Page 28 of Chasing the Wild
Going back to base camp meant facing reality—Belinda, my coworkers, the life I was supposed to return to. Going to his cabin meant delaying that confrontation. Meant more time in this bubble where nothing existed except us.
"Yes," I said before I could overthink it. "Take me to your cabin."
His smile was brilliant. "Your chariot awaits."
I SAT BEHIND HIM ONthe ATV, arms wrapped tight around his waist, face pressed against his back as he navigated the mountain trails like I navigated through a busy shopping mall. The storm had calmed to occasional flurries, but the path was still treacherous—narrow trails along cliff edges, dense forest where branches reached out to snag unwary riders, steep inclines that made me bury my face into his warm jacket. But I trusted his skill, his knowledge of these mountains, and his determination to keep me safe.
Snow-covered peaks stretched endlessly in every direction, pristine and untouched. Through breaks in the clouds, I caught glimpses of the valley far below, and the sheer beauty of it made my chest ache.
This was his world.
And for some insane reason, he wanted to share it with me.
After about forty-five minutes, the trees opened up to reveal a cabin perched on a rocky outcrop. Not a rustic hunting shack—a proper modern structure of wood and glass that seemed to grow out of the mountain itself.
"Eagle's Nest," Sam said, killing the engine. "Home."
I climbed off the ATV on shaky legs, staring at the cabin in amazement. Solar panels lined the roof. Large windows faced the valley, promising spectacular views. The whole structure was designed to blend with the landscape while still offering modern comfort.
"You built this?" I asked.
"Me and my brothers." He grabbed our packs and led me to the door.
Inside was even more impressive. The main room was open concept—kitchen, living area, and workspace flowing together. Climbing gear hung on one wall like art. Maps covered another, marked with trails and notes. A fireplace dominated the far end, with windows on either side framing the mountain views.
But despite the modern conveniences—solar panels, running water, even a satellite internet connection—it was minimalist but functional. Everything had a purpose. Nothing was just for show.
"Bathroom's through there," he said, pointing to a door on the left. "Grab a hot shower, if you want one."
"I want one," I said immediately. The thought of hot water was almost as appealing as the man offering it.
Almost.
"Go ahead. I'll start some coffee and make us food that doesn't come from a foil packet."
I grabbed my pack and headed for the bathroom, which turned out to be surprisingly luxurious. The shower was walk-in, tiled in natural stone, with one of those rainfall showerheads that promised to be amazing.
I stripped off my clothes—wrinkling my nose at how they smelled after days of wearing them—and stepped under the spray.
The hot water hit my skin, and I actually moaned out loud. After days of cold, of struggling to stay warm, of physical exertion and stress, the shower felt like heaven.
I stood there for long minutes, just letting the water pour over me, washing away the grime and exhaustion. My muscles slowly unknotted, the tension I'd been carrying for—God, how long? Years, probably—finally starting to ease.
I was reaching for the shampoo when I heard the bathroom door open.
"Sam?".
"Just me. Unless you want privacy?"
Did I? I should probably want privacy. Should probably establish some boundaries after the intensity of the last twenty-four hours. But I didn't want privacy. Didn't want boundaries. I wanted him.
"No privacy needed," I said.
The shower door opened, and Sam stepped in, naked and already half-hard.
I'd felt his body against mine in the tent, but I hadn't reallyseenhim. Now, in the light of the bathroom with water streaming over us both, I could fully appreciate him. His cock jutted out, thick and already swelling harder as his eyes traveled over me.
"I've been imagining this since I saw you set up that tent. You, in my shower, in my space. Mine."
