Jack let go of the saddle and collapsed onto his side, gasping. He looked up at Harper and said, voice shredded, “Holy shit. You just saved my ass.”
Harper, still holding the rope tight in her fist, grinned at him.
Cole looked at Ethan and, for the first time in days, didn’t say anything. Just a nod, tight and private. Ethan felt it in his bones like a shot of bourbon.
Riley, who’d been bringing up the rear, trotted his horse across with perfect calm.
They stood on the far bank together, all five of them, soaked and wind-whipped and shaking with aftershock. For a moment, nobody said anything. The world had gone back to silence, the only noise the echo of the rapids and the tick of adrenaline draining off.
Harper helped Jack retie his pack, hands steady even though she was shaking from cold and adrenaline. “Thanks,” Jack said again, quieter this time. His usual armor was gone, peeled off by the river.
Ethan squeezed his own hands into fists and released, again and again, just to make sure the blood was still there.
Riley lit up a cigarette, despite the wind.
They staggered up the trail, wet and ragged but in one piece.
For the first time, Ethan felt like they actually belonged out here — like they’d been forged by something harder than comfort. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, but he knew, at least, that he was addicted to the danger.
He wanted to keep moving, to see what would test them next.
The path after the crossing was a knife-edge, the mountain making sure they understood that nobody was safe just because they'd survived a river. The trail corkscrewed along the bluff, loose scree over ancient bedrock, every ten yards a gamble. Pine roots stabbed through the path, grabbing at the horses' hooves. Where the rock overhung the ledge, they had to flattenthemselves over the animals' necks, clutching mane and horn to avoid being raked off. At one spot, the wall bulged inward so sharply that Ethan's knee scraped hard enough to open skin, hot blood pooling in his jeans. He didn’t complain. Didn’t even look down.
The only sound for a while was the wind and the tick of loose stones tumbling into the void. When Riley's mount clipped its hoof on a hidden root and bucked sideways, the whole group froze. The horse went wild-eyed and slithered to the edge of the drop. Rocks the size of grapefruit pinwheeled off the cliff and vanished into air. Riley pitched forward but somehow kept his balance, legs clutching the saddle so hard Ethan thought he'd hear bone crack.
Harper screamed. "Jesus! Riley, hang on!"
Riley steadied himself, breathless, face white as fish belly. "That woke me up," he said, but the joke missed its mark.
Cole called a stop. The break was silent, nobody moving but the horses. Cole walked down the line, checked every bridle and strap, asked if anyone needed water.
"We're making camp early," Cole announced. "I feel that we are all a little too exhausted and shaken up, it’s better that we rest. There's a shelf a half-mile ahead, should be enough room and some wind break. We’ll make up time tomorrow."
Nobody disagreed. Harper dismounted and led her horse by the reins, Riley right behind her, every step careful, all the swagger gone.
The sun was dipping low when they crested the final rise and found themselves in Whispering Pines Haven—a tucked-away pocket of forest where tall, fragrant pines arched overhead and soft moss carpeted the ground. A clear creek curved at the far edge of the meadow, its waters rushing over smooth stones. A handful of old logs lay in a half-circle, perfect for benches.
They fell into their roles without a word. Jack staked the tents in quick, sure motions; Harper slung lines and hauled bear bags; Riley gathered kindling. Ethan filled the water bag at the creek. In minutes, the group hummed with quiet efficiency.
Cole moved around them patrolling the perimeter, tightening knots, checking the horses’ hobbles. Ethan found himself watching every precise motion—the way Cole’s shoulders flexed under his shirt, the quick hitch of his boots against the pine-needle floor.
Ethan felt his cock harden as he drifted into fantasies of completely submitting to Cole, envisioning not just the act of sucking Cole’s perfect cock, but a deeper surrender. The image of the muscular rancher’s body pinning him down onto the soft, mossy ground sent his heart racing. He imagined Cole’s calloused hands gripping his hips and back, forcing him into a bent-over position. Ethan's legs trembled, and his cock throbbed in anticipation, leaking pre-cum onto the mossy earth beneath him. He craved the sensation of Cole deep inside him, claiming him in the most intimate way possible.
He pictured Cole positioning his thick, uncut cock at his entrance, followed by the warmth of spit coating him before two fingers pressed the spit deep inside. The thought of it made Ethan's breath hitch; even if it wasn’t the most realistic fantasy, it was certainly hot. Cole then let a glob of saliva fall onto his uncut cock, the sound wet and inviting. Cole pressed forward, slowly easing himself inch by inch into Ethan’s tight hole.
Ethan's world exploded in a dizzying rush, a blend of white-hot pain and indescribable pleasure coursing through him. Cole took his time, but gradually picked up speed, each thrust more powerful than the last. Ethan’s moans echoed through the forest as Cole fucked him relentlessly, their bodies slapping together in a primal rhythm.
Cole's breathing grew ragged, and Ethan sensed he was close. "I'm going to cum," Cole growled, his voice low and guttural. That was all the encouragement Ethan needed. He reached down, stroking his own aching cock in time with Cole's thrusts, the pleasure building in his balls. With a final, earth-shattering groan, Cole drove himself deep inside Ethan and erupted, flooding him with hot cum. Ethan followed suit, shooting his load onto the mossy ground beneath him, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm.
As their breathing slowed, Cole collapsed onto the ground next to Ethan, both panting and covered in sweat.
"Ethan! You good over there?" Harper's voice cut through the haze of his fantasy, jolting him back to the present. The reality of the camp came rushing back, the sounds of crackling fire and laughter filling the air. Ethan blinked, disoriented, as he caught sight of the group moving about, oblivious to the heat still lingering in his cheeks.
Dusk settled in a violet hush. Jack knelt by a low campfire, arranging coals for a simple stew. Harper ladled rich broth into bowls while Riley sipped water, teasing Harper about some botched date. Their laughter drifted through the trees. At the edge of the circle, Ethan sank onto a log, his mind looping back to Cole.
When the first stars pricked the sky, Harper held up her bowl. “Dinner,” she announced. The small group drew close, shoulders nearly touching. Steam curled from their spoons as the pine scent and firelight mingled.
Ethan smiled at Riley’s story about a wine-order fiasco, but he barely heard it. His attention was on Cole’s quiet presence in the ring of light. He wanted to say so much—wanted to reach across the fire, whisper the want in his throat—but he stayed still, letting the warmth fill his chest instead.
