Page 18 of Curvy Cabin Fever
“Damien!” I cry out as my body reaches ecstasy, unaware of him holding me close and muttering my name over and over.
My panties slide down my thighs, tossed aside as he positions himself between my legs.
“Fuck, baby, you’re trembling,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the inside of my thigh. “One orgasm isn’t enough. I want you desperate. I want you begging.” His breath ghosts over my aching core, but he doesn’t touch me yet—just watches, smirking as I whimper.
“Don’t,” I protest, knowing I haven’t showered, but also knowing Damien won’t care.
He grins at me before flickering his tongue against my clit.
I scream with sensitivity as he snickers against me.
“Nowthat’swhat I call dessert.”
He grinds into the mattress, his frustration clear.
My fingers curl into the bedsheets, my head thrown back as he devours me like I’m chocolate cake and it’s his birthday.
He lifts his mouth away from me to mutter, “I could do this all night, sweetheart. And I just might.”
His tongue flicks against me, and unbelievably, I explode again, shuddering and moaning as he sucks my clit, drinking my desire as it floods his mouth. He stays down there until I’m all cleaned up, and I can’t even remember why I didn’t want him to do this.
No one has ever made me come that way before.
Damien crawls up and kisses me on the mouth, the taste of my orgasm filling my mouth as his tongue softly strokes mine. I can’t even open my eyes. I’m so tired, and instead of kissing me again, Damien pulls me into his arms, wrapping the duvet around us.
“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Damien murmurs, pulling me against his chest. “And here I was planning to fuck you senseless all night.”
A smile ghosts my lips as I rest against him, exhausted and spent from his expert mouth and fingers.
I guess he’s not a stranger anymore.
The last words I hear before I lose myself to sleep are…
“You’re mine now, sweetheart. There is no way I’m letting you go after tonight.”
7
MORGAN
The storm has settled when the first streaks of dawn filter through the cabin’s massive windows. The sky is a pale lavender, still dotted with lingering clouds but clearing fast. Thick snow blankets the outside world and piles against the porch railing, softening everything. It is peaceful and beautiful in a way that feels almost unreal.
Inside, the air is warm and thick with the lingering scent of last night’s firewood and the remnants of my cooking. The place still smells like garlic, wine, and something sweet—maybe cinnamon from the tea I made before heading to bed.
I stand barefoot in the open-plan kitchen, stretching my arms above my head as I stare at the coffee machine, waiting for the first drop to hit the carafe. Lord knows Rhett won’t be a happy bunny if there isn’t any coffee, and he’s grumpy enough as it is. My muscles ache, not from exhaustion, but from tension, the kind that settles deep in the bones when the air in the room is charged with something unsaid.
Because it wasn’t just the storm that kept me up last night.
My lips twitch as I stir sugar into Rhett’s coffee, leaning against the counter.
“Like you ain’t sweet enough, Rhett.” I sigh, reaching for a bottle of mineral water from the fridge.
“You say something?”
I stiffen when Rhett strolls downstairs, his hair ruffled and his tone tense. Even though Damien’s room was on the bottom floor, those moans traveled through the cabin with ease.
The cabin might be quiet now, but a few hours ago, it wasn’t. Aria’s moans had cut through the walls, soft and breathy at first, then downright sinful.
I’d heard every damn sound.
