Chapter 14
Tristan
I told myself I wouldn’t come back up here.
That I’d give her space.
Let the board handle the permits.
Let the valley chew her up the way it does anyone foolish enough to challenge it.
But night falls, and all I can think about is her voice. “Good thing I’m not leaving.”
The way she said those words—sharp, fearless, defiant. Like she knew exactly how to crawl under my skin and stay there.
Now the vineyard lies silver under the moon, every row glistening with dew.
I kill the headlights halfway up the ridge and let the truck glide the rest of the way.
The engine ticks once, then quiets.
Silence presses in.
She’s still awake. I can see her window glowing, her shadow moving back and forth across the light.
It should be enough just to know she’s safe.
But it isn’t.
My fingers curl around the plastic lying on the passenger seat. The mask waits there—white, smooth, and cold beneath my skin.
It started as a joke. A way to scare her off, remind her the ridge can’t be tamed.
Now it feels like armor.
Something that lets me be near her without crossing the line completely.
I slip it on. The air inside smells faintly of rain and my own breath.
The world narrows through the slits—focused, contained, almost calm.
When I step out of the truck, the earth is soft, sucking lightly at my boots. The smell of grapes and wet soil mixes with the faint tang of metal from the mask’s chains.
Her house looms ahead, half-wrapped in fog.
Through the kitchen window, she moves—barefoot, restless, still in that soft T-shirt that clings in ways that undo every part of my discipline.
She laughs into the phone, and the sound hits me low in the chest.
It’s not for me, but I feel it anyway.
I should turn around. Leave.
Be the man who protects this valley instead of haunting it.
But when she turns toward the window—toward me—and her brow furrows just slightly, I stop breathing.
She can’t see my face. Only the faint gleam of the mask’s smooth surface catching the porch light.
Her hand freezes mid-motion.
Then she shakes her head, convincing herself she imagined it, and walks away.
The ache in my chest sharpens.
It shouldn’t thrill me that she saw me.. But it does.
Exiting my truck, I creep through the darkness. Every movement is deliberate, quiet, as I step closer to the porch. The mask hollows the sound of my breath until it doesn’t even feel like mine.
I set her flashlight—the one she dropped the first night—on the porch railing. The mud’s cleaned off. I even replaced the batteries.
A peace offering.
Or maybe a promise.
I linger long enough to see her shadow cross the upstairs window again, the movement slow, unguarded.
Long enough for my pulse to sync with hers.
I tell myself the mask keeps her safe from me. But deep down, I know the truth.
It’s the only thing that lets me keep getting closer to her.
The wind moves through the vines, carrying her scent. Honey. Wild and alive.
It slides through the slits of the mask until it fills my lungs.
“Sleep well, sunshine,” I murmur, my voice muffled and low.
When she turns toward the sound, I step back into the dark, just far enough for her to doubt her own eyes.
The mask gleams once in the moonlight before the fog swallows it whole.
In the darkness, I wait until her bedroom light shuts off. My heart thuds, anticipation curling through my veins. Patience isn’t a virtue tonight—it’s a restraint I can barely hold on to.
My hand slides into the pocket of my jeans, curling around the smooth metal. The key I shouldn’t have. The spare my father kept just in case, back when he and Malcolm Voss still pretended they were friends.
I shouldn’t use it.
But the part of me that still believes in control is whispering quieter than the part that just needs to see her.
The moonlight cuts between the trees, throwing silver through the fog, right across her porch door. A sign.
My boots sink into the damp earth as I climb the stairs. The key slides into the lock. The click is quiet, perfect, and too easy.
I step inside.
The air smells like her—honey and something floral, faint beneath the sharp tang of wood polish. It fills my lungs until it feels like oxygen is running out.
The house hums in low, living sounds—the fridge cycling, floorboards settling, the faint laugh track of the TV upstairs. She must’ve left it on for noise.
Or maybe she’s afraid of the dark.
I toe off my boots, leaving them by the door.
The nightlights cast thin gold halos across the walls, lighting my way to her.
Each step creaks if I breathe too hard, so I don’t.
I move through the house like I belong there—past her coat, her coffee mug still on the counter, the faint outline of her hand where she wiped condensation from the window.
Every trace of her is a map. Every detail, a temptation.
I head upstairs, stepping carefully. Soundlessly.
When I reach her doorway, I pause.
The glow of the TV softens everything—her bed, her hair spilling across the pillow, the faint rise and fall of her chest.
Peaceful. Vulnerable. Completely unaware.
My throat tightens.
This close, I can hear the rhythm of her breathing. The sound threads through me, pulling me forward one careful step at a time.
I stop beside her bed, the mask hiding everything but the part of me that’s coming undone.
For a second, I hover—watching her, memorizing her.
She stirs, lashes fluttering, a soft sigh leaving her lips.
And I almost leave.
Almost.
I exhale when she stills, her eyes remaining closed.
My hand moves before my mind does. I reach out and brush a lock of hair away from her face. The strand sticks to my skin, silk catching on callus. Her skin is warm beneath it. Real.
Her lips part, just slightly, and a small sound escapes—a breath, a whimper.
It’s enough to break me.
I pull back so fast it hurts, every muscle burning with restraint. My pulse roars in my ears.
She shifts again, turning onto her side, and the blanket slides lower, revealing the edge of her shoulder, the curve of her neck.
I can’t breathe.
The mask fogs from the inside as I whisper, “You shouldn’t make me feel like this.”
Her eyes fly open, disbelief and fear mixing in them as she stares at my masked face.
For a second, I’m transfixed by that look. Unable to move.
And then, my hand clamps over her mouth, preventing her from screaming.
“Shhh, wild honey. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
She stares at me like she doesn’t believe me.
“Promise,” I rasp, my voice low. “I only want to touch you. Please you.”
She tremors beneath my hand, from fear or excitement, I’m not sure.
My other hand slides through a strand of silky hair, brushing it away from her face. “Gorgeous,” I whisper.
She relaxes beneath my hand, as though the reverence shining in my eyes calms her.
“Just relax.” My hand slides lower, tracing the lines of her face to the soft material of her shirt.
My eyes are on hers as I move my hand lower, cupping one soft breast through the fabric. She whimpers, a blush coloring her cheeks.
I smile behind the mask. She likes my touch, but tries to deny it.
I knead and stroke her breast, feeling her chest heave. Watching the confusion and wonder in her eyes as she struggles against herself.
When I pinch her nipple, rolling it beneath the fabric, she loses the battle, arching into my hand. A breath rushes out of me. She’s giving in. Succumbing to the pull between us.
I remove my hand from her mouth, wrapping it around her throat. Her pulse bangs against my skin, and a slight moan passes my lips.
Unable to resist, my hand moves lower, gliding over the smooth skin of her exposed leg. Goosebumps roll over her skin, and a half whimper, half plea comes from her lips.
“Please.”
I cock my head. “Please, what? Touch you?”
She swallows hard, remaining silent.
I move my hand higher, my grin widening when she opens her legs, inviting me inside.
“Use your words, wild honey. Tell me you want me to touch you.”
She hesitates for only a few seconds before she rasps, “Touch me.”
“Where?”
Her eyes drop to her center, then back to mine.
“Tell me,” I demand. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
She stares at me, stubborn and defiant.
I slide my hand closer to her knee, and she whines like a spoiled child.
“No. Higher.”
I chuckle behind the mask. “Here?” I move my hand slightly higher, touching her thigh.
She huffs out an irritated sigh. “Between my legs.”
Her face and neck are on fire the second the words are out of her mouth. A burst of pride and power rush through me. Breaking her down is part of the fun.
I move to her bikini line, my fingers stroking the skin there. She huffs again.
“Beneath my panties.” Her gaze drops from mine. “Between—”
I cut her off, my tone cold and demanding. “Eyes on me.”
When she does as I command, my voice smooths and lowers. “Tell me exactly where to touch you.”
Her eyes remain on mine as she whispers, “My pussy. Please… touch my pussy.”
Her words shatter every bit of my resolve.
I release her throat, pulling the covers away from her, yanking her panties down her hips. My hands shake with desperate need.
She doesn’t notice me pocketing her panties. Not when my thumb is on her clit, rubbing it in circles. She gasps, then moans. Her honey eyes are bright with desire beneath the light of the TV.
I slip a finger inside her, moaning at the sensation. “Fuck. You’re so tight and wet.”
She hums, arching her hips.
The sound of her wetness fills the room, her walls gripping my fingers every time I pull them out, like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
I add another finger, moving them in and out of her while teasing her clit.
“And greedy.”
Her breathing is heavy and shaky as I finger her faster, my thumb working her clit. The moan that slips out is full of pleasure. Want. Need.
It matches mine.
“That’s it, wild honey. Let go for me.”
She whimpers again, her legs shaking as I work her into a frenzy.
And then, her eyes widen as she clamps tightly around my hand, her wetness gushing over my fingers. The sharp gasp that leaves her and the wonder in her eyes nearly undoes me. I ache so much for her, I nearly come in my pants.
I stay with her until she stills, her body drained of all energy after that powerful orgasm.
Sliding my fingers out, I tuck the blanket around her, watching as her eyes close. A quiet sigh escapes when I stroke her cheek.
When her breathing evens out, I lift my mask enough to slide the two fingers that were inside her into my mouth, tasting her. She’s musky and sweet, damn near bringing me to my knees.
I lower the mask, staring down at her sleeping form.
I back away, each step heavier than the last. Down the stairs. Through the hallway.
By the time I reach the porch, the key shakes in my hand as I lock the door behind me.
Outside, the air tastes sharp and electric. The vines sway in the wind, whispering things I don’t want to hear.
I look down at the key once more, then slip it back into my pocket. I already know I’ll use it again.
Something in me crossed a line tonight.
And I don’t think I’ll ever find my way back.