DANGEROUS GROUND
Sara
Nestled in comfort, I wake to the gentle rise and fall of his chest under me.
Wait—what? I’m not fully awake, but I know I’m safe. My thoughts drift slowly, blurred at the edges, as if I’m swimming up from somewhere deep under the surface. I blink against the pale light filtering through the curtains. Morning, definitely.
My hand twitches, brushing against inked skin.
Memory crashes in. The fireplace, the belt, the kiss.
A phantom tingle still lingers where my wrists were bound.
Cash let me experience the complete loss of control I’d been craving without knowing it.
He didn’t take it from me. I gave it to him.
It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Every defense I usually carry melted away, leaving me raw and breathless.
I’m lying on a mattress. I don’t remember getting into a bed, and I definitely don’t remember being carried. Again.
I trusted him so entirely I slept through all of it. Again.
That realization hits me hard. My trust runs deeper than I thought, deeper than I’m ready to admit. Because somehow, I keep waking up beside one of them and never once flinch. My body already knows the truth even if my mind lags behind.
Suddenly, I become hyper-aware of where my hand has landed. It’s on his chest, right over his heart. Bare flesh spreads beneath my palm, rising and falling with every inhale, his pulse a steady thrum beneath my skin.
I stare at my hand, oddly detached, as if waiting for it to decide what to do on its own. My fingers twitch. It’s the smallest stroke, barely enough to register the dip and rise of muscle.
I freeze.
Cash doesn’t stir. He lies there unguarded, blanket low at his hips, completely at ease. Which only makes the temptation worse.
My fingers trace the faint line between his pecs, down over the ridges of his abs.
No reaction.
So I keep going, following the groove of muscle from ribs to waist. To the edge where a dark trail of hair disappears beneath the waistband, and imagination has to do the rest.
My fingertips stop there, right above his boxers—and he moves. A big, warm hand closes firmly around mine. His voice comes low and rough, thick with sleep. “You’re treading dangerous ground, sweetheart.”
My breath stutters. “You’re awake.”
“Wasn’t,” he mumbles. “Am now.” His grip isn’t urgent, more a presence. He’d let me wander right up until the moment I grazed a boundary only he knew existed.
Dangerous ground. My face burns. I try to pull back on instinct, but he doesn’t release me right away. His thumb slides slowly over the inside of my wrist.
“I didn’t mean to...” The words barely make it past my lips.
His head tilts toward me, that familiar lazy smirk tugging one corner of his mouth.
“Didn’t you?”
A rush floods my chest, tangled between shame and thrill. I swallow, scrambling for a halfway decent defense.
“You were just... there. All bare and smug and not bothering with a shirt.”
“Sleeping, Sara. Not smug.” His chuckle rumbles low before he finally lets my wrist go. “But noted.”
I flop onto my back, staring at the ceiling, willing my face to cool. My hand tingles from his touch. From mine.
“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” I insist, though I don’t even believe myself.
“I could’ve let you keep going,” he says, voice still roughened by sleep. “Believe me, I wanted to.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He meets my eyes. No apology there, only deliberate restraint. “Not like that. Not yet.”
There it is again. Not yet. He can read the disappointment on my face. His grin is unmistakable. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast before I start hoping you try that again.”
I’m out of bed fast, fleeing the scene. His final words linger, edged with a challenge. If I don’t walk away now, I might embarrass myself more than I already have.
At the door, my resolve falters. I turn. One last look.
Of course he’s already watching.
Our eyes lock. He’s sprawled against the pillows, one arm behind his head, blanket slung indecently low across his hips. That lethal smirk of his, temptation incarnate.
It hits me fast, all heat and nerves, and I don’t know where to put my hands.
I flush from head to toe and whirl around before I can combust, nearly tripping over my own feet as I bolt into the bathroom. I grip the sink and try unsuccessfully to steady myself.
Splashing water on my face, I hope it will cool the fever burning beneath my skin.
It doesn’t.
My pulse is sprinting. Images of that look, that smirk, that body, replay in my head the second I close my eyes.
I brush my teeth, trying and failing to think about anything other than the man in that bed. Then I rummage for a hoodie and reach for Cash’s without a second thought. I don’t even ask anymore. Rotating between their clothes has become part of my routine.
The way each of them looks at me when I’m wearing their things isn’t lost on me. That flicker of pride or possessiveness feels almost territorial. I enjoy that far too much.
Now I understand what Mom meant, why someone would steal a sweater from her boyfriend. Or boyfriends, in my case. It makes me smile, and a question I never dared to face finally takes root:
Could I do without the answers I’ve spent years chasing?
Perhaps I can hold onto her memory and still move forward. Even if I found out what really happened, it wouldn’t bring her back. She’d be gone either way.
When I come downstairs, Chris is already in the kitchen, barefoot in sweats and a black muscle shirt. His arms flex with every movement as he leans over the stove, hair messy from sleep.
The maleness in this house hangs heavy. Their presence drifts in like a tide, washing over me, scattering my thoughts, leaving me winded.
Chris looks up when I enter, and his mouth curves.
“Morning,” he says, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Sleep well?”
He gives me a knowing look.
Ugh.
I cross my arms and raise a brow. “Really? You too?”
He sets the spatula down, and in two strides he’s in front of me. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking over my face, “how cute you’re when you are flustered.”
Then he kisses me fiercely. His hands slip under the hoodie, fingers tracing bare skin at my waist, up my ribs, drawing me closer. My breath catches as surprise floods through me, followed by a rush of thrill and the surrender I can’t hold back.
Then the other one decides to show up.
“Wow,” Cash drawls from the doorway, and my whole body stiffens. “A show before breakfast. Don’t mind me.”
There’s a playful edge in his tone. “Didn’t realize we were switching roles. Watching is usually Stix's thing.” His words make me falter because of what he’s getting at: Watching. As in actually watching. The idea startles me. Somehow this is scandalous, and intriguing.
Is that how sharing works?
They told me they had the same girlfriend before. I never asked what that implied or thought too hard about logistics or rules. But now, with Cash’s words, how far does sharing go?
I’m not sure what that means for me. Or what it says about the fact that I’m not instantly recoiling from the thought.
It’s not the first time I’ve imagined one of them nearby while I was with the other.
I should be more shocked.
Instead, my stomach flutters and my face goes hot again.
I retreat an inch.
Chris grins and plants one last kiss on my forehead, as if Cash’s presence was nothing more than background noise.
A flicker of heat curls low in my belly. I should be confused or freaked out, but I’m... excited.
◆◆◆
Sunlight pierces through at last, and the cabin walls are too close to bear for another minute. Cabin fever is no longer a threat. It’s a physical ache.
“You ready for an adventure?” Cash asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I give him a skeptical look.
“Not that kind of adventure. Get your head out of the gutter.” He stands and reaches for my hand. “Come on.”
Glancing back at Chris, I see his mouth twitch as we leave.
At the door, Cash takes his jacket from the wardrobe and holds it open for me. “You’ll need this.”
It is thick and ridiculously big on me. When I slide into it, anticipation begins creeping in. Cash holds open the door, and I step onto the porch, then stop dead in my tracks.
It stands ready, gleaming in the sunlight, with an edge made for chase scenes. Four thick, knobby tires anchor a frame crafted for action. The design is unmistakably built to cut through forest terrain with ease. I approach it, fingers itching to touch it. Then I glance at Cash.
“Ever been on one?” His grin is all mischief.
“Never,” I admit, my excitement spilling through.
“Well,” he says, pulling two helmets from the cargo box. He hands me one and secures the straps until he’s satisfied, then slips on his own. Swinging onto the seat, he pats the spot behind him. “Today’s your lucky day.”
I climb on clumsily, and Cash briefs me on where to hold, how to sit, and what not to do unless I want to launch us into a tree.
My nerves spike, but I wrap my arms around him anyway, fists clenching into his thick hoodie as the motor growls to life beneath us.
We roll forward slowly at first, weaving through the clearing before he opens the throttle.
The quad eats the dirt trail, the forest rushing by in streaks of red and orange.
The stillness shatters beneath the hum of the engine and the startled flutter of wings as birds scatter above.
A deer darts off in the distance, its white tail vanishing between the trees.
“This is amazing!” I shout over the wind.
“Told you!” he calls back.
We chase trails through shadow and sunlight, the adrenaline burning bright until we’re deep in the woods.
The machine shudders before powering down. Cash hops off first, signaling for me to follow. “You good?” he asks, tugging off his gloves and stretching.
I take my helmet off and grin. “That was insane in the best way.”
He smirks. “Didn’t crash. I’m calling it a win.”
We leave the machine and wander for a bit, enjoying nature. The trees rise high, their storm-spared leaves tumbling whenever the wind stirs.
For a while, we don’t talk. My jacket rustles softly with every step I take. The silence is comfortable, but my looping thoughts thicken the atmosphere. What if last night made me look weak? What if he thinks I’m too inexperienced, too fragile for what he wants?
“Hey, um, about last night. I’m—”
“You don’t have to do that,” he cuts me off.
“Do what?”
“Feel bad about something that wasn’t wrong.”
He stops walking, so I do too.
“You were overwhelmed,” he says quietly. “That’s allowed.”
I look up at him, my brows drawing together. “I... you were so careful with me. I didn’t mean to, I don’t know, disappoint you.”
“You didn’t disappoint me.” He shakes his head slowly. “You let me see you. You let me be there, and you stayed with me. I’m not sure you understand what that means to someone like me.”
I am speechless. A warm pressure builds beneath my ribs, as if my chest suddenly has more space in it and he’s the reason.
My throat constricts in that stupid way it does when words matter more than I want to admit.
This goes deeper than plain attraction. It’s the kisses, the almosts, the fact that he backed away when I wasn’t ready.
I don’t know if I am now, but I want to be.
I step forward and hug him, my face pressed into his hoodie, the scent of citrus and pine wrapping around me. I take a deep breath of courage. “Let’s do it tonight.”
He lifts his head, but I can’t look at him. My mouth was braver than the rest of me. His hands slide up to my shoulders, easing me back so he can cup my chin and make me meet his eyes.
“Do what?”
His gaze is so intense it almost robs me of air.
“Do what?” he asks again, firmer now.
“You know what,” I whisper, hoping he won’t make me say it.
“I need to hear it from you, Sara. I need to know exactly what you’re talking about.” His eyes search mine, wide with passion, waiting.
I reach for the hand not holding my chin and guide it down, placing it at my backside. My heartbeat thrums in my ears. The forest around us grows eerie, as if even the trees have turned their attention to us. My voice is barely more than a tremor.
“Take me here.”
The instant the words are out, the world tilts. His hungry lips crash onto mine. His tongue sweeps into me, devouring me. The hand on my chin slides up into my hair, gripping tight, immobilizing me as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
Dizzying heat rolls through me. His chest is solid against mine, his body crowding me until the forest disappears. There’s only him, his hands, his mouth. The raw urgency that tells me how much he wants this.
I cling to him, lost in his warmth, the taste of his breath. My body sparks alive beneath his touch, and if this is the cliff I’m supposed to step away from, well, I’m running right toward it.
◆◆◆
The sun burns high with an Indian-summer blaze gilding everything it touches when we reach the quad.
“Your turn,” Cash says casually, slapping the seat.
I laugh nervously. “What?”
He tosses me the keys. “Dead serious.”
“Cash.” My confidence wavers. “I’ve never... driven anything except a bike.”
“You don’t need experience to go ten miles an hour across a field,” he says, grinning. “Come on. It’s easier than it looks. I’ll be right behind you. Literally.”
I hesitate, then mutter, “Dad always said I was too reckless to drive.”
Cash steps closer as if he wants to tell me a secret. “Your dad’s full of shit.”
That makes me smile. I climb on, less awkward this time, and he swings up behind me, guiding my hands onto the handlebars.
He talks me through the basics: throttle, brakes, how to turn slowly, how to steer. I listen hard, desperate to remember everything so I don’t wreck us.
Then we’re moving.
It’s jerky at first, wobbly. A startled laugh escapes me.
Shitshitshit ricochets through my head when I nearly oversteer.
Cash keeps his hands near mine, not taking control but staying close enough to guide me.
Then it clicks. The ride smooths out, and I dare to go faster.
Wind whipping past, heart in my throat, I laugh again, wild and free this time.
When we roll into the clearing near the cabin, I’m practically glowing. I hop off, tear off the helmet, and stare at the machine in disbelief.
“I drove that,” I state the obvious, emphasizing the I.
“Damn right you did,” Cash says proudly.
“Chris is gonna lose it.”
For a second, I worry I said the wrong thing, but Cash only smiles, takes the helmet from me and stows it away.
“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
Before I rush toward the cabin, I spin back, throw my arms around his middle, and hug him.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above the breeze. “For this. For trusting me.”
His hand presses against my back. “Anytime, honeybun.”