Chapter Thirteen #2
She sticks her tongue out at me, but tries again, letting me guide her hands. We start rolling, the engine rumbling beneath us, and she starts to get the hang of it—her confidence growing with every foot. “Look, I think I got it!” she says, beaming, pride blooming in her voice, almost childlike.
“Natural talent,” I tease. “Guess city girls learn fast.”
She laughs, nudging my knee with hers. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”
After a few minutes, I say, “Okay, beautiful,” my voice soft as I turn her around on my lap so she’s facing me, her legs wrapped around my waist. “Hold on tight, Ayla. Don’t want to lose you out here.”
She grins, looping her arms around my neck. “Like you could get rid of me that easily.”
I take off down the trail, speeding through puddles and mud as her laughter and squeals fill the air.
The wind whips her hair around her face, mud splashes up in streaks, and by the time we burst out into the open clearing, she’s a mess of joy and adrenaline.
I show off a little, spinning donuts and kicking up mud, the sounds of her pure happiness spilling from her lips mesmerizing me.
For a moment, with her arms around me and the sun on our faces, nothing else matters.
I come to a stop right by the edge of the lake, breathless and grinning.
I glance over at Ayla and burst out laughing—we’re both covered head to toe in mud, hair wild, faces streaked, looking like absolute chaos.
“Wanna clean up a bit? The water is going to be cold, just to warn you.” I tease, nodding toward the water.
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Last one in’s a chicken!” With a wild laugh, she sprints toward the shoreline, muddy boots flying off as she shouts, “Come catch me if you can, DeRose!”
The lake is high and glinting in the sunlight.
Ayla doesn’t even slow down; she just pulls her hoodie off, tossing it to the side, and dives in with a squeal, her oversized T-shirt plastering to her skin.
I can’t help but stare for a second, mesmerized by the way she moves—fearless, free, alive.
“Oh, I’ll take that challenge,” I call, kicking off my shoes, stripping my jeans, and chasing after her.
The water is cold as I dive in. I spot her floating out a few feet, hair fanned around her like a halo.
I swim over and wrap my arms around her waist, spinning her to face me.
She’s shivering, but she’s grinning, eyes bright.
“I caught you,” I murmur, water dripping down my nose.
“But you didn’t make it very hard, beautiful. ”
She laughs, breathless. “I didn’t want to.”
Before I can say another word, she’s laughing, her arms slipping around my neck—and then my lips crash into hers, wild and hungry, tasting lake water and sunshine and a happiness I didn’t know I could feel.
We explore each other’s mouths, the lake water slick and cool between us.
My hands roam under her T-shirt, up her body, cupping her breast—she giggles, playful and breathless, then suddenly pulls away.
With a burst of laughter, she splashes me and swims off, leaving me blinking water from my eyes, grinning like an idiot.
I chase after her, but she’s already climbing up the bank.
I float at the edge, mesmerized by the way her soaked shirt clings to every curve—her breasts, her waist, her hips—a goddess in the sunlight. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Ready to go back up?” she calls, hair dripping, chest rising and falling.
“If you are,” I call back, climbing out of the water myself.
She flashes a mischievous grin. “Maybe a little more riding?”
I can’t resist. She puts her hoodie on over her wet T-shirt.
We get back on the four-wheeler, her in front of me this time, driving slow.
I lean in, lips brushing her ear, voice rough.
“You’re doing so great, Ayla.” I sense the shift in her posture, the way her body melts back against mine.
My hand finds her thigh, grip firm, and she slows, then stops completely.
“Ayla, I want you,” I whisper, letting my other hand slide up her wet shirt, along her stomach, up to her nipple—already hard beneath my touch from the cold.
She shivers, eyes fluttering closed. “This all feels so confusing,” she admits, voice trembling. I know she’s talking about Alex and Zayn, but right now, none of that matters to me.
“Beautiful, I think you’re the only one who is worried about it,” I murmur.
I lean down, kissing her neck as my hand moves from her thigh to her throat—not tight, just enough to tilt her head back.
She gasps, arching against me, and my hand that was on her breast slides down, over her stomach, to the apex of her thighs.
When I pause there, she rolls her hips up, a silent plea.
I slide my hand between her legs, finding her clit and circling it soft and slow.
Her back arches, a moan spilling from her lips.
I want to hear her, want to make her feel good.
I slip a finger inside her, my palm firm against her clit.
Instantly, her hips jerk, and she lets out a loud, gratifying moan, her thighs tensing around my hand.
When I add a second finger, she clenches down, her body trembling and desperate.
I move slowly at first, feeling her walls flutter and grip, then pick up the pace as her breath turns ragged and shallow.
She arches her back, and my hand tightens just a bit around her throat, her hands digging into my thighs, her legs shaking as the pleasure builds.
When she comes, she cries out, her entire body seizing and shuddering, muscles clamping around my fingers as wetness gushes over my hand.
The sight and feel of her unraveling almost makes me lose it right there in my jeans.
I keep moving, letting her ride out her orgasm, her body trembling in my arms, every muscle taut and shivering.
I can feel the aftershocks fluttering through her, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she clings to me.
When she starts to slump against my chest, boneless and spent, I gently slide my hand away, brushing my knuckles across her thigh.
I turn her head to face me, and for a split second, I see a flash of guilt flicker across her face—her eyes wide, vulnerable, searching.
“No, no, beautiful, don’t do that to yourself,” I murmur, reaching up to tuck a strand of wet hair behind her ear. She bites her lip.
“This feels wrong,” she whispers, voice trembling.
“No one here, Ayla, is bothered by this. I promise. But I also understand.”
She looks at me, her lashes wet, chest still heaving. “Dean, I want to. I like you. I just… I don’t know how to process all this. All these emotions. I’ve never felt wanted like this in my life by anyone, and it’s a little overwhelming.”
I cup her cheek, letting my thumb trace her jaw. “This is all up to you. No pressure. No expectations. Let’s get back to the cabin and get cleaned up. I wanna have a fire tonight.”
She gives me a shaky smile, and I kiss her forehead before I start up the four-wheeler, feeling the weight in the air shift—so much more than just desire. As we head back up, I know tonight will be about more than just escaping; it’ll be about choosing what comes next, together.