NOT THERE YET
Sara
Ablanket covers me. A body is close to mine. Embers are gleaming behind my lids, dying firelight painting the dark.
At first, I think I’m dreaming. I come to with heat wrapped around me, holding me in place.
Then I shift and wince, pain blooming at the side of my neck. A gnawing ache breaking the illusion.
“You all right?” Cash’s words are thick with sleep, scratchy against my ear.
I touch the back of my neck, fingers locating the knot that’s formed there. “My neck’s a little stiff.”
“Sit up,” he murmurs, already sliding the blanket down. Blinking against the dim light, the pull of sleep heavy in my limbs, I sit, and just like before, he eases the hoodie over my head.
There’s simplicity in the way he does it. His movements are unhurried, free of teasing. Again, I let it happen. I don’t brace for the fall. I just... let go.
His hands lift my hair, gathering it gently and sweeping it over one side.
His fingers slide under the thin straps of my tank top.
He draws them aside carefully, far enough to bare the slope of my shoulders, far enough to steal the air from my lungs.
A tremor moves through me, nerves lighting up like sparks under my skin, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
But I want him to. I’m not sure if I’m too drowsy to think straight, or too touch-starved to care.
My body remembers the first time his hands were on me, and I’m not strong enough to deny it.
“Okay?” he asks, the word brushing the back of my neck.
I nod because words are impossible. Then his hands knead my muscles devastatingly slow. I shouldn't enjoy this as much as I do, but God, I do.
His thumbs find the tautest spot instantly. They press, circle, release. I unravel, bit by bit, giving in to the rhythm.
What is happening to me?
I close my eyes. Everything about this is wrong and right at the same time. The glow of fire. His hands. The scent of him all around me. I shouldn’t feel this safe, this wanted, this good.
I sink further into the haze of it. The push of his thumbs at the base of my skull is addictive. I could stay here forever. In this warmth, this strange cocoon ignoring logic and the real world.
Although I want to appear brave, my voice catches slightly when I speak. “Can I try this on you?”
His hands still.
When I turn toward him, surprise flashes across his face, followed by a crooked smile.
“Sure.”
He turns, and I kneel behind him. My palms touch his shoulders. The coiled strength there is immediate, solid under my fingers. But his shirt is in the way. I hesitate, then whisper, “Would it be okay if you... took this off?” I can’t believe what I’m saying. Who am I?
His mouth twitches as though he wants to tease, but he doesn't and I’m too caught up in the moment to care either way. In one fluid motion he pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside.
Everything in me stills.
Ink traces across the smooth skin of his back, the designs wrapping seamlessly over muscle and flesh, connecting to the patterns on his chest and upper arms. No clear beginning or end, just one continuous story etched into him.
Fingers trembling, I press down to steady them, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Here. Right under the shoulder blade. Firm, but not too much. Feel a knot?”
“Mm-hmm.” Words evade me once more.
“Now move slowly in circles. Follow the muscle.”
I do what he says, and he leans into my touch, releasing a low sound from deep in his throat. His shoulders twitch, and his hand clenches the blanket at his side.
My focus shifts. Tucked into the ink, half-buried in shading and pattern, is a clown.
Its makeup is smeared, its mouth twisted into a vicious grin.
It’s the eyes holding me, terrifying and sad at once, glassy with unshed tears, like they could spill at any second.
It reminds me of the bear on my mom’s hoodie, like it’s the clown version of it.
“You’re good at this,” he murmurs.
I’m not. But the way he says it makes me want to be—for him. My hands move with more confidence now, sliding down and pressing into every inch of his strength. I can’t stop touching him, and I don’t want to.
This strips everything down to instinct. More real than anything I’ve ever known. As if I’ve stepped out of my life into forbidden territory, yet somehow exactly where I’m meant to be.
How is this happening? Why is it inevitable?
He exhales slowly, his breath growing strained as if he’s holding himself together by a thread. His hands rise to where I’m working the knot between his neck and shoulder. He gently rests them on mine, keeps them still. Then he turns. His eyes claim me first, and then his arms pull me into his lap.
I’m straddling him, knees planted on the couch on either side of his hips. My pulse flutters. My skin hums with tension.
He draws me in, one hand at my neck, the other low at my spine, until every inch of me is flattened against him. When he kisses me, it’s consuming, full of want that’s been held back too long. His tongue touches mine with aching certainty.
A broken sound breaks through, helpless, as if my body answers before my mind. Everything burns. His touch. His mouth. The hard press of him beneath me. I shouldn't want this. But I want everything.
What if Chris were here too?
The scene plays out, uninvited. Except I don’t push it away. I imagine Chris being here, watching or even closer, involved—no, what the hell?
I crush the thought before it can spread and swallow it whole even though it sears.
Under my tank his thumbs stroke the sides of my breasts.
The tender touch sends another surge of unfamiliar sensations through me.
Without permission, my body starts rocking rhythmically against his groin, and I kiss him back harder, my fingers fisting his dark hair, gripping his neck, his shoulders, anywhere I can hold on to.
This is insanity. I know it.
But I don’t care, because beyond the walls of this cabin, nothing else exists right now. No past to haunt me, no consequences to fear. It’s only this moment, only him.
A shift in the shadows above the railing catches my attention, like a presence silently watching us. It’s gone before I can take a second look.
Cash pulls back slightly, breathless, cupping my face in both hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
Lust glints in his dilated pupils.
“Then why stop?” I whisper back.
“Because...” His mouth hovers over mine. “We’re not there yet.”
The words echo.
My heart sinks.
He lifts me from his lap with a gentleness that melts me. My body misses his already.
His mouth brushes mine one last time. “See you tomorrow,” he says softly.
I leave him at the stairs and begin to climb, words stuck in my throat.
A subtle change stirs deep within, along with a strange sense that we weren’t the only ones in that moment.
◆◆◆
The bathroom holds a muted kind of peace, lit only by the glow of a dim wall sconce.
I close the door and lean against it. I can still feel Cash’s touch.
His mouth is etched in my memory along with the storm in his eyes threatening to swallow me whole.
Am I actually ready for this? I cross to the sink and brace my palms against it.
The mirror throws back a dazed, undone version of me, showing flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and eyes I don’t quite recognize.
The tingling in my skin refuses to ebb, and neither will the confusion in my chest. Somewhere in the fog of it there’s that thought again. What if Chris had been there too? How would it feel when...
The idea knocks the air from my lungs and makes my insides blaze. I’ve never had to choose whose bed to sleep in.
Time passes. I brush my teeth until they can’t get any cleaner, until I can’t delay deciding any longer.
Chris’s room feels charged, or maybe I’m imagining it, but any courage I had drains away the second I enter. I sneak past his bed toward my room. As I reach for the door, his husky voice stops me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I freeze, then turn. He’s propped up on one elbow, watching me, a question in his expression. “Um... I wasn’t sure if I should come to your bed,” I murmur, “or go to my room.”
He sits up straighter, gaze locked on mine.
“Sara, you don’t have to guess with me. I don’t play games.
I don’t do maybe. I will never leave you wondering.
” He extends his hand, palm up. “Stay with me?” His voice doesn’t push or coax or command.
He makes the choice I couldn’t and lets me decide whether to follow.
I’m grateful he doesn’t ask about Cash or try to fix what mess I am.
I place my hand in his. He pulls me into the bed, into him, where I belong, where I’m safe.
We stay awake for quite a while, me wide-eyed in the dark, my mind spinning. Him, calm and reassuring beside me, his hand slowly trailing up and down my arm.
I don’t know what to make of this or what I’m doing. I only know I’m leaving soon. Time is running out, and I want to make the most of what’s left.
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under. The last thing I know is his warmth pressing against my spine, anchoring me to him as I let go and fall asleep in his arms.