"You don't have to—"
"I want to." Her hand wraps around me, and I groan. "Show me what you like."
I guide her hands, show her rhythm and pressure, then she’s sliding down my body and licking my cock and making me go stir crazy before sucking my head and within minutes I'm barely holding on. And I stop her before I lose control.
"I want to be inside you," I rasp. "If you want that."
"Yes, God, yes."
Emergency supplies include condoms—thank whoever stocked this cabin. I roll on one with shaking hands while Avery watches with dark, hungry eyes.
I settle between her thighs, and we both groan at the contact—skin on skin, heat on heat.
"Look at me," I say. "Stay with me."
Her eyes meet mine—trusting, vulnerable, open.
I enter her slowly, and she's tight and wet and perfect. We both gasp at the sensation.
"Okay?" I manage.
"More than okay. Move. Please, Brennan, move."
I move, watching her face, learning what she likes. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and all my control shatters.
We move together, finding rhythm; the cabin fills with sounds of skin and breath and names gasped like prayers.
"Harder," she whispers. "I won't break."
I oblige, and she matches me thrust for thrust, all that control dissolving into pure sensation.
"You feel incredible," I rasp against her throat. "So perfect. You’re made for me."
"Brennan, I'm—"
"Let go. I've got you. Let go. I want all your orgasms."
She comes with my name on her lips, body clenching around me, and I follow her over the edge, burying my face in her neck, overwhelmed by feeling.
I wake to Avery curled against my chest, firelight painting her skin gold, and for a moment I forget to be scared.
Then I remember: we're stranded. In a cabin. Where last night I kissed her like a drowning man finding air and made love to her. Something that has never felt like this before.
Avery stirs, eyes opening. For a heartbeat, she's soft and unguarded, and then I watch awareness crash in. Her body tenses.
"Morning," I say.
"Morning." She sits up, putting a careful distance between us. "Did the storm pass?"
I check the window. Still white. Still howling. "Not yet. We're here for at least another day."
"Another full day."
"Yeah."
Silence stretches. Then: "About last night—"
"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." I'm already building my own walls, protecting myself from inevitable rejection.
