“Morning,” Billy rumbles against my hair, his voice rough with sleep. He shifts slightly, trying to put space between us, but I find myself pressing back against him before I can stop myself.
He groans softly. “Carla...”
“The pillows didn’t last long.” I observe, my voice breathier than intended.
“My bear might have had something to do with that.” His arm tightens around me briefly before he forces himself toloosen his hold. “He’s not big on boundaries when it comes to you.”
Neither am I, apparently. During the night, I moulded myself against him, seeking his warmth and strength, even in sleep. And now that I’m awake, all I can think about is the motel. How his hands felt on my skin. How he moved inside me. How he made me scream his name.
I shift restlessly, trying to ease the ache building between my thighs.
“This is nice,” I admit quietly.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice strained. “Too nice. I should... I need a shower. A cold one.”
He extracts himself carefully and practically flees to the bathroom. The loss of his warmth makes me want to call him back, to pull him down into the bed and finish what our bodies clearly want.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, body thrumming with want. The memory of that night at the motel floods back—his mouth on mine, his hands everywhere, the delicious weight of him above me.
When Billy emerges from the bathroom, his hair is damp, and he’s wearing jeans that sit low on his hips, no shirt.
I nearly swallow my tongue.
Water droplets cling to his chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle. His abs flex as he moves, and I track a particularly adventurous drop as it slides down toward his waistband.
“I’ll make breakfast,” he says, catching me staring. A knowing smirk plays at his lips as he reaches for his shirt. “You shower. Take your time.”
By the time I emerge, dressed and trying to look unaffected, the cabin smells like bacon and coffee. Billy’s at the stove, mercifully wearing a shirt now, humming under his breath.
“Smells amazing,” I say, sliding onto a barstool.
“My grandmother’s recipe for pancakes.” He sets a plate in front of me, then leans against the counter opposite. “Guaranteed to cure what ails you.”
We eat in charged silence, both hyperaware of each other. When he reaches for the syrup at the same time I do, our fingers brush, and we both freeze.
“Sorry,” we say in unison, then laugh awkwardly.
He rubs his thumb over the spot where we touched, as if trying to preserve the sensation.
“I have to work this afternoon,” Billy says, clearing his throat. “But I was thinking... maybe we could go for a walk first? Just around the property. Baby steps.”
The idea of leaving the cabin makes my chest tighten, but with Billy beside me... “Okay. Baby steps.”
After breakfast, we venture outside. I stay close to Billy, my hand finding his without conscious thought. His fingers thread through mine, solid and reassuring.
The forest is peaceful, birds singing, sunlight filtering through the trees. Normal. Safe.
“See?” Billy says softly, squeezing my hand. “You’re doing great.”
We make it about fifteen minutes before my breathing quickens, irrational fear creeping in like fog.
Billy notices immediately, turning me to face him.
“Hey. Look at me.” His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
I focus on his eyes, his steady presence, until the panic recedes like a wave pulling back from shore.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
