Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Izzy
If what happened this morning between Ledger and I was nothing more than a result of sexual impulse, I’d be packing my bags right now.
But rather than gathering my things for a quick exit, I find myself sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, surrounded by pillows and blankets, basking in the warmth with no sense of urgency.
It’s nice to pretend I have nowhere to be. It’s unsettling at the same time, trying to sift through my feelings after the last few days.
In the twenty minutes waiting for Ledger to get back from helping with my car, I tried to distract myself away from my thoughts by reading.
Staring into the orange flames in front of me, I scrunch my brows together, remembering the scene in the book that made me slam it shut and move to this spot on the floor.
The main character designed his life the way he thought he wanted it.
He valued his independence and sense of valor at the expense of loneliness.
When he fell to the mud in that canyon with a gunshot to the hip, I wondered if he regretted the path he’d chosen.
Maybe he thought of her and wished he’d stayed.
I didn’t read on far enough to find out, knowing he might stop breathing before realizing his once cherished isolation was never worth dying alone.
It’s not often I have time to read, but when I do, I make sure to never pick up a book that doesn’t have a happy ending.
Maybe it’s silly of me to avoid the ones where things don’t work out perfectly.
It’s realistic, after all. No matter how true it is, I still hate the painful reminder that life doesn’t always go according to plan.
I sigh, folding my arms and turning my head toward my bag of cameras. For a split second, I smile. Not everyone can say they are doing exactly what they always dreamed of. By most standards, I’ve done well for myself and never strayed from my priorities in the process.
I won’t stop traveling or doing what I love for work.
But that doesn’t make the idea of doing it all alone forever sound any less miserable.
I wish I could fully understand the complexity of wanting both things at once—being accomplished on my own but having someone to share it with too.
I scoff at myself, shaking my head and leaning forward to pick up one of the cameras.
Not having social media, TV, or internet in general for a few days clears your mind, but the consequence is too much extra space left for thinking.
That isn’t always a bad thing, but I could do without the emotional upheaval that comes along with it.
The front door to the cabin swings open, sending a draft of frigid air across the floor and straight to my exposed feet.
I quickly tuck them under the heavy blanket and swipe my unbrushed hair out of my face.
The man has literally seen me naked, so I’m not sure what difference smoothing my unruly locks behind my ears will make.
My eyes shoot up as I watch him strip off his boots and jeans that look soaked from the snow. I laugh as he turns toward me in his cowboy hat, hoodie, and black briefs.
He cocks an eyebrow and walks toward the living room, leaning the side of his hip against the couch.
It’s a crime against feminism, feeling every coherent thought swirl out of my head like smoke rises into the sky above the chimney as I stare at him.
I roll my lips into my mouth at the sight of the tattoos covering his thigh, studying how deliciously they curve around each ripple of muscle.
If he were close enough, I’d reach out and graze the tips of my fingers along their delicate outlines.
“What’s that saying? Take a picture so you can drool longer?”
“No,” I giggle. “It’s take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
The smirk on his face tells me he already knew that.
I shake my head and lean back, one hand behind me for support.
My other arm reaches to the side, picking up the closest camera and holding it up toward him.
Without bothering to look through the lens or line up the shot, I indulge his joke and the shutter clicks.
The lighting around him is dim, but I like it that way. It’s moody and dark like the shadow underneath his jaw and cheekbones contrasting with the subtle glimmer in his eyes.
“Well,” he sighs. “It took a while to shovel the snow around your car, but we got it loaded up and he’s going to call when it’s ready.”
Not the direction I was hoping this conversation would go.
“That’s great,” I lie. “Thank you.”
Ledger lifts his hat to run a hand through his hair.
He nods, but he doesn’t seem any more enthused by the situation than I am.
I would rather eat a jean jacket than extend my stay uninvited.
But if he was in any hurry to get me to leave, I don’t think he’d be looking at me like I’m a bottle of cold water in the middle of a desert right now.
I stare back at him, tilting my head and taking my time with my thoughts. What’s the worst that could happen, he turns down the idea?
“So, I was thinking,” I start. “Maybe rushing around packing, trying to get the car up and running, then getting back on the road all in one day would be too stressful.”
“Stressful,” he repeats. His eyes are narrowed like he’s thinking it over meticulously.
I nod, sitting up straight, placing the camera in my lap and holding my hands out in front of me to seem more convincing. “Right, stressful. And look outside, the day is already getting away from us. I don’t want to drive in the dark.”
“You want to stay here another night because it might be dark by the time you’re on the road?”
“Exactly.”
He chuckles, rubbing the side of his jaw. “Hmm. Definitely something to consider.”
“Not to mention the time it would take to grab dinner first or finish my book . . . Leaving tomorrow seems like a much better plan. If it’s okay with you, I mean.”
“You make some good points,” he says, seemingly processing my list of reasons to stay.
I study his expression. He’s wrestling with the idea with a crease in his forehead. His lips are pressed together and one side of his mouth twitches up as if he’s holding back a revelation.
Walking past the couch, he stops next to me with his hand stretched out. I grab the camera that was in my lap and place my other palm in his. He effortlessly pulls me to my feet, and I look up at him, desperate for a reply that isn’t no. After an over-calculated pause, he finally agrees.
“Tomorrow, then.”
I let out an embarrassing squeal of delight as he swoops down to wrap an arm behind my knees, hauling me up and over his shoulder.
My hand that isn’t clutching my camera squeezes into his lower back as I try to steady myself.
His callused palm slides up the back of my thigh, and he stalks toward the bedroom.
“I already told Fletch we’d meet him in the morning,” he admits with a low chuckle.
“What! You let me ramble on like an idiot when you planned for another night the whole time?”
“Maybe.”
My hand lands on his ass with a loud slap, and his chest rumbles with a low laugh. My words come out filtered through uninhibited giggles. “Put me down, you brute.”
“No.”
We pass through the doorway to his bedroom, and my elbow bumps into the jamb.
“Shit. Sorry,” he mumbles through another laugh of his own.
A second later, I’m thrown a few feet into the air, landing with several bounces on the center of the bed.
The brim of his hat lands with a soft tap on the top of the dresser. His hoodie stays on, and I set the camera a few feet away on the comforter. I fist the hem of his soft sweatshirt as he crawls onto the bed and leans over me, hands on either side of my head.
“I couldn’t pass up getting to witness you on your knees and then begging to stay all in the same day.”
“That was not begging,” I argue just before he lowers his mouth to mine. His lips are so soft compared to the rest of him. It’s a kiss drenched in lust, and I exhale deeply through my nose, making no attempt to conceal the relief of knowing I’ll get to do this for the rest of the night.
When he pulls away slightly, I tug the bottom of his hoodie up and over his head so that he’s finally shirtless above me.
My mouth lowers to the contours of his jaw, then down to his neck and finally to the tips of the black ink trees scattered across his broad chest. Hovering my lips over each one, my hand roams over every inch of skin on his upper body.
“How’d we end up with me almost naked, and you with all of your clothes still on?”
I smirk, gripping each of his shoulders and pushing him to the side. Before he has a chance to push back, I roll my body along with his, landing on top of him.
“You kind of started that when you decided to take your pants off by the front door,” I joke.
His eyes narrow while he grips either side of my hips. “Fair enough.”
Something about the intensity in his expression, the light leaking in from the doorway, and the tattoo artwork covering his body has me itching to capture it.
I slowly reach for my camera, keeping my eyes trained on him.
While I adjust a few settings on the back, he removes one of his hands from my hips, lifting it to relax behind his head.
“It’s an impulse,” I explain, lifting the camera to my eye.
The lines on either side of his mouth crease from a closed-lip smile. I take a picture instantly, not waiting for him to fix his expression to something more serious or unnatural.
I love when he’s in charge. But straddling him now feels like a delicious exchange of control, and my skin tingles at the sight of him on his back underneath me.
“Is this okay?” I ask softly.
He nods, shifting his hips. I gasp from the friction of his hard length between my legs. His jaw flexes and his grip on my hip bone tightens, digging deeper into my flesh. My full weight settles down on him, and I tilt the lens to change the angle ever so slightly.
When his lashes cast down to focus on where we’re connected, I snap another picture. Pulling the camera away from my face and checking the result on the review screen, I bite my lower lip.
I don’t know if it’s the authenticity or his sculpture-like body that makes the raw image so alluring. Our eyes meet as I lift my gaze to his again. For a minute, we stare at each other through the loudest silence I’ve ever heard.
Eventually, he lifts his hips, sliding his thumb under the waistband of his briefs and pushing them down his legs.
I hover above him until he kicks them off and to the side, then slowly lower myself back down.
The thin fabric of my leggings is all that’s separating us now, and I instinctively roll my hips with an unencumbered moan.
In true Ledger fashion, he remains silent. Though, his breaths are coming heavier and more frequently. I study the rise and fall of his chest, then lower my eyes to the deep V of muscle underneath me.
Scooting back, I expose the top of his hips, just enough to let the deep groove of his Adonis belt get the moment it deserves.
His stomach flexes on instinct while I trail one palm down his abdomen.
With one hand holding the camera and the other on his bare skin, I auto-adjust the focus and snap a picture.
A half-laugh, half-sigh leaves my mouth.
God, he’s stunning. Feeling him harden underneath me and taking his picture with my hand on his body at the same time is by far the best photo shoot I’ve ever been a part of.
And it’s not even close. I can feel the heat and energy through the lens, and it has my heart thumping loud in my chest.
There’s always a subtle vulnerability when I capture moments of someone’s entire essence through the lens of my camera. Never as much as there is right now, though. His expression is more unguarded than it’s ever been, and I mirror the barely-there curve of his smile.
I take a few final shots, lingering on the stripped-down details that make him so impossibly handsome to me.
The tousled lock of hair covering one side of his forehead.
The faint brown freckles on the tops of his strong shoulders.
The shadows across his face from the bold contours of his brow and bone structure.
The look between us as I finally lower the camera again tells a story of its own—a wordless conversation about this terrifyingly strong and natural sense of trust in this moment.
The worst part about this is that he’s alchemized the photo-taking experience for me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to replicate this level of intimacy anywhere else. With anyone else. Even more, I’m not sure I want to.
“Time’s up,” he growls, taking the camera and then leaning over to place it on the bedside table.