“Wasn’t planning on it,” he growled.
His voice was rough gravel against my ear as he picked up the pace, his hips driving against mine hard enough that the headboard knocked against the cabin wall with each thrust.
A gust of wind howled through the open windows, bringing a spray of cold rain with it that spattered across the floor and misted over our heated skin.
Neither of us cared. I was too lost in the feel of him inside me. The weight of his body pressed me into the mattress, and his chest hair rasped against my sensitive nipples every time he moved, driving me insane.
Jameson shifted onto his knees, pulling my hips up off the bed and into his lap without ever breaking his rhythm. The new angle was devastating. He was so deep I could feel him everywhere, and when he reached down to circle my clit with his thumb, I nearly came on the spot.
“That’s it,” he growled, watching my face as he worked me higher. “Let go for me.”
The pleasure built like the storm outside, pressure mounting with every stroke of his cock and every brush of his calloused thumb against my swollen clit.
My thighs trembled where they were wrapped around his waist, and my hands fisted in the bear pelt beneath me, searching for something to anchor myself as the sensation of him threatened to sweep me away entirely.
What we were doing might not be love, but that didn’t make it any less precious.
Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by a boom of thunder that rattled the walls.
Something about the primal chaos of the storm combined with the way Jameson was fucking me pushed me right over theedge. My orgasm crashed through me in waves, my inner walls clenching tight around his cock as I cried out his name. My back arched off the bed, and my vision went white at the edges, pleasure radiating out from my core all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.
Jameson groaned at the feeling of me coming around him, his thrusts growing harder and more erratic as he chased his own release.
The bed frame was shaking now, the old wood creaking ominously with every powerful snap of his hips.
“Leah,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into my hips. “Fuck, I’m gonna…”
He slammed into me one final time, so hard the whole bed lurched, and then there was a tremendous crack as the ancient log frame gave way beneath us. We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and wool blankets, but Jameson was already coming, his cock pulsing inside me as he groaned louder than the thunder rolling across the sky.
For a long moment we just lay there in the wreckage of the bed, breathing hard, our hearts pounding as one.
Then Jameson lifted his head and looked around in bewilderment at the collapsed frame.
We both started laughing. We couldn’t help it.
When we finally got control of ourselves again he asked, “Are you okay?”, concern cutting through the post-orgasm haze in his voice.
Here I was, naked and thoroughly fucked on the floor of a historical cabin in the middle of a thunderstorm, surrounded by the remains of what was probably a two-hundred-year-old bed.
“I’m perfect,” I managed between giggles. “But I think we broke history.”
He laughed too, a low rumble in his chest that I could feel deep inside my soul.
“Tucker’s going to be pissed. This bed is supposed to be a historical display. I’m going to have to sneak back out here and fix it before anyone notices.”
“What are you going to tell him if he asks what happened?”
“Aggressive raccoons.” He grinned down at me, and something about the expression transformed his rugged face into something almost boyish. “Veryaggressive raccoons.”
We eventually untangled ourselves and rebuilt a nest of sorts from the bear pelts and blankets, curling up together in front of the dying fire.
The storm had settled into a steady rain, the thunder growing more distant as it moved across the mountains, and in the quiet aftermath we talked for hours. About everything and nothing.
He told me about growing up on Red Oak Mountain and about starting the guide business with his best friend, Boone. He even told me a terrifying tale about the time a mountain lion had attacked one of his clients, and he’d jumped between them, fighting the big cat off.
I traced the scar on his shoulder while he told that story, feeling the raised skin beneath my fingertips and marveling at the kind of man who would put himself in harm’s way for a stranger.
I told him about Boston and my job that paid well but left me feeling hollow. And about Colin and the slow realization that I’d been nothing more than a convenient Friday night arrangement for two years.
