Page 6 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
Catches me watching.
And his gaze holds—just half a second too long, but long enough to wreck me. Long enough for heat to flare in my chest and pool low in my belly, a molten rush that makes it hard to swallow, harder to breathe.
Because maybe it’s not just me at all.
I’m a hopeless dreamer, always have been. But this? This is new. These fantasies spinning behind my eyes are not fit for daylight or polite company. They’re filthy and vivid and so very specific. I’m not just daydreaming about kissing him under the stars—I’m working on chapter three of Fifty Shades of Mount Me.
Because clearly, my brain has decided this cabin needs less solitude and more sin.
Every time he moves, I imagine what those hands would feel like on me. What that gravel voice would sound like ordering me to my knees. And my imagination? She’s not interested in sweet, tentative kisses. She’s conjuring a dominant ranger with a filthy mouth and zero patience, using my throat like he owns it. Rough.Possessive. Like he’s been holding back so long he doesn’t know how not to break me a little.
I shift on the bench, thighs pressing tight, heat slick and undeniable. It’s getting hot in here. Or maybe just in my head.
As for Caleb? From the way he’s ignored me all morning, I’m starting to think he’s forgotten I exist. Forgotten he brought a woman into his sacred, brooding wilderness temple. He moves through the cabin like a shadow—focused, efficient, unaffected—while I sit here cataloging every inch of him like I’m preparing for a final exam on his body.
Scratch that.
I’m devouring him.
Every flex of his forearms, every stretch of flannel across his chest, every controlled inhale and slow exhale. I can practically feel him pressed against me, pinning me down with nothing but the weight of his body and a dark promise in his eyes.
The clock ticks toward late afternoon.
The kettle clicks off.
He doesn’t offer tea. I don’t ask. We’ve slipped into this strange rhythm—him pretending I’m not here, me pretending I’m not fantasizing about his cock halfway down my throat while he groans and fists my hair like he can’t help himself.
It’s not romantic. It’s raw. Carnal. Dirty in all the right ways.
Outside, the wind crescendos—wild and unrestrained, as if it’s echoing the chaos inside my head.
And then?—
CRACK.
A sound like the universe splitting down the middle. A tree limb. A power line. Or maybe just the sky breaking open.
My heart lurches. Caleb’s already on his feet.
Chapter 3
I jolt upright,adrenaline kicking in before thought can catch up. Caleb’s already moving—fast, precise, like his body registered the threat before the sound even finished echoing. He crosses to the window with long, purposeful strides, muscles flexing beneath his shirt like coiled rope.
“What was that?” I follow him, breath tight, pulse ricocheting.
He points through the fogged glass. “Tree down.”
And there it is—downhill, just past the clearing. A massive pine lies uprooted, as if the mountain itself coughed it out. The earth’s been torn open, roots twisted and raw, limbs shattered, needles scattered like nature’s confetti after some violent celebration. The trunk angles toward the shed, too close for comfort.
“Too close to the water line,” Caleb mutters, jaw locked tight.
He’s already in motion, grabbing a tool belt, sliding into a canvas jacket, all muscle memory and zero hesitation. At the door, he pauses—justbriefly—and looks over his shoulder.
“Coming?”
Two syllables. Not warm. Not a question. Just a flick of authority that wraps around my spine and yanks.
I leap to my feet, snag my coat, and shove my arms through the sleeves, breath already fogging in the cool air because that wasn’t a request.
