The engine had gone quiet minutes ago, but the warmth of it still lingered beneath you, faintly humming through the metal of the truck bed. The woods around you were dark and still, only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the silence. It felt like the whole world had paused—just for the two of you.

Jim’s hands were steady, firm where they rested on your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you might slip away. His beard brushed lightly against your skin as he kissed you again, slower this time, more certain. There was something different about him tonight—less guarded, less weighed down.

You leaned into him for a moment longer, letting yourself get lost in it, before pulling back just enough to look at him. Your breath was uneven, your lips barely inches from his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, your tone teasing but edged with something more.

Jim blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

You raised a brow, glancing pointedly at his hands. “I mean your hands.”

He frowned slightly, glancing down like he genuinely needed to double-check. “They’re on your waist.”

“I know,” you said, trying—and failing—not to smile. “What am I? A nun? Put them somewhere more useful.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then a slow, crooked smirk pulled at his lips, something almost boyish breaking through his usual rough exterior.

“Careful,” he muttered, his voice lower now, a warning wrapped in amusement. “You don’t strike me as someone who doesn’t know exactly what they’re asking for.”

“Maybe I do,” you shot back softly.

There was a shift then—subtle, but real. His hands tightened slightly at your waist before one of them slid, more deliberate this time, testing the boundary you’d just set. Not rushing. Not assuming. Just waiting to see if you’d stop him.

You didn’t.

Instead, your fingers curled into the front of his jacket, pulling him closer again. “See?” you whispered. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Jim huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little like he couldn’t quite believe you. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“And you like it.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you for a second—really looked at you—before his hand came up to cup your jaw, grounding you there.

“Yeah,” he said finally, softer this time. “Yeah, I do.”

And then he kissed you again, slower, deeper, like he meant it.