.
Her wetness was welling up, getting thicker and running down her pussy.
Sterling used his tongue to swipe it up into his mouth so he could taste and swallow it.
He let out a moan of genuine enjoyment like he had never tasted anything so delicious and decadent in his life.
Sterling looked up at her, his eyes dark with hunger. “You taste so sweet,” he said. “You need this.”
He made his way up to her clit and circled it with his tongue—left and right, up and down—swirling around and around. He teased it and sucked it into his mouth—in and out.
“Oh god,” Cassidy sobbed, straining against the ropes. The iron rattled, but she was helpless and completely at his mercy.
He went back down lower and spread her labia with his fingers, exposing the pink, glistening flesh to the dim light. He admired the color and the wetness coating his fingers. He dove back in, burying his face in her cunt, pushing his tongue in and out—slow, then fast, then slow again.
He worked her with a relentless, punishing rhythm. The wet sound of his tongue lapping at her wetness was sloppy and incredibly erotic. He ate her with a hunger that was terrifying and perfect.
Sliding his hands against her thighs, Sterling lifted her gently to bring her ass up.
He kissed the bottom of each round cheek then continued licking lower and slid his tongue between her cheeks to quickly tease her anus.
Then he lowered her legs back down and moved back up to suck on her clit again with the same pulsing rhythm.
Cassidy’s breathing intensified and she called out his name with a singular desire.
“That’s good,” he snarled against her flesh. “Let go. Give me your mind.”
Cassidy threw her head back. The noise in her head vanished. There was no disaster at the ranch, there was only Sterling’s tongue and the fire building in her belly.
She was close, so close, and Sterling pulled back.
“No,” she whined. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he said.