Chapter 5
Sunlight. Bright, aggressive, right in my face. I squint and turn away from it, my cheek pressing into a sour-smelling pillow. My whole body feels… crusty. There’s a dried patch on my stomach and another on my back. A white streak on the wall next to my head.
The events of last night rush back in a dizzying flood: Brody’s hand on my erection. His hard cock grinding against my ass. The desperate moans I couldn’t hold back. The sticky, explosive finish.
I sit up so fast the room spins. Brody’s side of the bed is empty. The blanket thrown back, the sheet wrinkled with the shape of him.
My chest goes tight. He left. He woke up, realized what we did, and took off, leaving me here to deal with the aftermath.
Years of friendship wiped out by one stupid, reckless, unbelievably hot mistake.
What was I thinking? Why did I let it happen?
He was half asleep, caught in some weird, horny twilight state.
I should have pushed him away. I should have been the responsible one. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of—
A creak of floorboards. The cabin door swings open and Brody steps in. Shirtless, wearing only the sweats from last night, bare feet caked in dirt. He’s holding two mugs. Steam rises from them into the cool morning air.
“Jesus, Tate. Finally awake,” he says. “I already went for a swim, did my morning push-ups, and collected firewood. You were dead to the world. Coffee’s instant, but it’s hot.”
I blink at him. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Not coffee and small talk and a big-ass grin on his face.
“Yeah,” I say, taking the mug. “Took me a while to fall asleep after…” I stop. Better not to poke the bear. “…after that coyote scream.”
Brody’s grin doesn’t falter. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I have to resist the urge to wrap my arms around him and breathe him in.
“Coyote scream? Didn’t hear a thing. Must’ve been tired.
” He takes a long sip of coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug.
“Slept good, though. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks. ”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Something about the mountain air, I guess.” He shrugs. “Must’ve passed out the second my head hit the pillow.”
I search his face for something. A crack. A tell. Anything that says he remembers the way his hand slid into my boxers, the way he whispered my name, the way his hips stuttered when he came all over my ass. But there’s nothing. Just Brody, sipping instant coffee, looking bafflingly normal.
Maybe he really doesn’t remember. He said it felt like a dream. Maybe for him, that’s all it was. A vivid, filthy wet dream he’s already chalked up to too much beer and too little pussy. My stomach twists with a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
I’m off the hook, at least. Our friendship is safe. But at the same time, the most intense experience of my life was, for him, nothing more than a blip. A forgotten fantasy. That stings more than I want to admit.
I take a gulp of coffee. It’s bitter, burns my tongue. “So,” I say. “The summit?”
“Hell yeah. The summit.” He slaps his knee. “Let’s pack up. I’ve already wasted half the day waiting for your lazy ass to wake up.”
We’ve been climbing for over an hour. Brody’s shirt is soaked through, clinging to the muscles of his back like a second skin.
Every step he takes, I can see the shift of his shoulder blades, the flex of his lats, the sweat running in a dark line down his spine and disappearing into his waistband.
He reaches up to grab a branch overhead, and his shirt rides up, exposing the dimple above the curve of his ass. I trip over a root and almost go down.
“Whoa there, bro. You good?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Fine. Just… a slippery root.”
“Told you we should’ve gotten you real boots. Those sneakers are no match for this terrain.”
“You’re wearing sweatpants.”
“They’re performance sweats. Breathable. And these boots are military-grade. Could march through a swamp in these.”
I look at his feet—big, heavy, mud-caked boots. Like everything with Brody, it’s all or nothing. He doesn’t just go hiking. He gears up for war. He doesn’t just go to the gym. He transforms himself into the Hulk.
My eyes travel up the long, powerful line of his legs, past the tight curve of his ass, to the broad expanse of his back.
His muscles bunch as he pulls himself up a steep incline.
He turns, waiting for me to catch up, and the sunlight catches the sweat beading on his temple.
He wipes it with the back of his hand, then grins.
A flash of white teeth in a tanned, stubbled face.
Fuck. Him not remembering might be the worst thing that could have happened.
Because I want to do it again. All of it.
I want him to press me against a tree right now, kiss me until my lips are raw, and fuck me into the dirt.
Now I’ve had a taste of what it’s like to be that animal, to act on pure impulse, and I don’t want to go back to being the cautious, overthinking guy who froze at the bar with Rebecca.
“Come on, slowpoke,” he calls out, already twenty yards ahead again. “Summit’s waiting.”
I force my legs to move, my lungs to pull in the thin mountain air.
The trail is getting steeper, the trees thinning.
The views are getting more spectacular, but I barely see them.
All I see is Brody’s ass in those tight, breathable sweats.
All I can think about is the feeling of his cum dripping down my back.
Another twenty minutes of this. Of him bounding ahead, effortlessly athletic, while I struggle to keep up. Of me trying not to stare at the muscles in his calves, the powerful stretch of his hamstrings as he takes those long strides. Of me walking up this mountain with a half-hard dick in my pants.
Finally, we break through the last of the trees onto a rocky outcrop.
And it’s… stunning. A flat slab of stone that opens up to a 360-degree view.
The world spreads out below us, a vast green quilt of forest dotted with smaller lakes like scattered jewels.
The sun is high and bright, the sky a deep, endless blue.
The wind whips at our clothes, tugging at my hair.
“This, Tate,” Brody says, spreading his arms wide, his voice booming. “This is freedom.”
He drops his pack and strides to the very edge of the outcrop, a sheer drop of a few hundred feet. I follow more slowly, legs shaking from the climb. The wind is strong up here, feels like it could lift me right off the rock.
“Don’t stand so close to the edge, man,” I say.
He turns and grins. “Scared of heights?”
“No. I’m scared of you tripping over your own massive feet and taking both of us down.”
“Not gonna happen. My balance is perfect.” He lifts one leg, holding it out to the side like a flamingo. “See? Solid as a rock.”
“Jesus, Brody.”
I sit down on a flat stretch of stone a few feet back and take in the view. It’s incredible, but I can’t fully appreciate it. My mind is still stuck in that tiny cabin, in the dark, in the tangle of limbs and the smell of sweat and sex.
We’re completely alone. Two tiny figures on top of the world. The wind is the only sound. I pull a protein bar out of my pack and take a bite. It’s chalky and tasteless, but I need the fuel.
Brody finally sits down next to me. Close enough that our shoulders touch.
He pulls off his sweat-soaked shirt and drops it on the rock, and I’m treated to the full, glorious spectacle of his bare torso.
He leans back on his elbows, chest and abs standing out in sharp relief.
The sun catches the light dusting of dark hair between his pecs, trailing down past his navel.
I take another bite of my protein bar and chew mechanically.
“That was a hell of a climb,” he says, looking out at the view. “You kept up pretty well. For a guy in sneakers.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“I’m serious. You’ve got more stamina than I thought.” He glances at me, a funny little smile on his face. “Which is… you know. Good to know.”
I nearly choke on the protein bar. I have to take a long swallow from my water bottle to wash it down. “Good to know?”
“Yeah.” He looks back at the view. “For tonight.”