Chapter 7 #2
I SAT BEHIND HIM ON the ATV, arms wrapped tight around his waist, face pressed against his back as he navigated the mountain trails like I navigated through a busy shopping mall.
The storm had calmed to occasional flurries, but the path was still treacherous—narrow trails along cliff edges, dense forest where branches reached out to snag unwary riders, steep inclines that made me bury my face into his warm jacket.
But I trusted his skill, his knowledge of these mountains, and his determination to keep me safe.
Snow-covered peaks stretched endlessly in every direction, pristine and untouched. Through breaks in the clouds, I caught glimpses of the valley far below, and the sheer beauty of it made my chest ache.
This was his world.
And for some insane reason, he wanted to share it with me.
After about forty-five minutes, the trees opened up to reveal a cabin perched on a rocky outcrop. Not a rustic hunting shack—a proper modern structure of wood and glass that seemed to grow out of the mountain itself.
"Eagle's Nest," Sam said, killing the engine. "Home."
I climbed off the ATV on shaky legs, staring at the cabin in amazement. Solar panels lined the roof. Large windows faced the valley, promising spectacular views. The whole structure was designed to blend with the landscape while still offering modern comfort.
"You built this?" I asked.
"Me and my brothers." He grabbed our packs and led me to the door.
Inside was even more impressive. The main room was open concept—kitchen, living area, and workspace flowing together.
Climbing gear hung on one wall like art.
Maps covered another, marked with trails and notes.
A fireplace dominated the far end, with windows on either side framing the mountain views.
But despite the modern conveniences—solar panels, running water, even a satellite internet connection—it was minimalist but functional. Everything had a purpose. Nothing was just for show.
"Bathroom's through there," he said, pointing to a door on the left. "Grab a hot shower, if you want one."
"I want one," I said immediately. The thought of hot water was almost as appealing as the man offering it.
Almost.
"Go ahead. I'll start some coffee and make us food that doesn't come from a foil packet."
I grabbed my pack and headed for the bathroom, which turned out to be surprisingly luxurious. The shower was walk-in, tiled in natural stone, with one of those rainfall showerheads that promised to be amazing.
I stripped off my clothes—wrinkling my nose at how they smelled after days of wearing them—and stepped under the spray.
The hot water hit my skin, and I actually moaned out loud. After days of cold, of struggling to stay warm, of physical exertion and stress, the shower felt like heaven.
I stood there for long minutes, just letting the water pour over me, washing away the grime and exhaustion. My muscles slowly unknotted, the tension I'd been carrying for—God, how long? Years, probably—finally starting to ease.
I was reaching for the shampoo when I heard the bathroom door open.
"Sam?".
"Just me. Unless you want privacy?"
Did I? I should probably want privacy. Should probably establish some boundaries after the intensity of the last twenty-four hours. But I didn't want privacy. Didn't want boundaries. I wanted him.
"No privacy needed," I said.
The shower door opened, and Sam stepped in, naked and already half-hard.
I'd felt his body against mine in the tent, but I hadn't really seen him. Now, in the light of the bathroom with water streaming over us both, I could fully appreciate him. His cock jutted out, thick and already swelling harder as his eyes traveled over me.
"I've been imagining this since I saw you set up that tent. You, in my shower, in my space. Mine."
"Yours," I agreed, my voice husky.
He moved closer, crowding me back against the tile wall. The water cascaded over his shoulders, and I watched droplets run down his chest with fascination.
"Let me wash you," he said. "Let me take care of you."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He reached for the shampoo, pouring some into his palms, then worked it into my hair with strong, capable fingers. The scalp massage was almost as good as sex—almost—and I let my head fall back as he worked.
"So much tension in your shoulders," he murmured, his hands sliding down from my hair to knead the tight muscles. "When's the last time you relaxed, baby girl?"
I couldn't remember. Years, maybe. I'd been operating in survival mode for so long that tension was just my baseline.
"That's what I thought." He guided me under the spray to rinse the shampoo, his hands still working magic on my neck and shoulders. "You carry stress like armor. Like if you're tense enough, nothing can hurt you."
"Does it work?" I asked.
"No, baby. It just means you hurt yourself instead."
He was right. Of course he was right. I'd been hurting myself for years with impossible standards and punishing work schedules and the constant pressure to be perfect.
His hands slid lower, soaping my back, my waist, the curve of my ass. The touch started as caretaking but quickly shifted possessive.
"Can't touch you without wanting you," he admitted, his palms cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples. "Can't be near you without needing to fuck you again."
"Then fuck me."
He groaned, spinning me to face him. His mouth crashed down on mine in a kiss that was pure hunger, pure need. His hands roamed my slick, soapy skin, learning every curve, every response.
"Want you in my bed," he said against my lips. "Want to take my time with you. Learn every sound you make, every spot that drives you crazy."
"Let’s go."
His eyes flared. "Shower first. Then bed. Then I'm going to fuck you so thoroughly you forget your own name."
He finished washing me with hands that shook slightly, his control clearly hanging by a thread. I returned the favor, soaping his hard body, learning his scars with my fingers and my mouth.
By the time we finally turned off the water, we were both panting and desperate.
Sam wrapped me in a towel—huge and soft and nothing like the camping supplies we'd been using—and carried me to the sleeping loft above the main room.
His bed was massive, probably custom-built for his height, with windows on two sides offering views of the mountain. The bedding was simple but quality—down comforter, soft sheets, everything in shades of gray and blue.
He laid me on the bed like I was precious, his eyes roaming over my towel-wrapped body with such intensity, I shivered.
"I'm going to unwrap you now," he said, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that curled my toes. "And then I'm going to spend the next hour showing you exactly what it means to be mine."
"Just an hour?" I teased.
His smile was wicked. "You're right. Better make it two."
He pulled away my towel with deliberate slowness, revealing my body inch by inch. The way he looked at me—like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen—made me feel like a goddess instead of a stressed-out lawyer who hadn't been to the gym in months.
His hands skimmed up my calves, my thighs, parting my legs.
Then his mouth was on me, and coherent thought became impossible.
He licked and sucked and used his tongue in ways that had me writhing and gasping his name.
He worked me with the same focused intensity he brought to everything else, learning what made me moan, what made me come off the bed with a scream, and what made me fist my hands in his hair and beg.
"Sam, please—I need—"
"I know what you need." He pushed two fingers inside me while his tongue circled my clit, and I shattered.
The orgasm flooded over me, making me cry out and shake and lose control. And he didn't stop. He worked me through it and into another, and then another, until I was sobbing with pleasure and pushing at his head because it was too much.
"Too much?" he asked, pulling back with glistening lips.
"No. Yes. I don't know." I was incoherent, boneless, wrecked in the best way.
"Good." He crawled up my body, settling between my legs. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."
He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, and we both groaned at the perfect fit. Even after this morning, even after all the times last night, my body still struggled to accommodate his size.
But God, it felt incredible.
"This is what I wanted," he said, starting to move with deep, powerful strokes. "You in my bed. In my home. Where you belong."
"Yes," I gasped, wrapping my legs around him and meeting each thrust.
This time was different from the desperate claiming in the tent or the quick intensity in the shower.
This was slower. More deliberate. Sam taking his time to learn my body, to show me what we could be together.
He made love to me like we had all the time in the world.
Like nothing existed beyond this bed, this moment, this connection between us.
"I'm close," I warned, feeling that familiar coil of pleasure tightening.
"I know. Can feel it." His hand slid between us, finding my clit. "Come for me, Jess. Come for me in my bed where you belong."
The orgasm built slowly this time, rolling like a wave instead of crashing like a storm. My whole body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and I heard him groan my name as he followed me over.
We lay tangled together afterward, sweaty and satisfied, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the most comforting way.
"Stay here," he murmured against my neck. "Don't go back to that life that's killing you. Stay here with me and build something real."
"Sam—"
His phone rang, the sound harsh and jarring in our peaceful bubble.
"Ignore it," I said, but it kept ringing.
With a curse, he rolled away and grabbed it from his jeans pocket. "What?"
I watched his expression harden as he listened. "We’re at Eagle’s Rest." A pause. "Now? Jesus, Kevin—" Another pause, and his jaw clenched. "How long do we have?"
He hung up and stared at the phone for a long moment before looking at me.
“What was that all about?”
"There's a weather window opening. Narrow one—maybe three hours. After that, another system moves in and we could be stuck here for a week. Your boss is demanding you come back now. The helicopter's already en route to evacuate the group."
My stomach dropped. "Three hours?"
"Two, by the time we get you down there." His eyes held mine, and I saw everything in them—love and hope and desperate fear. "So I need you to make a choice, Jess. Right now. Stay here with me. Miss the helicopter. Let them leave without you."
"I can't just abandon everything without a plan."
"Yes, you can." He moved closer, his hands framing my face. "You can choose this. Choose me. Choose us. Or you can get on that helicopter and go back to drowning in Manhattan, and we both know if you leave now, you won't come back."
"That's not fair. I have responsibilities to take care of. Things I have to finish."
"I know you do." His voice cracked. "But I'm asking you to choose yourself anyway. Choose being alive over being responsible. Choose the woman you are with me over the woman they expect you to be."
"This is coming too fast. I need time to think."
"That's the one thing we don't have." He pressed his forehead to mine. "I love you, Jess. I'm in love with you. And I'm asking you to stay with me."
He said the words I'd been waiting to hear from someone all my life.
Finally. And I couldn't say them back because my throat was closed with panic. I what I wanted to do, but years of conditioning, years of being told I had to be responsible and professional and perfect had be second guessing what was real and what wasn’t.
"I need to go back. Just to handle things properly. To give notice, to pack, to—"
His hands dropped from my face like I'd burned him.
"You’re not coming back," he finished, his voice flat.
He stepped back, and the distance between us felt like miles.
"I've been left before, Jess. By every person who was supposed to keep me.
And they all had good reasons. Logical reasons.
Responsible reasons. But at the end of the day, they still left. "
"I'm not leaving for good. Just for right now."
He gave a half laugh. “That’s what they all say.” His ice-blue eyes held mine, and I saw the exact moment he gave up. "I asked you to choose me. Right now, in this moment. And you chose responsibility instead."
"Sam, please—"
"We need to get you down the mountain." He pulled on his shirt with jerky movements. "Don't want you to miss your ride back to the life you can't walk away from."
"Why are you being like this?" Anger flared through my tears. "Why does it have to be all or nothing? Why can't I go handle my responsibilities and come back?"
He finally looked at me, I flinched at the pain in his eyes.
"Because I know how this ends," he said quietly.
"You'll get back to Manhattan. Back to your apartment and your job and your boss telling you that what happened here was just a breakdown.
Just stress. Just temporary insanity. And you'll start to believe it.
You'll convince yourself that we couldn't really have fallen in love in three days.
That it was just survival instincts and adrenaline and good sex. "
"No.” I shook my head. But a little tingle in me wondered if he was right. "You're not being fair."
"I'm being honest." He headed for the stairs. "And honestly? If you can't choose me right now, when I'm standing here telling you I love you and begging you to stay, then you never will. You either want this badly enough to fight for it, or you don't."
"That's not—" But he was already gone, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
Fair
I sat in his bed and felt the weight of what he'd asked me to do. Stay. Miss the helicopter. Burn my bridges. Leave everything familiar behind. I couldn’t do it. I was too much of a coward.