And that made her feel strong. Made her feel powerful.
So she took the lead. She grabbed hold of his hand, and led him away from the house.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re walking,” she said.
The moon was full, casting a pale glow all around them, enough that they could see the terrain. It was so cold they could see their breath. The pine trees all around them a velvety blue in the night. It was breathtakingly still.
Quiet.
The only sound was their footsteps. Their breath. It was like they were the only two people on earth. Like this was the only moment. It was a strange sort of clarity. To exist like this. With just Jake. Because it was all fine to tell herself that he was her best friend—he was—but if that was all it was, she wouldn’t be desperate to linger in this moment with him.
This was the bridge. The bridge between those two very separate things that he talked about. Friendship. Sex.
This walk in the woods was taking them across that gap. This moment that existed right here.
Because if it was sex, then they would be naked. And if it was friendship, then they would be talking. She wouldn’t simply be content to just walk, joining hands with his.
But she was. She stopped walking when they got to a clearing, wrapped her arms around his and leaned her head against his shoulder. And just stood. The sky was brilliant and perfectly clear, tiny little stars visible, diamond dust against the black.
“I don’t look at the stars enough,” she whispered.
She didn’t live in moments enough.
She only ever allowed herself that one moment of quiet. That one moment of clarity. When she was riding. A reward for the work she’d put in, that she could enjoy it only then. Only ever then.
And it was like the night sky rained diamonds down on her, glittering realizations that shimmered through her soul.
Suddenly she felt like the whole world might be full of these moments and she’d been missing them. Suddenly she felt like she was realizing for the first time that moments of peace and quiet and brilliance could be found any which where. If only she stopped long enough to look. If only she could be comfortable in who she was long enough to be in them.
The greatest and strangest gift that had come from making love with Jake was that kind of comfort in her own skin. That understanding of why she was put together the way that she was.
Jake hadn’t made her a woman.
But he’d made her appreciate the complicated angles of what it meant to be one. Made her want to explore all the dimensions of her feelings, her body, her world.
He had given her the gift of the stars. Of these diamond dust moments of quiet. Where standing with the person was just as gratifying as talking to them. Where leaning her head against his shoulder was just as intimate as lying with him naked.
She turned to face him, and he stayed looking away.
She stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Migrated to the corner of his mouth, then reached across and turned his head so that she could have access to his lips.
She kissed him. Slowly at first, then taking it deeper, and deeper still.
His restraint began to fray, and he turned his body toward hers, wrapping himself around her, but she wanted this. To simply kiss. She knew that it would challenge him. She just knew. Suddenly she knew a whole lot of things that she had never learned. It just seemed to come from somewhere inside of her. Brought up to the surface by the way his hand skimmed over her curves. By the growling sound he made low and deep in his throat as they continued to kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his. And she could feel the exact moment when he lost his composure.
“House,” he said, his lips still pressed against hers.
“Sure,” she responded.
He grabbed her hand, and they began to walk back toward the cabin. His hold on her was firm, his pace much quicker than when they had first walked into the grove of trees. It was so similar to that first night they’d been together, going into the house, consumed with hunger as she was. But it was different, too. Because this time she knew. She knew where this was going to go. She understood what he would make her feel. And even more importantly, she understood what she had the power to make him feel in return. She didn’t feel nervous. Didn’t feel embarrassed about the desire that was pulsing through her like a heavy rain.
As soon as he closed the door, she shrugged the fur wrap from her shoulders and slipped her shoes off. Then she tipped his cowboy hat off his head, letting it fall to the floor.
“I had a thought earlier,” she whispered, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him toward the couch.
“What was that?” he asked, coming down onto the couch with her.
“I’ve never really worn a dress. I mean, not since I was a kid. And I was thinking, the really neat thing about a dress is how you could reach up underneath and touch me without even taking my clothes off.”
“You’re killing me,” he groaned, braced halfway over the top of her, his eyes glittering with need.
She lifted a shoulder. “I just thought it might be fun.”
And then that last word was cut off by his kiss. She parted her thighs, as much as she could in the dress, and the fabric pushed its way up as he settled between them, his denim-clad arousal hard against the thin fabric of her panties.
He rocked against her, and she moaned, rolling her hips so that she could feel him better. So that she could feel this.
All of it.
It was so powerful. That was what surprised her the most. Because the way the conversation had swirled around her when she was with the cowgirls, there had been this idea that the women who gave it up so easily to the cowboys were weak in some way.
But she could imagine they felt like...like they were shifting the earth and the stars, making those big men shake like this.
Those powerful, masculine men who tamed bucking broncos and bulls. Maybe one of those women couldn’t ever do that, but they held the men themselves in thrall, in the palms of their hands.
And it was a different kind of power.
Different than the one she’d been trying to claim for herself. Different than the one she aimed for by competing in men’s sports. Honing her body into something stronger and more fit. That was strength. A strength that she enjoyed and admired. But this was a different kind altogether. This sort of softness that seemed to curve itself around all that hardness, and make it bend.
Make it weak.
She had the power to do that. Just as she was.
Just as she was.
They kissed. Endlessly. Like it was the only destination. Like it was the only game. His hips bucked against hers, and she felt herself getting wetter and wetter, more and more ready for the insistent throb of his arousal. But she also wanted to stay in this moment, in this torture, for as long as possible. Because it was a gift. An undeniable, magical gift, just as much as it was a torture.