LETTING GO
Cash
Goosebumps rise on her arms—part thrill, part chill. I don’t want her cold. I want her aware. Aware of every touch and every breath she’s about to experience. There’s something sacred in teaching someone how to let go this way, and I refuse to fail her.
We exit the kitchen, and I lead her in front of the hearth and face her.
Slowly pulling the belt through the loops of her robe, I give her enough time to stop me in case she changes her mind.
“Take this off for me?” I ask, giving her another opportunity to back out.
I want to make sure she really wants this.
She removes the robe and hands it over with tentative fingers. Firelight ripples over her in a golden cascade. Her hands tremble and she presses her thighs together as if she’s bracing for more than just touch. She looks both unprotected and fierce, caught between light and darkness.
After I toss the garment onto the couch, I ask her to turn around.
She complies without hesitation. I guide her wrists behind her back and tell her to stay still.
Again, she follows my instructions. Although I haven’t done this in a while, I loop the belt around her forearms with ease, tying several knots in the right places to keep her comfortable while making it impossible to slip out.
I drink her in as I move around her with deliberate steps. The restraint lifts her posture and leaves her looking even more exposed despite her clothes. Her chest rises in quick, uneven motions. The fabric of her top strains over her peaked breasts.
“This okay?” I check in.
“Mm-hmm,” is all she gets out.
“Use your words. Tell me how this feels.”
The air catches in her lungs. She doesn’t answer at first, then a husky “dangerous” escapes her.
“Do you think you’re in danger?”
She inhales, then exhales a shaky “maybe.”
I lean close, without touching her. Her throat moves as she swallows. “You are not in danger, understand me?”
She nods.
“Use your words,” I repeat.
“I’m not in danger.”
“Good girl.” I wink at her, easing the tension.
I circle her again. When I stop behind her, my fingers skim up and down her arms in a featherlight caress.
One hand glides over her shoulder, tracing to her collarbone and higher, until it settles at her neck.
I wrap my hand lightly around it, applying no pressure at all.
Her pulse flutters beneath my palm. With my other hand, I sweep her hair aside and place a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. A shudder wracks her frame.
Heat curls low in my groin. I release her throat slowly, letting the weight of my hand linger before I turn her to face me.
I watch every little reaction with rapt attention as my knuckles graze her jaw and my thumb runs along her lower lip.
She leans into my touch, and at that moment, I know she’s trusting me completely.
Fuck, it nearly undoes me. My mouth claims hers with an urgency that speaks of every second of restraint, every look, every breath we've shared building to this one point.
Her lips part, giving me access. Giving me everything I ask for and more, that subtle, trembling surrender.
Arousal can be as psychological as it is physical.
Control is earned. It’s not the unspoken invitation of her lips or the hunger between us.
It’s the moment she looks at me and lets go of the fight, the doubt.
She’s choosing it, choosing to hand me the reins, trusting I won’t break her.
That’s what does it for me. The rest is just my body reacting to it.
I ease back, breath rough, cupping her face. Her eyes are wide. She carries the same edge I do. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I murmur.
I step away and untie the knots. When her arms are free, I draw her into me. The tremor of silent sobs vibrates against my chest.
It always unfolds this way afterward, when the adrenaline drains away and the crash settles in. I hold her through it.
“Hey,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. That was big, and you did so damn well.”
She nods against me, fists clenched at my sides.
“You let yourself open up,” I murmur. “That’s strength, not weakness. You trusted me, and I don’t take that lightly.”
I stroke her head until her pulse evens out, until her arms find their way around me. Her eyes are glassy when I lift her face. She looks so fragile I have to fight the urge to wrap her up and keep the world away.
I thought I’d send her upstairs to Stix’s bed. That was the plan, the fair thing, but the second she broke... I need her here with me. He’ll understand.
I guide her to the couch, curl her against me, and cover us with a blanket. Her head rests in the crook of my neck. My grip stays firm, convinced that letting go would send the moment slipping through my fingers. I hold her hand, tracing circles with my thumb, until she drifts into sleep.
◆◆◆
Sara’s curled into me, her cheek warm against my chest, her breath deep and slow.
One arm is tucked somewhere under the blanket, the other draped over my ribs, loose and relaxed.
I haven’t moved for the last hour. I don’t want to.
Her weight against me is grounding. Soothing in a way I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
Ash and faint light linger, shadows slipping across the walls.
I’m not relaxed. I’m stiff and uncomfortable and absolutely not thinking about how good she’d feel against me in a bed. Not thinking about how what happened between us made my head spin and my heart ache in ways I don’t have a category for. Heat simmers under my skin and never quite burns off.
A slight creak interrupts my trance, followed by the low groan of a step upstairs. A few seconds later, Stix appears. He stops, raises a brow, then sighs. “Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Again?”
I give him a warning look, which he ignores. He crosses the room and leans on the back of the armchair, peering down at Sara. His voice lowers. “She’s completely out.”
“Yeah.”
He gestures to me. “You, on the other hand, appear to be dying.”
“Not dying,” I mutter. “Enduring.”
Stix rolls his eyes. “Come on. Get her upstairs. Take the damn bed.”
“No.”
He blinks. “No?”
“I can’t.” I shift slightly, trying not to wake her. “If I take her to bed, I won’t be able to stop myself.”
He gives me the flattest look ever. “You’ve had your hands on her all night and haven't slipped up once.”
I shoot him a glare. “Why are you enforcing this? I told you what’s gonna happen when I let go.”
“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for her.”
I recognize my own words, once used to get her out of that shed. Still unsure what he means, I give him an expectant look.
“The way she looks at you, the way her face brightens when you come over? She needs you just as much as she needs me. Different reasons, same pull. We’ve always been a team like that.
You ignite a spark in her. It’s obvious she wants you.
Not only for the thrill, she isn’t that shallow, but for whatever it is you give her that I don’t.
I want her to have that before she goes home. ”
“You’re still planning on letting her go? After I made last night happen?”
He huffs. “We have an agreement. We decide after the election. Now carry her up there, or I will.”
I glance down at her again. She shifts in her sleep, nestling closer, a sigh escaping her lips. My heart flips. That’s it. I’m toast.
Without a word, I ease the blanket back, then slide one arm under her legs and the other behind her back.
An incomprehensible murmur slips past her lips as she nestles her head against my chest. I carry her upstairs, open the bedroom door with my elbow, and nudge it closed behind us.
Then I set her down on the bed as carefully as I can.
She stirs but doesn’t wake. With a sleepy sigh, she rolls onto her side and hugs her pillow.
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her, entirely certain that this won’t end just because she walks out of the cabin.
Eventually, I strip down to my boxers and lie down beside her. She turns toward me without waking, her arm landing across me as if it’s always known where to go, and I let myself melt into her warmth.