Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
A pale beam of early light nudges my eyes open, soft enough to keep me in that cozy half-sleep haze. Weirdly, it’s the first time in weeks I haven’t woken up from some manic planting dream. Most nights, I dream that I’m planting the inside of my tent, only to run out of space. Or worse, I’m about to plant the creamiest block ever—only to discover that I can’t find my shovel. There was none of that last night.
As I start to stretch out, the first thing I notice is the warmth of the sheets next to me, the faint scent of woodsmoke still clinging to the pillows.
I’m at Gabe’s cabin.
Fragments of the night come back in flashes: the sandwiches Gabe made for dinner, the two of us curled up on the broken futon by the fireplace, talking for hours—flirting, laughing, letting the easy banter stretch into something softer. Every conversation felt so natural, so effortless, and I was beginning to realize just how much I loved the way he made me feel—comfortable, appreciated, heard.
Eventually, we wandered to bed, keeping things PG—just a few lingering kisses, a handful of unspoken words exchanged in the quiet before he wrapped himself around me, his arms pulling me close. His warmth, his steady breath against my skin, lulled me toward sleep.
Until, of course, his body started twitching—little jerks that kept waking me up, making me shift and adjust until I finally had no choice but to push him off me.
The sound of running water pulls me from my thoughts. For a moment, I let myself imagine stepping into the shower with him, the thick and heady steam curling around us. The warmth of the water slicks over his skin, trailing down his broad shoulders and back, pooling in the dips of his muscles. I slip in behind him, naked and wet, pressing my breasts against him as my hands slide over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingertips.
A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he feels me, the sound vibrating through him. He’d turn at the contact, his gaze dropping, dark and knowing, his breath hitching slightly as his eyes roam over me—wet, flushed, nipples taut against the steam-heavy air. Maybe he’d murmur something low, something teasing, before I reach for him, my fingers wrapping around his length, already hardening in my grasp. The way his body stiffens under my touch and his muscles tense as realization dawns as I sink to my knees, water cascading down the curve of my back. My lips part as I press a kiss to his right thigh, then his left, inching myself upward as I hold him tight in my palm. I can feel the energy pulsing under my grip as I trail along his erection with my kisses.
The last kiss ends at the tip, lingering there, letting the anticipation build as I stroke him slowly, feeling the weight of him in my palm. My eyes flick up, meeting his hooded, desperate gaze. Then I would spit on him and open my mouth to take him into me. His hand would find my hair, his breath shuddering as he watches, eyes full of heat and something almost primal. The water slides over us, mixing with my saliva, my need, my want. He would shudder and sink deeper into my mouth. The way he’d groan, the way his fingers would tighten, the way his body eventually releases towards the back of my throat—l can almost hear him, feel him, taste him.
Do it , a daring little voice in my head whispers.
Quietly, I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom door. Just as I raise my hand to knock, the water shuts off. Damn it, Soleil. You weren’t fast enough. I hover for a second, unsure whether to knock or wait, but before I decide, the door creaks open and Gabe steps into the hallway.
He’s wearing only a towel slung low around his hips, his damp hair curling messily around his ears. Water drips down the defined planes of his chest, catching the morning light, and my mouth goes dry. My gaze flicks over him, landing on the faint bruises along his ribs—a faded reminder of his chainsaw accident on the block a few weeks ago. The rest of him, though, is perfection.
“Hey! I didn’t want to wake you. Figured you could use the extra sleep.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Coffee? I was about to make eggs and toast after I got dressed. You hungry?”
Oh, I’m hungry, but not for that.
I try not to stare at the water sliding down his chest. I swallow hard, but he notices my tension. His gaze lingers and there’s amusement flashing in those glacier-blue eyes.
“Something on your mind?”
I nod slowly.
He opens his mouth to reply, but instead of speaking, he lets the towel drop to the floor. “Oopsie,” he says with a mischievous grin.
My brain short-circuits.
He’s standing there fully bare, with his length on display—thick, heavy, and unmistakably ready. The sight of him steals my breath from my lungs. His sharp gaze locks on mine, watching me enjoy the view. My lips part on instinct, and I can already feel myself pulse as the warmth of my blood rushes through me, my body reacting before my mind can catch up.
“I was just about to join you, but this is even better because I don’t have to get wet now.”
He reacts quickly, as if it’s a signal for him to strike. In two short strides, he’s on me, scooping me up with effortless strength, his grip firm. A startled gasp escapes me, quickly melting into a soft laugh as I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck, my legs locking around his waist.
The heat between us is instant, searing. His skin is warm and slick from the shower. His fingers tighten on my thighs, his grip possessive, like he’s been waiting for this. One second, we’re in the hallway by the bathroom, and the next, he’s setting me down on the sturdy wooden kitchen table. The cool surface sends a shiver through me as his hands slide to my hips, holding me in place with a firm, steady grip.
“Who says you’re not gonna get wet?”
Without thinking, I tug off the oversized T-shirt I’m wearing, exposing my bare chest to the cool air. He lets out a low hiss of appreciation, his gaze darkening as it drops to my flushed pink nipples. His hand glides up my inner thigh, hooking onto the edge of my underwear and sliding it aside like it’s nothing. Then he runs a finger over my already-wet centre.
“Were you starting without me?” he murmurs, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
“Well, no, but I was picturing?—”
My words cut off the second his finger slides inside me, slow and deliberate, my back arching instinctively. A broken moan escapes before I can stop it, and he adds another finger, curling them just right to apply pressure on the tender spot inside me. At first it feels too direct, too much, but then as he gently massages it, my body starts to loosen, and I instinctively start to spread my legs wider as if asking him for more.
His free hand grips my chin, tilting my face up as his lips claim mine… slow, deep, deliberate. His kiss is all-consuming, leaving no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. When he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice drops low, rough with need.
“Look at me, Sunshine.”
The command hums through me, igniting an even deeper desire. My eyes meet his, and suddenly, I’m not just looking at him, I’m connected to him in a way that feels raw and unshakable. His confidence is intoxicating, the way he takes control without ever making me feel powerless. It’s not about dominance; it’s about knowing exactly what he wants—and showing me exactly how much he wants me.
“Gabe…” I gasp, gripping the edge of the table as my thighs start to tremble.
He withdraws his fingers, leaving me breathless and aching for more. Before I can complain, I hop off the table and stumble toward the back of the couch, glancing over my shoulder.
Gabe follows, his eyes glazed with intent.
The second I bend over the couch cushions, he’s there, one hand resting on my backside as he pulls my underwear down my legs with one hand. He slides his fingers inside me again, coaxing a flood of heat that nearly buckles my knees. Then he withdraws, using my wetness to slick his length before I feel the subtle shift of his weight—and the firm press of his erection against me. My breath catches, and I brace myself against the couch.
He pushes in slowly, the stretch making me gasp as he fills me completely. “Fuck, Gabe,” I cry, gripping the cushion beneath me. “It’s too much.”
He stills, leaning over me, his chest warm against my back. “But you’re taking it so well,” he murmurs, his voice raw and hungry.
I crane my head to look behind me, my teeth catching my lower lip for a heartbeat before a soft moan slips out. The look I give him basically screams, I love it when you talk to me like that.
He lets out a low, hungry sound, then begins to move again, finding a rhythm that’s slow but devastatingly deep, hitting that spot inside me. “God,” he groans, as he kneads my hips. “I don’t want to forget how you feel.”
The words send a thrill through me, but they also prick at a hint of fragility in my chest. I can’t forget that this is temporary. The thought twists at the edge of my mind, but I shove it away, choosing to focus on the now… on the heat of his body, the way he moves inside me, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the cabin.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, my body tightening as the pressure builds. My legs tremble and it’s hard to keep any weight on them as I’m bent over the couch. He presses deeper, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate, his grip unrelenting as he pushes me past the point of no return. My body shatters around him, waves of pleasure crashing through me as he pulls me upright and I arch my back into him, his name falling from my lips in a broken moan. A heartbeat later, he follows, his body tensing, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his lips as he comes undone, holding my body tight as we fall apart together.
He leans back slightly, brushing a damp strand of hair from my face with a playful smirk. “Still want that coffee?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Or was this enough of a wake-up call?”
We pack up the cabin in an easy, unhurried silence, the weekend’s high lingering in every glance, every quiet word. By the time we’re settled in his SUV, the sun is already cutting through the trees, promising a bright, clear day for the drive back to Rocky Mountain House and then to camp. We could’ve stayed longer, but honestly, I think we both need the break.
These past few days have felt endless—fishing, snuggling, deep talks, and way more than our fair share of… intimate moments. Between the deck under the stars and the floor by the fire, it felt like we couldn’t stop finding new ways to explore each other. But we’ve run out of clean clothes, and I had to borrow Gabe’s last pair of boxers while he loaded the SUV commando. Watching him in those low-slung Carhartts, his hips flexing as he tossed our bags in the back… well, let’s just say I had to stop myself from letting my hands wander.
Still, we decided it’s smart to cool it until we can stock up on condoms. Even with my birth control, we both know we’re tempting fate.
The drive back feels different this time. It’s not the usual tired, post-planting silence, but something heavier. Like there’s a swirl of questions hanging in the air, and neither of us wants to be the one to say them out loud. Gabe keeps one hand on the wheel, his other resting against the middle console. His eyes stay fixed on the empty road ahead, but I can tell he’s in his head, the same way I am.
Last night, when we were lying in bed, Gabe brought up the idea of visiting Montreal one day. He said it casually, almost offhand, like he was testing the waters. I teased him that he’d hate it—it’s too loud, too crowded, too… not this. But I softened it by saying I could take him to the Laurentian Mountains instead. It’s quieter there, more open space, more nature. “Mountains,” I’d said, though compared to the Alberta Rockies, they’re just hills. He smirked at that, but didn’t argue, and the conversation drifted away before either of us could dig deeper. That was the most we’ve talked about a possible future—an open-ended “one day.”
And now it’s all I can think about. If this is something more than a summer fling, how do we make it work? Am I supposed to fly back and forth to visit him? Would he even have the time to see me during the summer? Could we go three months without seeing each other? Is this worth the effort?
I glance at him, wondering if he’s wrestling with the same questions. But instead of asking, I hold on to the silence, letting it stretch out for as long as I can.