The weeks after the gathering settled into a rhythm Bryce had almost stopped noticing was new. The mornings started the same—coffee in the half-finished cabin, the list of jobs he’d written on the back of an envelope pinned to the wall. But the evenings had changed. He’d find himself at the Ironstone kitchen table some nights, or standing at the fence line with Grant while the light went amber over the paddocks.
The afternoon Holly’s ute turned into his drive, Bryce was on the roof of the cabin, fixing the last sheet of corrugated iron into place. He heard the engine before he saw it and straightened, drill in hand, watching the dust plume roll toward the cabin.
The ute pulled up beside his own, and Holly stepped out, blue hair bright against the dull afternoon, a six-pack swinging from one hand.
“You look like a man who’s been up there too long,” she called, shading her eyes. “Come down before you fall off.”
He laughed, surprised at how easily the sound came out of him. “It’s not that high.”
“It’s high enough.” She set the six-pack on the tailgate of his ute and leaned against it, arms crossed. “I was driving past. Thought you might want a beer and a reason to stop.”
Bryce looked at the sheet, then at the sky, then back at her. The light was already going long and gold, the kind of afternoon that made you feel like the day had been waiting for you to knock off.
“Give me ten minutes.”
Her grin widened. “I’ll be here.”
Bryce drove the last screws home, climbed down and washed up.
“I’m taking you into town,” Holly said.
“For what?”
“Supplies.” She said it like it was obvious. “You need things. I need company. And the pub’s got a band on tonight.”
He looked at the cabin, at the list still pinned inside on the envelope. The jobs would still be there tomorrow. They’d been there for months.
“Alright.”
Holly grinned.
The drive into town was easy in a way he hadn’t expected. She talked about the trail ride she’d done the week before, a loop through the state forest that had turned into an impromptu swim when the horses waded into the creek. She told him about the job she’d just finished, a week of mustering on a property up north, and how she’d come home to find her housemate had adopted a puppy without telling her.
Bryce listened, and when she asked him questions—about the cabin, his plans for the paddocks, what he’d done before he bought the place—he found himself answering without the careful pause he usually gave strangers.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said as the town’s first buildings slid past the window.
“What did you expect?”
“Someone quieter.” She glanced at him. “You are quiet. But not in the way I thought. It’s not like you’re holding back. It’s like you’re just… listening.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. She didn’t seem to mind. She just turned back to the road and kept talking, and the silence between her sentences felt comfortable, not like a gap that needed filling.
The pub was the kind of place every country town had—dark wood, a pool table that had seen better decades, a band setting up in the corner with more enthusiasm than tuning.
Holly ordered two beers and a plate of wedges, and they took a table by the window where the evening light came in low and orange.
“So,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “you get along pretty well with Grant and Elara now.”
“They’re good people.” He took a pull from his beer. “They made me feel welcome when they didn’t have to.”
“They do that.” She nodded, thoughtful. “It’s a rare thing, a place like that. The whole group, actually. They take people in.”
“You’re part of that group.”
“I drift in and out.” She shrugged. “I like it that way. No ties, no expectations. I come when I want, leave when I want.”
“And that works for you?”
“It works great.” She held his gaze a beat longer than necessary. “I like my freedom. I like doing things on my own terms.”
Bryce nodded. Something in the way she said it—direct, unapologetic—made him feel like she was telling him something about herself that mattered. Not a warning. Just a fact.
The band started up, a two-piece with a guitar and a drum kit that sounded bigger than it was. Holly tapped her foot against the floor, and when the first song turned into a second, she stood and held out her hand.
“Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances.” She wiggled her fingers. “Come on. It’s just moving. You can do that.”
He looked at her hand, then at her face. She wasn’t teasing him, not exactly. She was just waiting, patient, like she knew he’d get there eventually.
He took her hand.
She pulled him up and led him to the corner of the room where the floor was less crowded.
He was stiff at first, self-conscious, but she was loose and easy, and after a minute he found the rhythm, or something close to it.
“See?” she said, close enough that he could smell her shampoo. “You’re fine.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“I’m good at lots of things.” She grinned. “You’ll find out.”
The song ended and the next one started slower, but she didn’t step back. She stayed where she was, one hand on his shoulder, the other in his.
“I’m going to be direct with you, Bryce,” she said, low enough that only he could hear. “I like you. I’ve liked you since that first night at the party, when you were standing there looking like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
He opened his mouth, but she shook her head.
“I’m not asking for anything. I’m just telling you.” She squeezed his hand. “I like doing things on my own terms. And my terms right now are that I want to spend more time with you. See where it goes. No pressure, no promises.”
He looked at her, at the blue hair and brown eyes and the easy confidence in her face.
“I’m interested too,” he said. “I’m just… new to some of this.”
“You’re young.” She smiled. “You’re allowed to have things you haven’t done yet.”
“I’m not scared of it.”
“I know.”
She stepped closer, her chest brushing his.
“And I’m a patient woman. I can wait for you to catch up.”
The slow song ended, and the band kicked into something faster. She stepped back with a laugh.
“Come on,” she said, tugging his hand. “Let’s get another round.”
The night went on. They drank, they talked, they danced again, and by the time the band packed up and the pub lights came on, Bryce had forgotten to check his phone, forgotten the list on the envelope, forgotten everything except the easy sound of her laugh and the way she kept finding reasons to touch his arm, his hand, his shoulder.
They drove home in the dark, Bryce’s headlights cutting a narrow path through the black. Holly was quiet for once, her head against the window, and he didn’t fill the silence.
When they reached his drive, she sat up and looked at him.
“I had a good time tonight.”
“Me too.”
“Good.”
She leaned over and kissed him, quick and warm, her hand on his jaw.
Bryce kissed her back.
“See you soon.”
She got out, and he watched her walk to her ute, watched her wave as she pulled away, and stood in the yard long after her taillights had vanished, the taste of her still on his lips.
The cabin felt emptier than it had before. He’d never noticed it—the bare walls, the stack of timber. He’d always been fine with it. But now, standing in the middle of the room, he felt the weight of the quiet.
He picked up the envelope pinned to the wall, read the list and put it back.
He’d planned to start on the walls this weekend.
Maybe he would.
Or maybe he’d see what Holly was doing.
Holly came back three nights later.
Then again the following weekend.
Over the next few weeks, she became a regular presence. She’d turn up unannounced, sometimes with food, sometimes with beer, sometimes with nothing but herself and that sideways grin. She’d sit on the tailgate of his ute and watch him work, asking what he was doing, why he was doing it, whether he’d thought about doing it a different way.
The cabin changed too. From outside it finally looked almost finished, the roof and external walls closed against the weather.
Inside told a different story.
It wasn’t finished.
But it was dry, it had a bed, and for now that was enough.
The first time it happened, there was almost no discussion.
They’d been sitting outside, watching the stars come out, and Holly had leaned into him. Bryce put his arm around her, and neither of them moved.
When she finally stood, she took his hand and led him inside.
The bed sat against one of the framed walls, bare studs behind the headboard. Temporary lights hung from the rafters, throwing hard shadows through the unfinished rooms. Tools covered the makeshift bench. Timber, cable, boxes of screws and construction materials occupied whatever floor space Bryce hadn’t cleared for living.
Holly didn’t seem to care.
She stripped off her jeans and shirt and climbed into bed wearing only her underwear. When Bryce hesitated at the edge, she reached up and pulled him down beside her.
“Stop thinking so much,” she murmured, her hand sliding under his shirt. “Just be here.”
He was.
And it was easy in a way he hadn’t expected.
She was direct about what she wanted—her mouth on his, her hands finding the buttons of his jeans, her leg hooking over his hip—and he followed her lead, paying attention and responding to what she gave him.
He leaned back so he could see her in the temporary light, lifting her hips to adjust for his height, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. He watched her face change as the tension grew.
She moaned, her body tightening around him.
Bryce smiled.
He followed soon after, collapsing over her, both of them heaving for breath.
Afterward they lay tangled together, Holly half across his chest, one leg thrown over his. Bryce was still getting his breathing under control when her hand began wandering over him again.
He looked down.
“Seriously?”
Holly grinned. “What?”
“You know what.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
Her hand made the lie obvious.
Bryce laughed and caught her wrist, but she twisted free and climbed over him instead.
“Thought you were tired.”
“I was.”
She settled astride him.
“Recovered.”
Her hair fell around her face as her hips began moving over him again.
There wasn’t much uncertainty left between them now. Holly moved with the same confidence she brought to everything else, taking what she wanted while Bryce watched her find exactly the pace that worked for her.
Eventually she stilled over him, breathing hard, eyes closed.
Bryce waited.
One eye opened.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“You’re not done.”
“Apparently not.”
That made her laugh.
She leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep.
As she sat back up, she looked around the unfinished room as though the solution might be sitting somewhere among the tools, timber and building supplies.
“You really do have building shit everywhere.”
“I’m building.”
Then her gaze stopped.
Bryce followed it.
A roll of duct tape sat on top of a cardboard box.
He looked back at Holly.
Her expression changed, and she climbed out of bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Having an idea.”
“That worries me.”
“It should.”
She picked up the tape and turned it over in her hands.
“Ever tried anything weird?”
“No.” Bryce laughed.
Holly smiled.
“Want to?”
There was enough mischief in her expression that Bryce already knew his answer.
“What are you planning?”
“Trust me,” she said, holding up the roll. “You’re going to like this.”
She wrapped the tape around her chest again and again, binding her breasts together, pushing them up until they formed a deep crease between them.
The result was crude, playful and surprisingly effective.
She looked down at herself, then at him, and grinned.
“Well?”
Bryce stared.
Her grin became triumphant.
“I’ll take that as approval.”
She climbed back onto the bed and pulled him toward her.
“Come here.”
“I want to feel you between them.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He knelt over her, already hard, still slick from her wetness after she’d ridden him.
She guided him into the cleft, the tape smooth and cool against his length, her skin warm and soft on either side.
“Like that,” she said.
Bryce moved slowly at first.
Holly watched him, lips parted, her hands pressing her breasts tightly together around him.
The idea was ridiculous enough that Bryce laughed.
Holly laughed with him.
That was what made it easy.
As the rhythm built, the laughter disappeared. Concentration took its place. Heavy breathing. Rising tension. A moan.
Bryce moved faster.
Holly’s grin faded beneath concentration as she held him tightly between her breasts.
When he came, his release spilled across her chest. She laughed, low and pleased, and pulled him down to kiss her.
“That,” she said, “is now one of my favourites.”
Holly peeled away the tape and dropped it onto the floor.
Bryce looked at the discarded silver mess.
He’d never considered that sex could include an idea invented thirty seconds earlier simply because both people thought it sounded fun.
“I needed that.”
“You’ve got another roll.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked.”
Bryce laughed.
“You’re trouble.”
Holly curled against him.
“You’re only just figuring that out?”
The next time she came to stay, Holly brought a duffle bag with her.
“You planning on staying a while?” Bryce joked.
“You’ll see,” she teased.
They ate outside and remained there after dark, talking over the remains of a few drinks until Holly leaned into him.
Bryce put an arm around her.
Neither moved for a while.
“That window should be bigger.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve already framed it.”
“Terrible reason.”
“It’s an excellent reason.”
“I’d want more light.”
“Build your own cabin.”
Holly grinned.
“Maybe I’ll just keep visiting yours.”
She stood and held out her hand.
Bryce looked at it, then at her.
The expression on her face left very little ambiguity.
Inside, she kissed him before he’d worked out what was happening.
She was more experienced than him, and Bryce had realised that quickly.
She knew what she wanted and had no difficulty showing him.
Bryce had almost forgotten about the bag.
Holly hadn’t.
She retrieved it and sat cross-legged on the bed.
“What’s your idea this time?” Bryce asked.
“Last time was inspiration.”
“And this?”
“Planning.”
She opened the bag.
The crop came out first.
Bryce recognised it immediately.
Then the cuffs.
He looked from them to Holly.
“I brought options,” she said.
She handed him the crop.
Bryce turned it over in his hand.
Holly watched him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s bullshit.”
He smiled slightly.
“I’ve never done this.”
“I know.”
“And you want me to?”
Holly turned away from him and glanced back over her shoulder.
“Yes. I want you to use it on me.”
He looked at her.
“You sure?”
Holly held out her wrists.
“Very.”
There was no uncertainty in it.
“Cuffs first.”
Bryce fastened them and checked them.
“Now I need a hook screwed into that stud.” Holly nodded toward the wall at the head of the bed.
Bryce found a large screw and the battery drill.
“This do?”
“Try it.” She shrugged.
Bryce put the screw through the rings on both cuffs and drove it into the stud.
She pulled against them once, then smiled.
“Good.”
She turned to look over her shoulder.
“Now the crop.”
Bryce picked it up.
“I’ve never deliberately hit a woman.”
“You aren’t hitting me because you’re angry.”
“I know.”
“Then listen to me.”
He hesitated.
“I’m not made of glass.”
The first stroke was tentative.
Holly looked back at him.
“Really? That all you’ve got?” she teased.
The second landed harder.
“Bryce.”
“What?”
“I’m not fragile. I’m not going to break. Like you mean it.”
The next strike landed harder.
Holly’s expression changed.
“There.”
Bryce looked at the crop.
Then at her.
“That?”
“That.”
Bryce was still learning.
Holly seemed to enjoy teaching him.
Especially when teaching meant telling him he was being too cautious.
The next strike landed harder again.
Her reaction stopped him—not because she wanted him to stop, but because the sound she made was nothing like the reaction he had expected.
Holly looked back at him, eyes dark.
“Again.”
He did.
The crop left another line of heat across her skin.
Holly pushed back against the cuffs.
“Again.”
The next stroke landed harder.
Her breath caught.
Bryce watched her reaction, the way she moved beneath him, the way she presented herself for the next strike before he’d even decided to give it.
He did.
Now there was no hesitation.
He could see how much she enjoyed it. The way she pushed back for him. The slick wetness between her thighs.
“I need you in me, Bryce,” she gasped.
Bryce put the crop down and ran his hand across her back, then over the heat and redness he’d left across her buttocks.
He knelt behind her and slid into her.
Holly moaned.
“That’s not where I want you.”
She looked over her shoulder.
Bryce hesitated.
Holly smiled.
“Have you ever?”
“No,” Bryce managed.
“Then I’ll show you.”
“There’s lubricant in my bag.”
Bryce rummaged through the duffle until he found the bottle.
“Put some on your fingers.”
He listened as she guided him, working the lubricant inside her with one finger, then a second.
“That’s it,” she said. “Now put some on yourself.”
Bryce worked a generous handful over himself.
Holly giggled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “You’ve got plenty.”
“Slowly.”
Bryce did exactly that.
Holly breathed through the first pressure.
“Stop.”
He stopped immediately.
She could feel him shaking.
Not from fear. From the intensity of it, the unfamiliar tightness, her voice telling him exactly what she needed.
She adjusted beneath him.
“More.”
Bryce moved again, then stopped.
“I said more now.”
Holly pushed back hard against him.
Bryce gave a strained laugh.
“That’s all of it.”
Holly let out a long breath.
“Give me a second.”
He waited.
Then she nodded.
“Okay. Now move.”
Bryce started carefully.
Holly looked down at the bed.
“Not slow.”
He hesitated.
Her voice was firmer the second time.
“Give it to me like you mean it.”
That changed things.
Bryce found the rhythm she wanted, hands gripping her hips as Holly lowered herself against the sheets. Her stomach pressed down toward the mattress, arms stretched out in front of her, still cuffed to the wall.
The caution finally left him.
Bryce couldn’t contain himself for long.
The unfamiliar intensity overwhelmed whatever control he’d been trying to maintain. His body tightened and he buried himself deep against her as the release shuddered through him.
Holly followed, clenching around him with a long moan before collapsing completely into the bed.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Bryce started laughing.
Holly turned her head.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Excellent answer.”
He eased down beside her, undid the cuffs and released her wrists.
She rolled over and lay in his arms, her head on his chest. Bryce ran his hand down her spine, feeling the sweat cooling on her skin.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“I’m good.”
She propped herself on one elbow and looked at him.
“Different?”
“Very.”
Holly smiled.
“Good different?”
Bryce looked at her.
“Yeah.”
“Excellent.”
She settled against him again.
Bryce stared at the unfinished ceiling.
A few weeks earlier, none of this would even have occurred to him.
Holly’s fingers traced idly across his chest.
“You’re thinking.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop.”
Bryce smiled into the dark.
The news that they were seeing each other eventually reached the others.
Elara smiled when Bryce mentioned Holly had stayed over.
By the time the group saw them together again, nobody needed an announcement.
Holly arrived with Bryce.
That was enough.
Grant caught Bryce alone later and looked toward Holly.
“So.”
Bryce sighed.
“Don’t.”
Grant grinned.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say it was only a matter of time.”
“That’s worse.”
Grant laughed and handed him a beer.
Elara had been less annoying about it.
She hugged Holly when they arrived, then caught Bryce’s eye.
“You look happy.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
That was all.
Tessa took slightly longer.
Bryce saw the hesitation before she covered it with a smile and raised her glass.
“Good for you, Bryce.”
“Thanks.”
Holly slipped her hand into his.
Bryce looked down at their joined hands.
Then Holly tugged him toward the others.
He went with her.