Page 7 of Sweet Doe
“Every nail. Every plank. Solar runs the essentials. Spring water’s clean. Stove keeps it warm. It’s not much, but it’s enough. We have a backup generator, too.”
I pause, watching the way her head tips back slightly against the seat. “No cell towers for miles. No eyes. No interruptions.”
The road ends.
The trees part into a clearing, the headlights spilling out across untouched snow. The cabin appears like a ghost summoned from the woods—dark timber, peaked roof, smoke curling from the chimney, porch lanterns swaying slightly in the wind. The glow flickers off the icicles like firelight licking glass.
I kill the engine.
Silence settles between us, the kind that presses into your skin. She stares at the cabin, her gaze loose and unfocused. Her hand lifts slightly like she wants to point or reach, but it doesn’t make it far. Her arm sinks back down.
Then she turns to me, slow as a dream. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted just slightly like she’s struggling to form the thought she’s trying to speak.
Her limbs are loose, draped over the seat like she’s sinking into it. Not from comfort—no, from the weight of the drug. Her eye movements are sluggish, breath shallow. That spark of defiance is still there, buried behind heavy lashes, but it’s flickering now. Struggling to stay lit.
She blinks slowly, eyes drifting to the windshield. The cabin glows beyond the glass—lanterns flickering like tiny stars against the snow.
“It’s… pretty,” she mumbles, lips barely moving. “The lights…”
I smile, letting my hand settle possessively on her thigh. “I knew you’d like it.”
She doesn’t reply. Just keeps watching the cabin, lashes fluttering like she might pass out mid-thought.
“I can’t wait to show you inside,” I murmur, voice smooth and full of promise. “Wait until you see what I built for us. It’s perfect. Just like you.”
She swallows hard, slowly. Doesn’t speak again.
Her lashes flutter like she might pass out.
I reach across her, fingers brushing her cheek. She doesn’t pull away—can’t, really. Her muscles are jelly.
I grin.
“You’ll warm up to it,” I murmur. “Just like you’ll warm up to me.”
She turns her head toward me, clumsy and uncoordinated, her pupils dilated. She blinks like the light hurts, then slurs, “You’re still… fuh-fuckin’… s-sick…”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean in, letting my breath brush her ear. My voice drops, teasing and cruel.
“Yeah? Well, let’s not forget how wet you were a few hours ago for this sick fuck. How hard you begged and clenched around my cock, hmm?”
I let the silence stretch, letting her stew in it. Then I lean in, brushing my lips against her ear, low and steady.
“Yeah, I may be twisted, little doe—but you?” I pause, savoring it. “You fucking love it.”
Her breath catches, just a fraction. A twitch of her lips. A stutter in her pulse. She turns her head toward the window, like that’ll save her. Like looking away makes it untrue.
But I saw it. Felt it. Heard her fall apart beneath me, gasping my name like a prayer she didn’t know she knew.
The SUV purrs as we pull up the final stretch of icy gravel, tires biting through frozen ruts carved in by snow and time. A wall of pines sways just ahead, dusted thick with white. The clearing opens, revealing my cabin—dark and still, tucked into the woods like it’s always been waiting.
I shift the gear into park but leave the engine running. The heater hums, warm air blasting faintly as snowflakes tumble past the windshield, swirling in gusts of wind like they’re chasing each other.
She sways in her seat, dazed. Her breath fogs the window. Her legs shift, then go still again. The drug’s still holding, just soft enough to blur her fight but not enough to knock her out cold.
She’s quiet. Breathing slowly, uneven, her body slack against the seat.
Perfect.
