Page 9

DELANEY

I wake up in Jagger's bed with his arm wrapped around my waist. For a moment, I just lie there, letting myself pretend this is normal. That waking up next to this man isn't the most complicated thing I've ever done.

Then reality crashes back in, and I remember exactly how fucked I am.

I slept with my best friend's brother in the woods last night.

Then again back in his cabin. And again after that.

Three times total, if we're keeping score, which apparently my guilt-ridden brain is.

Each time was intense and overwhelming and amazing.

Each time left me feeling more connected to him and more terrified of what that means.

"Morning, kitten," Jagger groans against my neck. "How are you feeling?"

Confused. Guilty. Satisfied in ways I didn't know were possible. Completely and utterly screwed.

"Like I need coffee," I say instead, which is also true.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my ear. "I can make that happen. But first..."

His hand slides down my hip, and I know exactly what he's thinking. Part of me wants to give in again, to lose myself in him and forget about everything else. But the rational part of my brain is screaming that I need to get my shit together.

"I should go," I tell him, sitting up and reaching for my scattered clothes. "People will notice if I'm not in my cabin."

"Let them notice." His fingers trace patterns on my bare back.

"Jagger..." I start, but he cuts me off.

"I know you're scared. I know this is complicated. But what we have is real."

Real. Yes, it's definitely that. So real it terrifies me.

I get dressed quickly, acutely aware of him watching my every move. When I turn to leave, he catches my hand.

"One week," he reminds me. "You promised me one week."

I nod, not trusting my voice, and slip out of his cabin before I can change my mind.

The next few days pass in a blur of professional competence and personal chaos.

During the day, I throw myself into the program with renewed energy, and I can't deny that being with Jagger is making me better at everything.

I'm sharper in my conversations with Ms. Chen, bold enough to share ideas I might have kept to myself before.

I'm getting better at the wilderness stuff too—knots, navigation, even basic first aid.

It's like having him believe in me makes me believe in myself.

"You're on fire today," Ms. Chen tells me after I successfully lead a group discussion about sustainable tourism practices. "This passion is exactly what Trailbound needs."

Passion. If she only knew where that passion is really coming from.

Brett, meanwhile, is getting more desperate by the day.

His ideas are starting to sound recycled and hollow, especially compared to the enthusiasm I'm bringing to every conversation.

I should feel bad about outshining him so completely, but honestly?

After years of guys like him talking over me, it feels pretty damn good.

But the professional high is nothing compared to my secret life with Jagger.

He finds ways to get me alone constantly.

His cabin. Mine. The ranger station after hours.

A secluded spot by the lake where he spread out a blanket and made me forget my own name under the stars.

Each encounter is rough and demanding in ways that should probably concern me, but instead leave me craving more.

There's something about him that brings out a side of myself I didn't know existed. The need to claw at his back, to bite his shoulder, to match his intensity with my own. It's primal and fierce and completely addictive.

But it's the after that really gets to me.

After, when he pulls me close and traces lazy patterns on my skin while telling me things I never knew he noticed.

Like how I never drink my coffee until it's lukewarm.

How I unconsciously play with my hair when I'm thinking hard about something.

How I got a tiny scar on my hand from helping Maya move a bookshelf sophomore year.

"You remember that?" I ask one night, looking down at the barely visible mark.

"I've got a file on you, kitten," he teases.

It's those moments that undo me completely.

When he massages my feet after a particularly long hike, or shows up at my cabin with the kind of protein bars I mentioned liking once in passing.

When he tells me about his childhood, about the pressure of being the responsible older brother, about why he chose to work in conservation.

It's like falling in love with someone I already loved, if that makes any sense.

Which makes the guilt so much worse.

Every night, I text Maya. Just normal stuff, like how the program is going, funny stories about city people trying to be outdoorsy, complaints about Brett's insufferable personality. She texts back with updates about work and her dating life and random thoughts about everything and nothing.

She has no idea I'm sleeping with her brother. No idea that I'm breaking the most important promise I ever made to her.

"You're thinking too hard," Jagger tells me one evening as we lie tangled together in his bed.

"I can't help it. This is…"

"Perfect?" he suggests, pressing a kiss to my chest.

"Temporary," I correct. "This is temporary, Jagger. You know that, right?"

His arm tightens around me. "It doesn't have to be."

"Yes, it does. We go back to real life soon, and then this has to stop."

"Why?"

"Because I won't lose Maya over this. Because I can't be the girl who breaks up the Maddox siblings."

He's quiet for a long moment, and I can feel him choosing his words carefully.

"What if Maya is more understanding than you think?"

"And what if she's not? What if telling her ruins everything? I can't take that risk."

"So you're just going to pretend this never happened?"

The pain in his voice cuts right through me. "I don't know. Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet."

"I love you," he says, like the words are a talisman against all my fears.

"I love you too," I whisper back. "That's the problem."

Our last official day of the program dawns clear and cold, with the kind of crisp mountain air that makes everything feel possible. We're doing final presentations today, giving a pitch for our proposed Trailbound campaign.

Brett goes first, and his presentation is exactly what I expected.

Slick and surface-level, full of buzzwords about authenticity and connection that ring completely hollow.

He talks about social media campaigns and influencer partnerships and limited-edition product drops that will "leverage environmental consciousness to drive brand engagement. "

It's everything Jagger accused him of that night at dinner. Marketing that exploits environmental concerns without actually addressing them.

When it's my turn, I feel more confident than I have in years.

My presentation is built around the giving campaign I proposed at dinner, but I've fleshed it out with implementation timelines, budget projections, and measurable impact goals.

I talk about building genuine partnerships with park services, about creating programs that will outlast any single marketing cycle.

"The goal isn't to sell more products," I conclude, looking directly at Ms. Chen.

"It's to create a community of people who genuinely care about protecting the places we love.

Customers who become advocates. Employees who become ambassadors.

A brand that becomes synonymous with real environmental stewardship. "

The silence that follows is electric. Ms. Chen takes notes furiously, nodding along with everything I'm saying.

When I finish, Jagger catches my eye from across the room and gives me a small nod. The pride in his expression makes my chest twist.

Ms. Chen asks a few follow-up questions, all positive, all indicating that she's genuinely excited about the possibilities. Brett tries to interject with some last-minute modifications to his pitch, but it's clear where her head lies.

After the presentations, Ms. Chen pulls me aside.

"Delaney," she says. "I have to tell you, what you've presented is exactly the direction we want to go. The authenticity, the real impact, the long-term vision. It's everything we've been looking for."

My heart starts racing. "Does that mean...?"

She grins and gives me a conspiratorial wink. "The account is yours."

I have to bite my lip to keep from squealing like a teenager. "Thank you. Thank you so much. You won't regret this."

"I know I won't. Your passion for this work comes through in everything you do. That's not something you can fake."

She's right about that. My passion for this work is real. It's just tangled up with my passion for a certain park ranger.

After she walks away, I stand there for a moment, letting the reality sink in. I won. I actually won the biggest account of my career. This promotion is mine, and with it, everything I've been working toward for years.

I should be thinking about calling my boss, about strategy sessions and implementation timelines and all the practical details that come with landing a major client.

Instead, all I can think about is finding Jagger and sharing this moment with him.

I spot him heading toward the equipment storage area. I practically sprint across the clearing, weaving between other volunteers who are packing up their gear.

He's alone when I find him, organizing climbing ropes and checking inventory. The sight of him in his element, competent and focused, makes my heart skip.

"Guess who won the account?" I call out.

He turns, and when he sees the grin on my face, his whole expression lights up. I don't think about it, I just launch myself at him, jumping into his arms with enough force to make him stagger backward.

"You did it," he says, spinning me around once before setting me down. "Fuck, kitten, I'm so proud of you."

"I can't believe it. Ms. Chen said my passion came through, that it's exactly what they were looking for."

"Of course it did. You were incredible." His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "You're incredible."

"We should celebrate," I say, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"How do you want to celebrate?"

"I love everything we've done," I tell him, feeling heat creep up my neck. "But that first night we had sex... when I pretended I didn't want it... there was something about that."

His eyes darken immediately. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

I nod, suddenly shy but also electric with anticipation. "Is that weird?"

"Not weird at all." His voice drops to that commanding tone that makes my knees weak. "I have an idea."

That night, I turn the key to my cabin with shaking hands. I'm wearing the only skirt I packed, a simple black thing that hits just above my knees, because Jagger specifically requested it.

I push open the door and step inside, looking around the familiar space. Everything looks normal, exactly as I left it this morning.

Until…

Arms wrap around me from behind, and suddenly I'm pressed against the wall beside the door. I gasp, my heart hammering as I register the dark fabric covering his face.

Jagger is wearing a ski mask. Just like we discussed.

"Don't scream," he growls against my ear, his voice deliberately roughened. "Don't fight me."

This is what I asked for, what we planned, but the reality of it sends adrenaline flooding through my system. The primal part of my brain that doesn't know this is a game kicks in, and I do exactly what we agreed I would do.

I run.

I twist out of his grip and bolt for the door, my heart racing as I hear him swear behind me. I make it outside and down the trail that leads away from the main camp, toward the more secluded part of the forest.

This is insane. This is reckless.

This is exactly what I wanted.

I can hear him behind me, not too close but close enough to keep the thrill alive. I'm fast, but he's faster, and he knows these trails better than I do. It's only a matter of time before he catches me.

When he does, it's at a bend in the trail where the trees grow thick on either side. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me off the path and pressing me against the rough bark.

"Got you," he pants against my ear.

I take everything I have not to smile as his hands find the hem of my skirt, pushing it up around my waist. This is wrong and dangerous and absolutely perfect. Cool air hits my bare skin, the chill clashing with the heat between my legs.

I hear the scrape of his zipper, followed by the sharp flick of a pocket knife snapping open. My pulse spikes at the rush of what we planned, what I asked him to do.

The cold blade traces my inner thigh, skating dangerously close to my pussy. The steel grazes my skin, never cutting but promising everything.

“You stay still while I fuck you,” he commands, “and you won’t get hurt.”

The knife presses just a fraction harder, making my thighs quake, making me ache for him in ways I can’t untangle.

I turn my head further, curls falling over my face to mask the grin I can’t hold back. Why does this turn me on? With Jagger, it’s safe, exhilarating, like he’s cracked open some hidden part of me. I’ve never felt so free, so alive, letting him push limits I’d never dared to touch before.

His hand shifts, and I feel the thick, pierced tip of his cock brushing against my pussy. My hips twitch in response, dying to feel him inside me. The blade presses harder into my thigh, never breaking skin but so close, the sharp edge creating a delicious, aching need that makes my core clench.

“I’m going to fuck you now, kitten.”

I whimper, caught between the knife’s threat and the torment of his cock teasing me.

Then I hear it.

A scream from somewhere behind us. High-pitched and horrified.

"Get off of her!"

Oh, fuck. Oh, no.

Jagger pulls away immediately, his hands coming up as he spins toward the voice. I yank my skirt down and try to process what's happening.

Ms. Chen is standing on the trail, her face white with shock. Her eyes flick to the knife. She has her phone in her hand, already dialing.

"Get away from her! I'm calling the police," she shouts, her voice shaking.

"No!" I gasp, stepping forward. "Ms. Chen, wait!"

Jagger rips off the ski mask, his hair sticking up at odd angles. He quickly closes and pockets the knife. "Ms. Chen, I'm sorry. It's just us. Nothing is wrong."

She stares between us, taking in my disheveled appearance, his guilty expression, the mask in his hands.

I can see the exact moment she puts it all together.