Page 6 of The Cabin

Am I a peeping Tom? Oh my god, I am totally a peeping Tom! I am objectifying this man who is just trying to work on his cabin. All he wants is to rip apart logs and guzzle his water bottles in peace. He isn’t out there hoping someone will count his abs over and over again, or watch the sweat drip down his stomach to where the hair begins just above the button of his jeans. There’s no secret agenda where his goal is to move in just the right rhythm as he nails porch boards down so that you can imagine it’s actually you his hips are thrusting towards.

I can feel a pulse startingdown there, my legs rubbing together like they have a mind of their own. I take a deep breath and move towards the couch. I don’t know why I feel so weird. This is natural. Maybe I should read a few more pages of my book? Get in the mood, and out of my head?

I retreat back to the table by the front door where I flung,Billionaire Bad Boy, and hold it to my chest as I get back on the couch. Propping my head up on a pillow, I open it back up and resume reading.

My liquid heat starts to drip down my legs. I can feel it sliding down both thighs as I hold them tighter together, which only increases the pleasure the eggs are giving me. Closing my eyes, I grip the edge of the conference room table trying not to think about how badly I want to come.

There’s a dark, gruff moan from across the room and I almost lose it. I jump up from out of my chair, rushing out something incoherent about the bathroom and all but sprint down the hall. I don’t even have time to decide where I’m going when I’m shoved roughly into a dark closet. There’s a hand around my throat and I can smell his familiar cologne.

“You didn’t come without permission, did you, my dirty little whore?” His tongue drags along my jaw.

“No, sir,” I whisper, pressing my breasts against his chest.

His response comes in the form of a growl. “Good girl.”

My right hand snakes its way down my stomach to the top of the waistband of my leggings. I slip it under, into my underwear and whimper quietly when my fingers reach my swollen clit. I am so wet that you can hear my fingers moving to circle the ball of nerves.What’s that stupid Vine about the sound of someone stirring mac n’ cheese…Shit, focus, Sol.

I set the book down across my navel, using my other remaining hand to massage my breasts through my shirt, stopping only to pinch my nipples through the fabric. My hips buck at the contact, and I slide my fingers from my clit down to my opening. First one, then two digits. My breathing hitches and I pinch my nipples again.Did Brian ever even touch my nipples? I bet his new fiancée has perfect, small, rose colored nipples that she shows off by not wearing a bra sometimes…okay. Thinking about my ex-husband’s fiancée is so not helping.

My movements slow, leaving me laying on the old, slightly dusty couch with my hand down my pants. I pull my fingers out from inside me, but awkwardly leave them in my underwear, not sure what to do with them now that they’re covered in my…excitement. I feel stupid, and pretty worthless. Did I really think some random book store cashier had the secret freaking code to a happy life? That I could read a hundred pages of a steamy book and I would suddenly like myself again? When was the last time I even liked myself? Have Ieverliked myself? I certainly didn’t like myself when I was with Brian. I don’t even recognize the person he turned me into.

God, how long am I going to let Brian ruin my whole fucking life? I can’t even attempt to make myself feel good without his stupid fucking bald ass head clouding my vision. Fuck Brian. Fuck his adultery, fuck his limp fucking dick, and fuck the fact that he made me hate myself. He’s taken enough from me. The whole point of coming up here was to let go of all this bullshit. To erase Brian from my memory. To find the pieces of myself that have been lying all over the floor for years, and put them back together. To learn to love myself again. And that’s what I’m going to do, damnit!

Taking a deep breath, I adjust my body to get more comfortable. You know what’s really freaking sexy? A woman who cares enough about herself to do the hard work and heal the shitty ass stuff that happened to her. And that starts now, with giving a shit enough about myself to prove that I deserve to feel good. I deserve to feel sexy. I deserve to feel wanted. I deserve to feel like myself again.

I’m going to switch things up. Dive into a good old-fashioned fantasy. Let my imagination take over.

The inspiration comes to my mind alarmingly fast.

I slide two fingers back inside, picturing strong arms holding me, pinning me down. A scene flashes across my mind, me bent over a large tree trunk, legs spread, juices glistening in the sun. Hands caress my hips, my ass, taking a brief moment to slap the skin there, causing me to yelp. I can be as loud as I want because no one is around for miles…

My two digits move in earnest, thumb gliding up to rub over my clit. I’m panting now, hips moving back and forth, one hand in my pants, the other frantically stimulating my breasts.

A new thought brings me back to the scenario I’ve been dreaming up. A tongue is traveling up my legs, in between my thighs. It lands in the slick, wet heat of my core. I can feel the grit of stubble against my skin. I’m weak in the knees, chasing release as I ride the man’s face. His tongue taking turns shoving inside of me and massaging my clit. I’m begging him to take me, fuck me, rail me, ruin me. I hear the undoing of a belt buckle and let out a desperate, impatient cry.

My skin is hot and my hair is sticking to my neck and to the couch. My fingers are urgent as they pound in and out, my thumb moving faster and faster. The mystery man in my head grabs my hips and slams into me from behind and that’s all it takes for me to lose it. My mouth opens in a silent scream, legs shaking from pleasure. My vision gets blurry as I ride out my first orgasm in years. I’m not going to be sad about that, just proud that I finally made it happen. Finally let myself act on desires I had shoved very far down to try and soften the sting of not being able to act on them.

I turn into a limp pile of bones on the couch, letting a small, satisfied moan leave me. Maybe,Billionaire Bad Boy,has magical powers after all? Although, it wasn’t exactly a rich executive I was picturing take me over a log. No, this man was a lot more rugged. More of a lumberjack vibe. Someone who spends all day working with his hands. In the woods. Gee, I wonder where I conjured that up from?

Knock, knock, knock.

My body locks up, eyes wide, feeling once again like a horny teenager, now caught in the act. I recover, rolling off the couch and look around frantically.Where the hell are my towels?I shuffle around the cabin frantically, hand held up in the air like it’s contaminated with the world’s deadliest poison. Another knock comes from the front door, followed by a, “Sol? You in there?” Oh,god.It’s him. It’s Grayson. I mean, who else would it be? Regardless, I can’t face him now! Not after what I’ve done! Oh shit, oh shit, ohshit.

“I’m coming!” I yell, and immediately my cheeks are bright red.I’m coming?! Seriously, Sol?

I can’t find my towels anywhere so I settle for a pair of dirty leggings, wiping the evidence of my crime on the pant leg before rushing for the front door. I rip it open, a wide, totally natural smile on my face. I’m positive my guilt is written all over me, but Grayson’s responding smile is normal, not at all accusatory.

“Hey! I was going to head into town, grab a shower and some food to cook tonight. My kitchen is finally usable I think. Not so much my shower. Pretty over sponge bathing. Anyway, wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“Oh, no, I’m good, I’m totally fine, completely satisfied over here.” Something very strange happens to my brain every time I try to form a coherent sentence in front of this man.Completely satisfied over here?! Well, not completely…it would’ve been better had he been involved… Oh my god, Sol, you creep!

Attempting to seem more normal I add, “I’ll probably drive in tomorrow, so, I’m good.”

“I’m already making the trip, we could carpool? Kill two birds with one stone?”

Yes, Grayson, that is perfectly logical, and I’d love to go. However, I can’t get into a confined space with you because you just did very, very dirty things to me in my mind.

Despite my cringey inner monologue and the very loud protests my conscience is yelling at me, I find myself saying, “Sure, sounds great!” Do people still facepalm? Because I think this moment calls for one.

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