5. Payton
Payton
My mouth is still tingling from when he kissed me. My body is still throbbing, like a live pulse shooting from my head to my toes, skipping over between my thighs over and over, making it impossible not to notice the throb.
August is a smart man. I’m willing to bet that if he knows I’ve never given someone my first kiss before, he’ll assume I’m a virgin. My experience with men is quite limited.
I really hope something like that won’t be enough to deter him. I’m a quick learner. I’m pretty sure I kept up with him fairly well earlier.
August takes his sweet time, giving me more than enough of it to overthink everything.
When he returns, dressed in just a pair of low-slung shorts and a thin, well-worn shirt, the fabric clings to him like a second skin.
The cotton stretches taut over the hard planes of his chest, the material sticking in a way that outlines every ridge of muscle beneath.
The sleeves strain around his biceps, the seams threatening to give under the tension, and the hem rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen as he moves.
My fingers fumble with the buttons of my own shirt, the air suddenly too thick, too warm. His clothes are casual, effortless—mine feel stifling in comparison, the fabric heavy against my overheated skin.
“Won’t you get cold wearing that?” Even if it is late summer, it has to get pretty chilly up here at night. Or at least, that’s what my research has led me to believe.
He grunts as he makes his way next to me, sliding beneath the blankets. “I don’t normally have an issue.”
No freaking kidding. Now that he’s sliding next to me, I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
If I’m not careful, I might catch myself shifting closer to him through the night.
Unlike the future, there’s no cuddling happening in the present. Once August shuts off the light, we’re both left lying on our backs with nothing more to say.
Feels a little awkward, but neither of us is willing to bring up the kiss.
The quiet happening between us isn’t going anywhere. It’s thick and heavy.
Lying side by side, shoulders almost touching, both staring at the ceiling like it holds answers. The sheets are cool against my skin, but the space between us is anything but. I want to curl up at his side and just say screw everything else, but I also need something that feels permanent.
August has made me want a man who wants me. Not just my name on a form, but me.
He suddenly speaks, his voice rough, breaking the stillness like a stone through glass.
“Why’d you come to Willowbrook Ridge?”
I turn my head just enough to see his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat moves when he swallows. He doesn’t look back. Is he really that curious? Does he need proof that I’m not some city girl hoping to get in touch with nature for a few days?
The silence stretches, and the truth feels heavier than the quiet. So I don’t answer right away. Instead, I turn my attention to him.
“Why don’t you like people?”
Now he turns. Through the darkness, it’s hard to point out his features. If I have to guess, he’s probably frowning. It’s like the question scrapes at something raw. The silence returns, thicker this time, pressing down on my chest until I think I might choke on it.
“Trust issues.” A pause passes between us. “Been burned too many times. Figured I’m better off alone.”
I study him—the way his fingers flex against the sheets, the tightness in his shoulders, like he’s bracing for a blow.
And suddenly, I see him. Not just the gruff exterior, the walls he’s built, but the man beneath them.
The one who’s been hurt. The one who’s convinced himself he doesn’t need anyone.
I think down deep, there was a time when he did want someone. What made him stop looking, and why in the world couldn’t I have stumbled across his cabin sooner?
“So that’s it?” I keep my voice soft, but it cuts through the quiet like a blade. “You just want to die alone on a mountain somewhere?”
“No.” His voice is low, rough. “Not anymore.”
The confession shoots through me, and I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking if I’m the one that has changed his outlook on his solitude life.
Rolling on my side, I try to look at him through the blanket of black. I wish I could see his face, to see what kind of expression he’s making right at the moment.
During our rounds of poker, he’s made it obvious that he can make it impossible to know what he’s thinking.
What about when he’s vulnerable? Is there a difference there?
Figuring that it’s only fair if I meet him halfway, I scooch a little closer and lightly brush my fingers along his arm. His skin prickles up against my nails.
“I wasn’t lying about what I said to you before. I really do want somewhere quiet and peaceful.” Sucking on my teeth, I soon sigh. “You know, lots of the brides are running away from something. You should cut them some slack.”
He turns, making the whole bed shake as he gets closer. “What are you running away from?”
Ugh . Can’t even let me work my way up to it.
“I’m not running from anything. I just… I just want to find someone who wants me around.” I grimace when my voice cracks. “I mean, back where I came from, I felt like I took up too much space. Out here, it’s nothing but open air. I can finally breathe.”
I feel lame explaining myself, but he doesn’t stop to laugh. Instead, he listens.
“Don’t get much service up here, you know.” Like he can’t help himself, I feel the brush of his fingers against my hip. “Passing time with cards is on a small list of things to do. You’ll get bored.”
“Not if I have company. Someone who isn’t boring next to me.” Unable to help it, I roll my eyes. Should I ask him if he’s the boring type, or is that a tease too much?
The weight against my hip disappears, and there’s a pause. I didn’t upset him, did I?
“Payton…”
My name rumbles from his chest like a confession, weighted and deliberate. The air between us thickens, each second stretching taut until I hear the sharp click of the light switch.
Golden light floods the space, and suddenly I can see everything. The way his brows knit together, carving lines of quiet conflict across his forehead. His jaw works, like he wants to say something, but the words don’t come out fast enough.
Sitting up, I try to think about what happened, what I’ve done wrong. “Hey, I was just joking. You’re probably not boring. I mean—”
His hand rises, fingers brushing against my cheek with a tenderness that betrays his harsh persona. The calloused pad of his thumb traces the curve of my cheek.
“I am boring, Payton.” His voice is rough, a low rasp that scrapes against my ribs.
“I’m an asshole—you’ve seen it yourself.
I’m the worst.” A bitter laugh escapes him, but his touch remains achingly gentle.
“But Walton Green? I know that man. He’s quiet.
A good guy. He won’t drive you off this mountain. ”
My breath hitches. Why is he doing this? Why is he pretending not to see what’s screaming between us? The air thickens, pressing against my skin like the weight of all the things he won’t say.
“He probably wouldn’t try to keep me on it either, would he?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it cracks. I lean into his touch, my laugh dissolving into a sigh. “But you would, wouldn’t you?”
I know I’m risking making this man think I’m completely unhinged. And maybe I am. But I’ve always been the kind of woman who follows her gut, even when it leads me straight off a cliff.
I left everything behind because something in Willowbrook Ridge called to me—a whisper in the wind, a pull in my chest, a promise of something more.
Right now, that same instinct is screaming at me to chase it.
To reach for him, for this wild, untamed possibility, before it slips through my fingers.
His touch is so soft it aches. His voice is rough, like gravel and honey, scraping over my skin and settling deep in my bones. I can’t help the goosebumps that prickle along my skin
“Payton.” Just my name, but it sounds like a vow. “I’d move mountains if it meant making you want to stay.”
My next breath catches in the back of my throat, and my heart is fluttering in ways I’ve never experienced with someone before.
His grip tightens like he’s already afraid I’ll slip away.
“You want happiness? Let me be the one to give it to you. I might not get it right on the first try, and I’m rough around the edges; there’s no point in pretending that I’m not.
But if you stay here and give me a chance, even if it’s a test to see if you can put up with me, I’ll do whatever. ”
At what point will he realize that he doesn’t have to prepare me for anything? If I didn’t want him, I wouldn’t be itching to get closer to him with every word that leaves his lips. I don’t just want his hands cradling my face; I want him to touch me elsewhere, too.
I watch as the conflict passes over his expression. While my experience is limited, he’s so rusty that he’s overthinking the whole thing. “What if I asked you to kiss me again?”
A low, ragged sound escapes him. “I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I don’t have the strength to stop at a kiss a second time.”
My toes curl tightly at what he’s suggesting. I smile, tilting my face up until our lips are a breath apart. “Good. Then don’t. I mean, I don’t know how else to spell it out to you, August. I want you. That includes kisses and everything that comes with it.”
He makes a choking sound, as if he can’t believe his ears. Pulling away, he sits up to take me in. Searching my face like he’ll find all the answers he needs to his questions, he blinks.
“You know what you’re asking for, don’t you?” He lets his eyes trail down the row of buttons before they flick back, and a low-throated curse leaves his lips.
Stirring beneath his gaze, I somehow manage a shaky smile.
“I mean…if it doesn’t bother you that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” My laugh comes out too high, too nervous. “Plus, there’s the whole you’re-actually-perfect thing, and I’m…”
I gesture vaguely at myself—at the softness of my hips, the way my thighs press together, the swell of my stomach that no amount of hiking these mountains will ever whittle away. Not like him. Not lean and hard and carved from stone. The words clot in my throat.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” His brows slam together instantly. The growl in his voice sends a shiver straight down my spine.
“Come on. Look at you.” My fingers twitch toward his chest—all corded muscle and sun-warmed skin—but I curl them into my palm instead. “And then there’s me.”
He takes me in like he’s trying to see me in the same way as I do. Instead of insecurities bouncing behind his gaze, it’s nothing but heat. He reaches for my shoulder and lightly pushes me to my back. Running his tongue along his bottom lip, he nods.
“Yeah,” he rasps, his fingers dragging from my shoulder toward the row of buttons. “There’s you.”
My breath stutters as he flicks the top button undone, revealing pale skin. The next one, he traces with his finger like he’s asking for permission. All I can do is nod my head.
His fingers don’t stop at the second button. They trail lower, slow and deliberate, until the fabric falls open and his knuckles brush the swell of my breast. A rough sound escapes him when he realizes—no bra. Just the bare curve of me, my nipples pebbled tight under his heavy stare.
Is he always this intense?
“ Jesus .” His thumb swipes over one peak, and my stomach flutters under his gaze.
A hot palm skates down my ribs, over the soft dip of my waist, coming to rest like a brand just above my hipbone as he opens up both flaps, revealing every inch.
“This body’s been haunting me ever since you borrowed my shirt. ”
I arch into his touch, my pulse hammering where his fingers dig in. “I didn’t think you’d—”
“Care?” He leans down, his breath tickling my skin as his mouth hovers dangerously close to my breasts.
His palm spreads over my stomach, fingers splayed like he’s trying to claim every inch.
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes with you.
Wouldn’t have had the strength to put distance between us all night.
Fuck, even when I stroked my cock to you right before this, I imagined it.
Now, I’m wondering if it was a precognition of this moment happening. ”
My attempt at a laugh dissolves into a ragged groan as his lips skim the sensitive skin just below my navel.
“Hey,” I pant, fingers tangling in his hair—too soft for a man this rough. “Weren’t you supposed to kiss me first before going this far?”
August chuckles , the sound vibrating against my stomach. When I glance down, his usual scowl has softened into something dangerously close to amusement. It’s disorienting—like staring at a stranger, one who knows exactly how to unravel me with just his teeth and those calloused hands.
Then his palm slides toward my thigh, parting me with deliberate slowness, releasing the heat forming between the both of them. “I’ll kiss you wherever you want. Just tell me where to start…and where to finish.”
An answer that, for a moment, seems obvious now makes me hesitant. I can pick anywhere ? Should I save the best for last? From the throbbing that’s pulsating between my thighs, I know I need to pick something and soon.