Chapter 6 Secrets in the Hayloft
Chapter six
Secrets in the Hayloft
Cash
The air in the barn is thick with heat and memory. I push the heavy door open and step inside, the scent of hay, dust, and old wood wrapping around me like a second skin. It smells the same as it always did, sun-warmed and familiar.
But with Avery behind me, her footsteps echoing softly against the planks, everything feels different. Sharper.
"Haven't been up there in a while, ranch hands do this." I say, jerking my chin toward the ladder that leads to the hayloft.
She looks up, shielding her eyes from the sun shafting in through the rafters. "I used to sneak up there to hide from my dad when I didn’t want to do chores. Thought it was my secret spot."
"It wasn't." I grab the first rung. "He always knew. He just let you think you were getting away with it."
That earns a soft laugh. “That sounds like him.”
I climb first, the ladder creaking under my boots, and she follows, her breath uneven, a soft rhythm I try not to focus on but fail miserably. At the top, the hayloft stretches wide and golden in the afternoon light, dust motes dancing in the air like lazy fireflies. It's quiet. Still.
Avery brushes loose strands of hair behind her ear as she steps beside me, her eyes scanning the space. “It’s smaller than I remember.”
“Everything is when you’re grown.”
We stand in silence for a second too long. Then she turns to me, her voice softer. “You ever come up here?”
My lips twitch. “Once or twice. Usually to escape your dad’s temper or Billy Mac’s jokes.”
She smiles, but there’s something wistful behind it. “I kissed my first boy up here.”
The words hit harder than they should. I cross my arms. “Wasn’t me.”
“Nope. Might’ve been better if it was.”
That pulls my gaze to hers fast. Her cheeks go a little pink, but she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t back down.
And just like that, the air changes. Thickens. The past presses in on all sides, wrapping around us until all I can hear is her breath and mine.
“You sure about that?” I ask, voice low.
She shrugs one shoulder. “You gonna make up for lost time, cowboy?”
My hand finds her waist before I can think better of it. She’s warm under my touch, solid and real, and when she leans just slightly into me, I’m done pretending.
“I’ve been trying not to,” I murmur, brushing my knuckles along her jaw. “But damn if you don’t make it impossible.”
She breathes in, shaky. “Then stop trying.”
And I do.
My mouth crashes onto hers, all heat and frustration and months, years, of wanting something I convinced myself I couldn’t have. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and everything inside me fractures. She tastes like sweat and sunshine, something sweet and stubborn that’s uniquely Avery.
We stumble back until her spine hits the barn wall, and I cage her there with my arms, one hand buried in her hair, the other gripping her hip like she might disappear. She moans against my mouth, and it wrecks me. Completely.
Her legs hook around my waist like instinct, like need, and I press closer, grinding into her until she gasps into the kiss. My control slips by the second.
“I can’t think when you’re this close,” she whispers, her forehead resting against mine.
“Good,” I growl. “Stop thinking.”
I kiss her again, deeper, slower, and this time it’s less about fire and more about need. About the way she feels against me, the way she fits. I trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and she shudders when my teeth graze her collarbone.
“Cash—”
I pull back, just enough to meet her eyes. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she yanks me closer, lips parted, breath ragged. “Don’t you dare.”
Then her mouth is on mine again, and the last bit of restraint I had burns to ash.
The tension snaps like an overstretched rope.
Her hands are already under my shirt, nails skimming up my stomach, and I groan into her mouth. She pushes the fabric up and I yank it off, tossing it somewhere behind me without looking.
Her palms are hot against my bare skin, her body molded to mine like she’s always belonged there. Every part of me is wound tight, and when her lips trail down my neck, I nearly lose it.
She leans back just enough to pull her shirt over her head, hay catching in her hair as it falls around her shoulders.
For a second, I forget how to breathe. She's stunning like this, half-wild, glowing in the sunlight, and mine, if only for the moment.
The lacey bra comes off next. She's gorgeous, All I can do is stare.
My chest tightens, not just with want, but with something quieter. Something dangerous. Because this isn’t just lust anymore, it’s her. Her eyes search mine, daring me to look away. I don’t.
“Still don't want me to stop?” I rasp.
Her only answer is a tug on my belt, fingers trembling with urgency. “Not even close.” She can feel the throbbing hardness trying to escape the zipper. The tension crackles between us, heavy and hot, as she presses closer and I feel the full weight of her need mirrored in mine.
I kiss her hard, hungry. My hands roam over her, soft skin, strong curves, nipples as hard as pebbles, the lines I’ve imagined in the quiet dark too many nights to count.
She arches into me, her breath catching when I slide my hands over her breasts, first one and then the other with my mouth to follow.
My hands slide under the waistband of her jeans.
We fumble with buttons and denim, laughing once, breathless, urgent, when I nearly fall backward into the hay. She drags me down with her, and suddenly we’re tangled in golden straw and heat and want. Every kiss is a promise, every touch a confession we haven’t spoken out loud.
Her thighs wrap around me again, pulling me close. I grind against her, and her gasp sends a jolt straight through me. She grabs my face and kisses me like she needs this more than air.
“Now,” she whispers, breath hot against my ear. “I need you, Cash.”
I don't make her wait. I settle on top of her.
We meet together in a rush, a blur of hands and mouths and whispered names. It’s desperate and messy and real, nothing polished, nothing planned. Just us. Her hands find me throbbing and my hand finds her wet and ready.
She moves with me, meeting every thrust like a challenge. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her body trembling beneath me. I kiss her temple, her cheek, her lips, anything I can reach.
She’s everywhere, and I never want to let go. We move slowly, savoring every touch, the feel of her body against mine grounding me in a way nothing else ever has. We move slowly with the momentum moving faster and faster and her arching her body harder and harder.
The groans coming out of her are turning me on even more with each one. She tastes so good, she smells like vanilla and hay. I don't want this moment to end. I hear her whisper, "Cash, I'm almost there, I'm closer, closer," and she shudders with pleasure, watching her makes me go at the same time.
When we fall apart together, it’s not quiet. It’s a gasp, a groan, a soft cry against my neck. It’s her arms clinging to me like I’m the only thing holding her steady. It’s everything I didn’t know I’d been missing.
And when the aftershocks fade, when we’re left panting in a bed of hay and sunlight, I rest my forehead against hers.
Neither of us says a word for a long while.
But everything that needed to be said is already there, in the way she breathes against my chest, in the way I don’t want to let her go.
When it’s over, we lie tangled in hay and sunlight, our breathing the only sound in the loft. Her fingers tangle in the hair on my chest, and I stare at the rafters, trying to remember how to exist without touching her.
“This was a bad idea,” I say, but I don’t mean it.
She doesn’t answer right away. Just snuggles in closer. “Maybe. But it felt like the right one.”
And that’s the problem. It did.
We start to shift, the warmth of the moment giving way to the sting of hay in places it shouldn’t be. Avery groans softly as she pulls away, brushing strands of golden straw from her hair. “I think I have hay everywhere,” she mutters.
I grin, grabbing my shirt from a nearby beam. “Pretty sure I’ve got some in my boots, and we weren’t even wearing them.”
She chuckles, low and breathless, as she tugs her shirt back over her head. I reach out and pluck a bit of hay from her collarbone, letting my fingers linger a second too long. Her eyes flick to mine, softer now, and something unspoken passes between us.
“You good?” I ask, voice rough as I button my jeans. "You know we didn't get one hay bale moved"
She nods, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah. Just… hoping we don’t get caught climbing down this ladder looking like we rolled in the hay. Literally.”
“Harper sees me, I’ll never hear the end of it. Emmy sees me…” I trail off, grimacing. “Let’s not think about that.”
We both laugh, and it’s easy, lighter than it should be. Maybe it’s the sun or the afterglow or the way her smile settles something in me I didn’t know was restless.
Avery brushes her hands down her jeans, eyes scanning the barn below through the slats in the floor. “Looks clear.”
I gather what’s left of our dignity, run a hand through my hair, and gesture toward the ladder. “Ladies first.”
She shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “You go first, but only if you promise not to stare at my ass the whole way down.”
“No promises,” I mutter, smirking.
And as we make our careful descent, one rung at a time, I know this changes everything, even if we’re both pretending it doesn’t.
We're barely off the ladder when the barn door creaks open again.
“Hey, y’all seen…” Harper’s voice cuts off mid-sentence.
She’s standing there with Emmy at her side, a broom in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyes take one long look at us, rumpled, sweaty, covered in hay, and then zero in on the stray pieces Avery just missed brushing from her hair.
Harper’s brows shoot up like rockets. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone had themselves a hayride.”
Avery makes a choking sound. “We were just—”
“Adjusting the insulation?” Harper deadpans. “Because I can see at least three places that need… fluffing.”
I clear my throat, tugging my shirt into place. “We were looking for some old documents.”
Harper snorts. “Right. And Cash was helping you… file them alphabetically? With his pants?” She raises an eyebrow. “Should I be expecting hay reports with morning meetings now? Or is this just part of the new ranch orientation?”
Emmy tugs on Harper’s sleeve. “Why does Mommy look like a scarecrow?”
That earns a full-blown wheeze-laugh from Harper, who tries to muffle it with her cookie.
I am trying my hardest not to laugh while Avery squirms.
Avery looks like she wants to melt into the barn floor. “Okay, moving on now.”
“Oh no. This is going in the group chat,” Harper grins, pulling out her phone like she’s preparing evidence for trial. “Hashtag: HayloftHeat.”
“Harper,” Avery hisses.
I hold up both hands. “For the record, I tried to talk her out of it.”
Avery whirls on me. “Liar.”
Emmy blinks between us, wide-eyed. “Did you fall in the hay?”
“Something like that, sweetheart,” Avery mutters, smoothing Emmy’s hair and trying to redirect the chaos.
Harper just smirks and tosses me the broom. “Well, cowboy, since you’re already dressed for manual labor... how about helping us finish sweeping the kitchen?
And to you miss Avery, you and me have some catching up to do apparently”
I groan. “I' will sweep the kitchen only if you promise never to mention this again.”
“Not a chance,” Harper says, already backing toward the house with Emmy skipping beside her. “You two better pray there’s not a straw shortage in town.”