Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
We’re both breathless, our bodies still pressed together against the soft moss, the only thing keeping us grounded. My forehead rests against hers, our breathing slowly returning to normal. But the intensity between us hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s stronger, more real.
I pull back just enough to look at her, to really see her. Her lips are swollen from the kiss, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes—they’re dark, filled with the same need I feel deep in my bones. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes tells me everything. She’s feeling the same thing I am. This is more than just lust. It’s connection, pure and simple.
We don’t speak as we pull away from each other, adjusting our clothes, catching our breath. But something has shifted. This isn’t just about giving in to desire anymore. It’s about finding something real, something neither of us thought we could have. And as I watch her, the soft smile playing on her lips, I know one thing for sure—we’re not done. Not by a long shot.
The forest may be our haven, but it’s more than that now. It’s the place where everything between us changed. Where I stopped running from what I feel and started letting it in. And as I stand here, watching her, I know that whatever this is, whatever we’re building, it’s only just beginning.
Chapter Twelve
Tamlyn
The moonlight filters through the trees outside my cabin, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. The air feels thick tonight, heavy, like the silence itself is waiting for something to break. I stand by the window, staring out into the darkness, but my mind is far away. Caught between two worlds, two versions of myself—one that wants to keep moving, chasing the next horizon, and the other that’s slowly being pulled toward something more… solid.
Barron.
Just the thought of him sends a shiver through me, one I can’t explain, but I can’t ignore either. I press my palm against the cool glass as I think about his tongue sliding against my skin in the deep woods this afternoon. I let the cool surface ground me, but all it does is remind me of the distance between us. Not the physical distance—he’s only a few miles away—but the emotional one. The barrier I’ve put up to keep myself safe, to keep from falling too far.
Because if I fall, I’m not sure I’ll know how to stop.
I close my eyes, letting the memory of his touch wash over me, the way his hands felt on my skin, rough and steady, like he was the only thing keeping me grounded in that moment. It’s terrifying, how much I’ve come to crave that feeling. I’ve never let anyone get this close before. I’ve always been able to leave before anything could tie me down, before I could risk losing myself. But with Barron, it’s different. He’s different.
The forest outside is still, but inside, there’s a storm brewing. My heart is racing, my thoughts tangled, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the fear that’s creeping up on me.
“What if I stay?”
The question is soft, barely a whisper, but it hangs in the air like a weight pressing down on my chest. If I stay, it means giving up the freedom I’ve always chased, the thrill of never knowing what’s next. But if I leave… if I walk away from Barron, I know I’ll be walking away from something deeper than anything I’ve ever known. Something I might never find again.
I step back from the window, turning away from the view that usually brings me peace. Tonight, it feels suffocating, like the trees themselves are closing in on me. I move to the center of the room, my hands brushing over the edge of the table where my notebooks and maps lie scattered. They’re reminders of all the places I’ve been, all the adventures I’ve had. But tonight, they feel distant, like relics of a past life that no longer fits.
I run my fingers over the worn pages of my notebook, the lines filled with notes about plants and ecosystems, about all the things I’ve discovered in my travels. But there’s a hollowness to it now, a feeling I can’t quite name. Like something is missing. Like the adventures I’ve always loved aren’t enough anymore.
And it terrifies me.
I’ve never been one to stay. I’ve always been the girl who packs up and leaves before anyone can get too close, before I can lose myself in someone else. But Barron… he’s steady in ways I’m not used to. Solid, like the mountain itself. And that scares me more than anything.
I pace the small cabin, the walls feeling like they’re closing in. I love my life. I love the freedom that comes with constant movement, the thrill of never knowing what’s around the next corner. But Barron is starting to feel like home, and the thought of that sends a jolt of fear through me. What if I stay? What if I lose myself in him, in this place? What if staying means giving up the part of me that’s always been free, always chasing the next adventure?