Page 60 of The Cabin

“My pussy!” I cry, squirming in his arms, trying to move any way I can to feel him where I need him.

“How do you ask, lollipop?” Oh my god, he’s infuriating. He’s going to kill me.

“Please, Grayson! Put your fucking fingers in my pussy. Touch me. Grind on my clit. Anything,please.”

“You’re so perfect, Sol. Begging for me. Desperate for my fingers. Such a good girl.”

This time I scream, this time I cry out as loud as I can. His fingers slam inside me, his thumb finds my clit and starts moving in small, purposeful circles and I am a mess. I am using my legs around his waist to fuck myself on his fingers. To force him to put more pressure on my clit.

“That’s right, lollipop. Use me. Show me how you like it.” He’s sucking on my neck, shifting to add a bite or a lick every so often.

I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t anything. He’s a fucking magician. A master at work. He’s got me racing towards an orgasm. Every movement, every flick, every curl of his fingers, perfection. Tingles everywhere. Heat building. Head spinning.

“Grayson, fuck, I’m gonna –”

“Come for me. Come all over these fingers. I wanna feel you soak them. I wanna feel this pussy squeeze them, crush them.” A breath. More building. More magical finger work. “Come for me, Sol. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Electrified. Every nerve ending in my body goes off at once as I get absolutely destroyed by my orgasm. My hands slide into Grayson’s hair, pulling on it as hard as I can. My sob fills the space around us. I’m keening, mewling, flat out screaming for him. Moaning his name again and again and again until the aftershocks stop. I draw in a huge breath and collapse against him, face buried into his neck.

“God you’re fucking beautiful. You are so goddamn beautiful when you come.” He murmurs praise after praise in my ear.

We’re quiet for a few moments, catching our breath. I lift my head up to meet his eyes. Wanting. Asking for permission.

“Not this time, lollipop. This time was all about you.” Out of everything he’s said to me, that might be the sexiest thing. No one has ever said that to me. The only reason Brian paid any attention to me was to try to make it less obvious that all he cared about was getting off.

He holds my face in one hand, thumb rubbing gently against my jaw, tracing over my lips. “Listen to me.” He waits until he has my full attention, until my eyes are on him. “I’m not somebody’s husband. I’m the man who got so hard seeing you bend over for me that I had to jerk off in that YMCA shower after you left the room. I’m the man who saw red when someone else touched you in the bar. The man who couldn’t fucking resist, couldn’t hold back anymore. Who had to feel you. Who chased you into his bed so he could finally touch you. And I’m the man who made you come all over my fingers. And I’ll do it again, and again, and again. I’ll have you drenched for me. Bent over every fucking surface. I’m gonna fill that sweet, sweet pussy with my cock and have you screaming. That’s a promise.”

On my tombstone I’d like you to write, ‘Died from a heart attack after hearing the sexiest fucking speech of her life.’

Chapter 18

Wrapped in a towel and nothing else, I watch Grayson come out of his closet in short black boxers and almost have an orgasm right then and there.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know how I am supposed to act now. How do you treat the man who delivered you the most erotic, provocative experience of your life on a silver platter? Do you thank him? Do you die of shame from screaming his name at the top of your lungs? Do you get him a present? Do you ignore him forever because how can you ever look him in the eyes again after sucking your own cum off his fingers?

He doesn’t seem to be having the same panicked breakdown in his head.

He walks up to me, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had me take a shower when we got back. He wanted to come in with me and help me get cleaned up, but I couldn’t possibly survive that.

I needed to panic in the safety of my own head, without any extremely perceptive men watching every expression on my face, no matter how small. I needed to spiral and hyperventilate and repeat every single second in that spring over and over until I was even more wet than when I got in the shower. I needed a… what did she call it…, ‘a human moment.’ (Chef’s kiss to you if you know the reference without having to look it up.)

Grayson sets another black t-shirt and black boxers on the bed before pulling me closer by the top of my towel. He unwraps it, letting it drop to the floor. With the boxers in hand, he motions for me to step into them, and gently drags them up my legs. I feel like I should close my eyes. The intimacy of this is making me clench up. It is beautiful and sweet and swoon worthy and horrifically embarrassing. I just rode his fingers like a cowgirl but somehow this feels worse. Deeper.

Hmm. Pun intended.

I am still fighting my avoidance of vulnerability. And this feels very, very vulnerable.

With the boxers set snuggly on my hips, (I know this is not the freaking size that he wears, where the hell are all these magic clothes perfectly in my size coming from?) he moves to put the shirt over my head (and this time I’m delighted to find itdoessmell like him), tugging at the bottom, using the movement to force me to step forward and stand in between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed. He places his hands on the outside of my thighs and rubs soft, sweet patterns over them.

Do you think they made him somewhere in a lab? Like mixed in all the ingredients that people who are attracted to men around the world would sell their soul to find in a man? Who funded it? Should I sendthema thank you card?

“I like you in my shirts, lollipop,” he murmurs against my stomach, leaning in to rest his forehead on me.

“Speaking of, I am very out of clothes. I don’t have anything clean to wear. Can we go into town maybe? So I can wash them at a laundromat?” Nice deflection, Sol. Ignore his panty dropping comments and talk about chores.

“I washed all your stuff and put it away in the dresser.” He tilts his head up to look at me. Sir, I’m gonna need you to back up. This is a fire hazard.

My eyebrows knit together and I frown. Do you think I got a concussion that first day when I fell on Grayson’s landmine porch and slipped into a coma? I know I bring it up a lot, but I cannot explain how fantastical this all seems.

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