Chapter 12: The Cabin Escape

The narrow dirt road wound through dense pines for forty minutes before the cabin emerged—log walls weathered silver, wraparound porch overlooking a private lake, no other houses for miles. Rob’s truck waited under the carport, engine still ticking. I parked beside it, killed the headlights, and sat for one long breath, sundress already damp between my thighs from the drive alone. Dave thought I was at a “team off-site” two hours away. Linda believed Rob was scouting a new client property. The lies felt lighter now, almost necessary, like the air up here—crisp, pine-scented, carrying the faint crash of water against rocks below the bluff.

He met me at the door barefoot, jeans low on his hips, black T-shirt stretched across his chest. No words. Just his hand sliding into my hair as he pulled me inside and kicked the door shut. The living room smelled of cedar and fresh-cut firewood. A stone fireplace glowed low. A king bed waited in the open loft above, sheets already turned down. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the moonlit lake. The nearest neighbor was ten miles of winding road away. For forty-eight hours, the world outside simply didn’t exist.

Rob lifted me onto the wide kitchen island before I could drop my overnight bag. My dress slid up my thighs; his palms followed, rough and warm. No panties—none since the hotel. He groaned when his fingers found me already slick, parted me, and sank two thick digits deep in one smooth push. I arched, heels digging into the small of his back, mouth open against his neck. He finger-fucked me slow and deliberate while his thumb circled my clit, the wet sounds loud in the quiet cabin. My first orgasm hit within minutes—sharp, shuddering, thighs clamping his wrist as I soaked his hand and the granite beneath me.

He didn’t let me recover. Carried me upstairs to the loft, stripped the sundress over my head, and laid me on the bed. Moonlight painted silver across my skin. He kept his clothes on at first, kneeling between my spread legs, mouth descending. His tongue replaced his fingers—long, hungry licks that traced every fold, sucked my swollen clit, then dipped inside me tasting what he’d already drawn out. I came again with my fingers twisted in his hair, hips rolling shamelessly against his face.