Page 58 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
His hand rises to my face, rough palm cupping my cheek like I’m something sacred. His thumbbrushes the corner of my mouth.
But his eyes—God, his eyes—they sayeverything.
When his mouth finds mine, it’s not frantic or rushed. It’s slow. Soul-deep. A kiss that tastes like goodbye and reverence, all tangled together. My arms wind around his neck. His wrap around my waist. He pulls me in like he’s memorizing the shape of missing me.
Time bends. Folds. Each sensation sharper because we both know what’s coming. The rasp of his stubble against my jaw. The scent of him—smoke and pine and heat. The way his hands grip tight, then gentler, then tight again, like he can’t decide between holding on and letting go.
We move through the cabin in pieces. My sweater caught on the back of a chair. His flannel shirt landing near the woodstove. Every layer discarded like a truth we’re no longer afraid to show.
By the time we reach the bed, we’re skin to skin. Warmth against warmth. His heartbeat a steady drum beneath my palm.
This time there’s no rush. No storm outside or urgency inside. Just this.
Him.
Me.
The breath between kisses. The way his hands map my body like he’s learning it, memorizing it. I trace every scar. Every line. Every place I’ll miss too much.
"You’re beautiful," he says, voice thick, barely holding together.
I can’t answer. The lump in my throat swells too high. So I pull him down instead, and show him everything I can’t speak.
This isn’t just sex. It’s surrender. Worship. It’s grief in the shape of intimacy.
When he moves inside me, it feels like coming home to something I never believed I could deserve. His name breaks from my lips in a whisper, and I swear I feel him tremble.
We don’t make love.
We say goodbye with every touch. Every breath. Every trembling heartbeat that dares to hope the morning won’t come.
Every motion is deliberate. Every breath shared. His eyes never leave mine, anchoring me in something deeper than sensation. I ride the edge, breath catching, heart racing, and when the tension finally breaks, it’s his name that tears from me—a broken whisper made of want and wonder.
He follows with a shudder against my skin, his face buried in the crook of my neck. My name leaves his lips like a confession, like a prayer. I wrap my arms around him and hold tight, not knowing how to let go.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the dark. My head rests on his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me. His fingers trace aimless, featherlight shapes along my spine—circles, lines, something that feels like a memory in the making.
The silence has changed. No longer tense or unfinished. Now it’s full. Quiet, sacred.
Outside, the wind threads through the pine boughs, soft and constant. Nature’s lullaby, wrapping around the hush between us.
"I didn’t plan for this." His voice rumbles beneath my ear, a sound I feel more than hear. It vibrates through his chest, into my bones.
"No one plans for a bedraggled photographer to get stranded on their doorstep in a thunderstorm." I try to make it light. But my voice catches on the truth I’m not quite ready to say. "But I don’t regret it. Nor do I regret feeling this way."
I shift, rising just enough to see his face. Moonlight kisses the sharp lines of his jaw, softens the raw honesty in his eyes.
"What way?"
His gaze holds mine. No deflection. No escape.
"Like I’ve found something Ididn’t know I was missing."
The words hit with the force of a heartbeat skipping a beat.
"Caleb—"
"I know. No promises. No expectations." His thumb brushes the curve of my bottom lip, so gently that it makes my throat ache. "But I need you to know—this wasn’t casual for me. It never was."
