We keep riding, the forest opening now and then to reveal sweeping views of the valley—streaks of rust, gold, and evergreen against the soft gray sky. And I realize that I’m not looking back any longer.
By the time we return the horses, the afternoon light has gone thin and silver. The temperature drops fast inthe mountains this time of year, and our breath puffs white as we walk back to the truck.
The drive back to the cabin is the good kind of quiet. Her hand rests in mine on the console, the forest blurring by in dusky shades of orange, green, and brown.
Back in the cabin, we turn on the fireplaces and change into our lounging clothes.
She prepares hot cider for us, which we drink on the sofa, in front of the fire, the heat licking our faces.
She tucks her legs under her, turning to face me. In the flicker of firelight, her eyes look molten, her skin kissed gold.
“I love you, Mia.”
“I know, Aiden.” She cups my cheek. “I love you, too.”
We sip cider in silence after that, smiling at each other like we share a wonderful secret.
I can feel the pleasure of the day settling into my bones—the clean ache of a long ride, the hum of being here with her. She sets her mug down and leans into me, her head against my shoulder. My arm goes around her automatically, my palm curving at her hip.
It’s not about rushing. Not tonight. It’s about the quiet—the fire, the cider, the sound of the wind moving through the trees. It’s about how she fits against me, how this feels like the safest place I’ve ever been.
“I’m glad we came here,” she murmurs.
“Me, too.” I press a kiss to her hair, tasting woodsmoke. “Feels like we left the world behind.”
“That was the point,” she admits.
I kiss her then, rough and hungry, and she moans into my mouth like she’s been waiting for it. Her tongue is sinful, tangling with mine, and I can taste the cider. Sweet and heady, just like her.
“Make love to me,” she whispers, her hands tangling in my hair.
I feel it, too, the ache to be inside her, to connect, to have that old intimacy.
I lift her like I used to, and she wraps her legs around my waist, like she used to.
She’s laughing, that wild, carefree laugh that makes my chest hurt, but it turns into a groan when I pin her beneath me on the bed.
I get rid of her sweater, and her tits spill out of her bra like they’re begging for my mouth. I oblige, sucking one nipple into my mouth while my fingers work the other, and she arches into me.
She moves her hand and cups me. Squeezes.
“Fuck me, baby,” she demands huskily, boldly.
A bomb detonates inside my head at her words. Suddenly, I am done with finesse. Ineedto be inside her.
I tear off her pajama pants, and she helps me because she’s just as hungry as me.
Her panties are drenched, and I groan at the sight, at the smell of her, sweet and addictive. I yank them off with my teeth, and she giggles, but it turns into a gasp when I bury my face between her legs.
“Aiden,” she moans, her hips thrusting up into my mouth.
I am relentless, my tongue fucking her like I’ll die if Istop. She tastes like heaven, like sin, and I can’t get enough.
Her hands pull my hair. I can feel her trembling, teetering on the edge. “Aiden, don’t stop, don’t stop?—”
I don’t. I can’t.
I fuck her with my tongue until she comes, screaming my name. I’m drunk on how she moans her release. Drunk on her.
