Hopeless Devotion ~ A Jasper Hale Story

Part 6 - Honeymoon

The car ride to the small airstrip was quiet, Jasper's hand resting over mine on the leather seat, fingers lacing naturally. Alice had orchestrated everything—every detail handled before we even realized it needed to be. I can only inmagine what I will find in my suitcase, when we make it there.

At the airstrip, a sleek private jet waited, its engines low and steady, like a sleeping giant. The pilot gave us a courteous nod, luggage was loaded without a word from us, and before I knew it, we were sliding into plush leather seats, our own little cabin in the sky.

No lines, no waiting, no strangers. Just us. This is something I can happily get used to.

Jasper leaned back, letting me curl slightly against him. The hum of the engines was soft, almost like a lullaby, and I could feel him relax in a way that made my chest ache with relief.

"First-class?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from my face, kissing the side of my head. "Alice planned better than that."

The flight stretched ahead of us—hours of clouds and sky—but in our private cabin, time felt suspended. Plush seats that reclined nearly flat, a small table with fresh fruit and sparkling water, soft blankets, and the quiet intimacy of having the world entirely shut away.

We didn't need to speak constantly. Occasional glances, the brushing of hands, quiet laughter as Jasper pointed out a particularly dramatic cloud formation outside, filled the space. I leaned against him, feeling entirely safe and entirely free.

When the pilot announced our descent into Tennessee, I pressed my forehead to the window, heart rising. Below, the Appalachian peaks stretched out in undisturbed green, rivers glinting like ribbons of silver.

Jasper's thumb brushed my hand. "Home for the next week" he said softly.

And it was.

The jet touched down smoothly, the engines slowing, and our luggage appeared as if by magic. A car, waiting just for us, carried us through winding mountain roads to the cabin, tucked into the hollow of the Appalachians. Steam rose from the river nearby, and the trees pressed in around the property, whispering promises of solitude and privacy.

Jasper draped an arm around my shoulders as we stepped onto the porch. The cabin was all we could have wanted: wide windows, a stone fireplace, a hot tub tucked in a corner, and trails that led nowhere but adventure.

"Welcome home," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple.

I smiled against him, heart full. "Feels like forever in the best way..." I pause, "Sure we can't stay forever?"

Jasper laughs at my question, "I'm sure I can find one for us soon."

Inside, everything was ready—the fire crackling, the wine waiting, the cabin already warm with light and life, ready for us to inhabit it fully.

The cabin was quiet behind us, the mountains pressing in like a protective wall. Steam curled from the hot tub in soft, lazy clouds, warm against the crisp evening air. Jasper leaned back, eyes tracking me as I approached, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

"You ready?" he asked, one hand resting casually on the edge of the tub, the other brushing against his thigh, idle but deliberate.

I met his gaze, feeling the heat in my chest rise—not from the water, but from him. "As ready as I'll ever be," I said, letting my fingers trail along the wooden railing before slipping into the water.

The heat wrapped around me immediately, and he shifted closer, letting the water swirl between us. His arm brushed mine, lingering just a heartbeat too short. I leaned slightly into him, feeling the press of his shoulder, the steady warmth that always seemed to center me.

We sat quietly at first, letting the night settle over us—the river murmuring nearby, stars glinting through the trees, the cabin's warm glow behind us. But every glance, every brush of a hand, carried intent.

He leaned forward, lips near my ear. "I could stay like this forever," he murmured, voice low, teasing, and impossibly close.

I shivered, not from the water, and let a laugh escape me, breathless. "I think that's the plan," I replied, eyes flicking to his. Looking for him to cut to the chase, this was the one night I have been patiently waiting for.

A long stretch of quiet followed, filled only by the soft rush of water over the edges and the subtle shifts as we moved closer together. His hand found mine, fingers intertwining, thumb brushing against the back of my hand in slow, deliberate circles.

"You smell like the mountains," he said, voice soft but full of something I couldn't name. "Like freedom, and... home."

I tilted my head, letting the water ripple around us, feeling the weight of the day, the flight, the cabin, the first moments of complete privacy, settle into something tender and urgent. "Then stay," I whispered.

And he did.

The rest was quiet, deliberate. Hands brushed, heads leaned close, the heat between us growing without words. No one else existed—just the two of us, the water, the steam, the mountains, and the river, all conspiring to make time feel suspended.

When we finally pulled back slightly, gasping for breath in the cold mountain air, I rested my forehead against his chest, heart hammering in a rhythm that matched the pulse of the night.

"I think... I could get used to this," I murmured.

"Me too," he said, brushing my damp hair back from my face, lingering longer than necessary. "Very quickly."

We stayed like that for a while, letting the night stretch, letting the intimacy of closeness and anticipation settle around us, until finally we pulled ourselves from the tub, laughter and quiet teasing filling the cabin as we dried off.

Even then, the heat lingered—not just in our bodies, but in the space between us, in every brush of a hand, every glance, every word left unsaid.