This short story is part of a project where I write a story inspired solely by an aesthetic, image or mood board sent to me. If you want to participate, please feel free to send me a message on Instagram @summerotoole

This story was originally shared in my Facebook community for spicy romance readers, if you are not a member, you can join here.

A Cabin in the Woods—Written by Summer O’Toole | Aesthetic by Suzreadsalot

CW: domestic abuse, verbal/emotional abuse, loss/grief, childhood trauma, panic/anxiety attack, “slut” shaming

*Disclaimer: this is a free story as part of a fun side project, it is not professionally edited or formatted and may contain typos*

Chapter 1

My uncle owned a cabin in the woods. He died a week ago—lung cancer—and left it to me. Well, me and his apprentice, Gareth aka Royal Pain in my Ass. 

         He came into our life when I was twelve years old. Gareth was an unruly fifteen year old who'd already had two stints in juvie and Uncle Sam somehow ended up with him through a Big Brother type organization that partners at-risk youth with mentors. As the years progressed, he  apprenticed with Uncle Sam's at his auto garage. My Uncle didn't have any kids, so Gareth started coming to family functions.

         Even though he stopped getting arrested, he was still no angel. One Easter he put a tray of jello by my bed so I would step on it first thing in the morning. Ruined my favorite pair of fuzzy socks that also happened to look like bunnies. I was pissed. 

         Another Christmas he wrapped my entire car, tires and all in gift wrap. My parents thought it was hilarious. I didn't find it quite so funny when it took me nearly an hour to get off every single scrap, bow, and ribbon. 

         He'd always been a prankster but now that we were both nearing thirty, his jokes had shifted from less of a put-toothpaste-in-your-cream cheese-bagel type of thing to crass jokes and subtle flirtation. 

         But if there is one thing I didn’t need was another man hitting on me. Last time didn’t end so well. 

         I pull up to the cabin just as night is rolling in. The sky is a dark lavender and orange rays of light are disappearing behind the dense tree line. I groan when I notice Gareth's red truck already here. There goes my peaceful dinner. 

         As soon as I turn off the engine, he’s bounding down the steps of the log cabin.

         "Fiona," Gareth calls with that golden retriever smile that always makes me think that maybe, just maybe he isn’t going to be an ass.

         "Gareth," I barely force a smile.
         He looks around, "No Vincent?"

         "We broke up." I say shortly as I grab my bags from the trunk. Gareth’s there, arms out, offering his assistance. 

         "For real this time? Or just until your period’s over?"

         "Fuck off.” I yank my bags back out and stomp up the steps. The smell of pine and wet moss fills my lungs. Leave it to Gareth to ruin one of the most peaceful places on earth.

         "There is mac and cheese on the stove," I hear him call after me, but I go straight to the guest bedroom I think of as mine and lock the door.

         I flop on the bed and the smell of mothballs and whatever fabric softener Uncle Sam always used surrounds me,  bringing back memories of pillow forts, games of hide and seek and long nights spent with him teaching me constellations.

         I chew the inside of my cheek as I think about selling this place. So many memories that would remain, but the chance to make new ones would be gone. I always envisioned taking my future kids here and recreating my favorite childhood memories with them.

         But that was before Uncle Sam got sick. Before he left his favorite place on earth to his two favorite people who can’t stand each other.

         And in truth, I could use the money. I would be able to finish my degree, finally.

_______________

Soon my stomach is growling and I figure I can’t ignore Gareth forever. And mac and cheese sounds a really damn good match for my mopey nostalgic mood. I step out of the room and collide with something hard.

         “Hungry or are you just happy to see me?” Gareth says with a crooked grin, holding a bowl of mac and cheese.

         “That doesn’t even make sense.” I grumble and push past him towards the kitchen but frown when the pot is empty. I spin around and ready to rip into him. But before I can speak, he’s shoving the full bowl into my hands.         

         “For you. I was going to ding-dong ditch it at your door.” I take it and soften my scowl. “I’m sorry for the period comment. That was stupid.”

         I shovel a bite of cheesy goodness and have to bite back a moan of pleasure. Damn, that is definitely not box stuff. “Yeah, and misogynistic.”

         He follows me to the small den next to the kitchen and relaxes into the faded plaid armchair across from where I’ve sunk into the equally worn couch.. He runs a hand down his short auburn beard and opens his mouth before closing it a few times.

         “Whatever you want to say, just say it. I’m sure it can’t be worse than the tired and trite joke about menstruating women being emotional.”

         “Right, yeah, well. . . wanna watch something? It’s mostly grainy infomercials and football but sometimes you get lucky and can catch some dating show.” I know him well enough to know that’s not what he was going to say. I don’t like him, but I know him.

         I nod and dig back into my bowl while he flips through the channels. I scan the walls of the den. It’s cozy and rustic and like everything else in the house, smells strongly of pine. The log walls are dotted with black and white photographs of Uncle Sam and my father from when they were kids. There are color photos of me on a fishing day. I’m holding up a fish twice the length of my arm while grinning. I laugh to myself at the memory.

         I was so proud of my catch. It was my third day in a row on the dock with Uncle Sam and I hadn’t caught anything bigger than a goldfish. I was determined to catch something big and I was convinced my whole life would be over if I didn’t. Seven year old logic.

         Little did I know that the small pond we were fishing in was stocked with nothing bigger than my hand. So, late at night, once I had gone to sleep, Uncle Sam drove to his friend’s house who was a prolific deep sea fisherman. He bought his biggest catch of the day and attached it to my hook when I went inside for lemonade. I came back out to the catch of my life with a glass of sweet lemonade.

         There are also photos of Gareth. You can see the change in him through the years with Uncle Sam. In the first photos, he’s downcast with a permanent glare and a black hoodie pulled low over his face. But slowly, his scowl disappears, he starts, making silly faces, trading the gloomy hoodies  for baseball jerseys or mechanic coveralls.

         “I loved him, you know.” His voice startles me. I whip my head around to see that he must have gone to the kitchen without me noticing. He hands me a coffee mug with wine as he slumps back into the plaid chair and pulls from a long neck beer bottle. “You’re a red girl, right?” He nods to the mug in my hand.

         “How did you know that?”

         He scoffs. “Just because you prefer to act like I don’t exist doesn’t mean I do the same of you.”     

         “I don’t—” My fake attempt to deflect his words stutters out of me. He’s right of course. “I’m sorry,” is all I say instead.

         The TV flickers black and white static as the signal struggles in the overcast weather. It lights up the small room like an old, retro movie making me feel even more nostalgic than before. It also reminds me of the extensive VHS collection we’d created over the years.

         “Your pick.” I ask, holding up two choices for Gareth after quickly searching through the drawers of tapes.

         “Ella Enchanted or Princess Bride? Those are my choices?” He laughs and it’s the first thing he’s said all night that didn’t sting with a small bite of sorrow.

         “Hey, it’s not my not my fault I was an only child. Before you came along, everything was princesses and fairies.”

         “Okay, princess. If you’re such an expert in the field, you choose. I’ll go make some popcorn.” He smiles softly and the dim  light of the lamp hits his hair at an angle that catches stripes of copper and bronze I’ve never noticed before.

         Two hours later, the movie is over and the princess has been saved, everyone lives happily ever after, and I remain wide awake in bed thinking about the jolt of electricity that pulsed through me every time Gareth’s thigh touched mine on the couch. Or the way he kept glancing at my lips like he was jealous of the popcorn. Or the way I accidentally-on-purpose brushed his hand reaching for the remote.

         Or the way, as my hand snakes between my thighs, I can’t stop wondering what his beard would feel like between my legs instead.

Chapter 2

I take my coffee out to the back porch the next morning. It’s bitter and way too strong and I forgot my favorite lavender syrup but for some reason, I don’t mind. Mist rolls in over the pine trees like a comforting lullaby and the waterfall up on the rocky cliff is in full stream.

         Gareth comes out to the porch and I curl my knees to my chest in my rocking chair, feeling like I need to close myself off from him after last night’s confusing feelings. Surely, I’m just affection-deprived from the breakup. I mean, he basically called me an overly emotional woman when I arrived. I don’t want him.

         But as he  stretches over the back of his chair, my eyes can’t help but shoot to the tantalizing, defined V peeking out from his waistband as his shirt rides up. He catches me and smirks, my cheeks instantly flare with heat, “You can look, I don’t bite.”

         “I’m not so sure about that.” I try to quip back, but it comes out way breathier than it should, like an invitation rather than an insult.

         “So, why did you and good ol’ Vinny end things this time?” I cock an eyebrow his way and assess him over the rim of my mug. He never asks about my on-again-off-again relationship. “I won’t say anything misogynistic. Scout’s honor.” He promises as he salutes.

         “He was arrested for assault.”

         “Did he hurt you?” Gareth tenses in his seat, his back rigid and fists clenched, as he stares at me so intently it makes my insides squirm.

         “No, no, he’s never hit me.” A fact I’ve held on to every time I go back to him. He’s never hurt me. “A valet handed me back our ticket once he retrieved our car and Vincent thought he was slipping me his number. By the time I could show him it was just the ticket, he’d already broken the guy’s nose.” I look down embarrassed. Embarrassed because I know that’s fucking insane, yet I’m still hoping we can work things out. Embarrassed that I’m too weak to stay away, no matter how toxic things get. Embarrassed that I believe his sugar-coated lies that he'll change every. Damn. Time.

         “I get it.” Gareth’s comment jolts me back from my pity party and I wonder if I said all of that out loud.

         “Get what? That I’m an idiot for going back to him again and again?”

         “God, no. He’s the idiot–and a few other choice words–to ever risk losing you.” I swallow hard, not knowing how to respond to that. Gareth’s eyes soften when they meet mine and that confusing feeling from last night comes pounding back like a tornado in my ribcage. “I get that it’s never easy. My mom was with men much worse than Vincent my entire childhood. Even when I begged her to leave, she wouldn’t. I hated her for that. Hated her for how weak I thought she was.

         “It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized it was never her fault. It’s always the bastard’s fault for manipulating, controlling, abusing. For creating an environment where the consequences of leaving seem worse than the pain of staying. Don’t blame the addict, blame the drug.”

         “When did you get so insightful?” I force a laugh like his words didn’t just jab me in the most wounded, raw parts of my heart I keep hidden from the world.  

         “I’m sure there are a lot of things about me that would surprise you, princess.” His flirty grin is back and his new pet name for me has my stomach doing weird things. I don’t know if it’s because he sensed me wanting to change the subject or if he never meant to get that deep in the first place. I try not to overthink it and just appreciate the new direction.

         “Like what?”

         “Put on some hiking shoes and I’ll show you.”

_______________

I can’t believe this. I’m standing at the base of the waterfall that I’ve admired from afar my entire life. It carves down the mountain like an ax through wood. When I was a kid, I used to imagine it was a magical fairy kingdom with wizards and ogres–visible but just out of reach. I sat on the cabin’s back porch and drew the characters who I imagined in the kingdom with chalk on the wooden planks.

         “Sam always wanted to build a trail up here. Talked about it for years.” Gareth says, a pleased smile on his face as he watches me stare in awe at the gushing water. “I’d push his wheelchair up here a few times a week. Pack some coffee and those nasty spam sandwiches he loved.” My throat tightens at the sweet picture.

         The trail Gareth built has to be close to a mile and the entire path was lined with a hand-built ramp. My lungs burned and my legs felt like jello just walking, I couldn’t imagine the effort to push another human up the steep incline.

         “I’m sure he loved that.” I say and Gareth nods, quickly turning his face away from me. His jaw clenches and he looks to the sky like he’s hoping gravity will stop any tears from spilling. It’s an unfamiliar version of Gareth. He seems raw, unfiltered by pranks and crude jokes.This is a Gareth I want to see more of.

         The sky claps and lightning bursts, stealing our attention. Dark clouds brew over us. “Well, guess we better head down before it starts raining,” Gareth says, his voice still thick with emotion.

         “Yeah, good idea.” As if on cue, we’re caught in a torrential and immediate downpour. We both laugh at the synchronicity before running for the tree line.

         Gareth stays beside me, using his jacket like an umbrella above my head, his shirt soaking through almost immediately. The light blue heather turns to a deep indigo and clings to his sculpted torso. Something dangerously like desire swirls in my gut at the sight.

         I am apparently so distracted by this wet t-shirt contest that I stumble headfirst over a big root. Gareth reaches for me but instead of catching me, he slides down the ramp and I drag him down with me.

         We skid through the wet mud, piling on top of each other. Somewhere along the spill, he’s tucked me into his chest and I’m straddling his legs. We both stare at each other, out of breath and hearts pounding. For a second, our eyes narrow and I’m certain I know what’s going to happen next.

         But he breaks out in a throaty laugh and I can’t help but join in until my side stitches. When we finally stop laughing, he leans back, even more out of breath than before. I take in how utterly covered in mud we are. And how utterly close. As if he notices the same thing , I feel his cock harden beneath me.  

         Instead of blushing or pushing me off him, his eyes rake down my body hungrily. “Let’s get you cleaned up, princess. Unless you want to continue getting dirty right here.” I’m speechless as he trails his muddy palms down my arms and cups the curve of my hips, subtly pulling me over his bulge.

         White hot lust—no, panic—no, something I don’t have a word for–courses through me and I leap from his lap, barely managing to avoid falling right back down on the slick earth. I barrel down the hill, hating how my stomach flutters at the sound of Gareth’s hearty chuckle behind me.

         Don’t make this weird, Fiona. Don’t make this weird. My mantra until I reach the back door. Trying to collect myself with one deep breath, I spin around at the door and call out to Gareth emerging from the path, “I’m putting on water for tea, you want any?” Yes, good, platonic tea between friends-that-are-sorta-cousins-but-not-in-a-weird-way. That will help me forget about the liquid heat pooling in my core at the memory of nearly grinding on his dick.

         “Sure, princess. Tea sounds good.” He says it with a smirk and I can’t decide if I want to punch him or kiss him.

         I busy myself in the kitchen when I hear him enter through the back door.

         “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

         I freeze, and not because of the mental image of a naked Gareth that pops into my mind —definitely not that—but, because the hot water heater in this cabin is from the Dark Ages. “Wait!”

         I run around the corner. “There’s never enough hot water for two full showers. Promise to make it quick?”

         “Or you could just join me?” He suggests so casually, as if he’s asking for the wifi password not inviting me to shower—naked—with him.

         “What? Are you—We can’t—Just don’t take forever, okay?”

         “What if I promise to keep my eyes closed?” He wets his bottom lip and I have the distinct impression that, promise or not, he’s currently undressing me in his mind.

         “Don’t be absurd, how would that even work?”

         “It’s a small shower, it’s not like I’m gonna get lost in there.”

         I hesitate but eventually decide I’d rather take a hot shower with him than a cold shower without him. “Fine, but no peeking.”

Chapter 3

Steam fills the small bathroom as I strip off my muddy clothes. My heart is racing as I reach for the shower curtain. “Okay, I’m coming in. Keep ‘em closed.”

         “Yes, ma’am.” I can hear the laughter in his voice.

         I pull back the curtain and I am grateful his eyes are closed because my jaw hits the floor. Rivulets of water run down his chiseled back and firm ass. Images of my nails digging into it flash through my mind, making me clench my thighs together.

         “What happened to not wasting water, huh? You gonna get on in or just continue staring?”

         “Shut up,” I hiss and step in. The air suddenly feels too thick. I’m starting to think this was a truly terrible idea.

         “Your turn,” he says. With his eyes still shut tight, he guides me by my shoulder as he switches places with me under the faucet.

         I lather shampoo into my hair and squeeze my eyes equally tight so I don’t get a peek of Gareth’s very naked front.

         My head is under the rushing water and it scalds my skin in a not unpleasant way after being caught in the cold rain. I shift backward and bump into something hard against my ass. I feel his hands next, gentle and light on my hips. My breath catches and I freeze at the same time my skin ignites under his touch.

         When I don’t move, he takes a step forward and his cock slides between my legs. I gasp at the contact with my pussy. He stays there and rocks ever so slightly, providing a ghost of friction and I melt.

         His right palm glides across my belly and down to my patch of curls, this pinky strokes the crease of my thigh. “Do you want me to stop?”

         “No.” The word is out before the rational part of my brain can stop it. He doesn’t hesitate, sliding his thick fingers between my folds and stroking up and down. Instinctively, I push back into him, and he tightens his grip on my hip.

         He dips his mouth to the back of my neck and sucks the sensitive skin in a way that makes me dizzy. He continues to rock but picks up speed in time with his fingers until I am panting and writhing on the cusp of orgasm without him ever entering me.

         I reach back to wrap my hand around his neck as I spiral in the exquisite tension he’s expertly built up. A whimper escapes me as I near my peak and I grind back harder against him. “You can come, princess.” He murmurs like  honey in my ear, sending me over the edge.

         “God,” I cry out as I come, relying on his firm grip to keep me upright.

         “Fuck Fiona, you sound so pretty when you come.” With a growl, he clutches me tight to him and pumps hard until a few seconds later his cum hits the shower wall.

         I barely have time to process what happened when the water goes from scalding to ice cold in seconds. I scream and jump out of the shower and his arms. Leaving them in my post-orgasm haze feels wrong, but as my rational brain returns, I realize staying feels equally wrong.

         I hurriedly wrap a towel around my shaky body and scurry from the steamy room as the valet’s bloodied face flashes in my mind. I ignore Gareth shouting after me.

__________

         I’m curled up in a ball when Gareth knocks on my door. I locked it as soon as I sprinted in here after the shower. “Can we just talk about this like adults?” His voice stirs both guilt and heat in my gut. 

         I pull the quilt up to my chin and shout back, “Later. I’m not feeling well.” A shitty lie. And of course, he sees right through it.

         “You and I both know you are feeling fine. Come on Fiona, just talk to me.” The pain in his voice is evident and I hate myself for putting it there.

         “I can’t.” I whimper back as an invisible weight crushes my chest. It’s so hard to breathe, I can’t get enough air, my heart beats erratically.

         “I’m gonna sit outside this door and when you’re ready you can talk to me. Does that sound alright? You can keep it shut, locked, whatever you want.” I hear him slump against the door and down to the floor and I choke on a sob. God, I’m so messed up.

         “Alright?” he asks again.

         “Alright.” I say before pulling the quilt all the way over my head. 

         I hate that despite the mind-blowing, world-changing orgasm Gareth just gave me, all I can think about is the vitriol Vincent would be spewing right now if he knew.

         Your pussy isn’t even good enough to actually fuck, you’re barely a step up from his hand.

         I hear his ugly laugh in my mind as cold as if he was right next to me.

         You’re such a filthy whore, so pathetic.

         It’s a never ending loop that grates my subconscious against my will and I can’t turn it off.

         Slut. Dirty, fucking slut.

         I pile pillows on my head hoping it will help quiet it but knowing full well it won’t do a damn thing. I want to reach for my phone and turn on music until it drowns out Vincent’s sneering voice, but my phone is in the other room.

         The valet’s bloody face returns but this time it morphs into Gareth’s. The grisly red of the blood clashes with the softness of the copper waves in his hair.

         I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

         And I hate that the first thing that comes to mind to make it all stop is to call Vincent. Because I am a dirty whore and he’s the only one that will ever love me.

         “Have you ever seen five year olds play soccer?” Gareth’s voice floats out to me like a life raft in a tumultuous sea. “It’s hilarious and adorable, but absolute chaos.” He continues and I slowly remove the stack of pillows.

         “You know, they are such messes that they don’t even bother having goalies? They just use those little pop-up goals and it’s basically a free for all.” He chuckles and the warm sound has me popping my head out from under the covers.

         “Anyway, I found out a few years ago that my mom had another kid. A five-year-old toe-head with these goofy ass front teeth.” Even with a wall between us, I know he’s smiling. “My brother.”

         He pauses and my chest tightens thinking that’s the end of it. “Keep talking. Please.” I say just loud enough for him to hear me.

         “Sam used to come with me to his games on Saturdays. He hated soccer, said it’s. . .” 

“What skinny Europeans play ‘cause they aren’t tough enough for football.” I whisper to myself at the same time Gareth says the same thing out loud.

“But he came with me every Saturday to watch these kids run around like chickens with their heads cut off. I never said it out loud, but I think he knew I was too scared to go alone. And he knew I’d regret not going.

         “And these kids, I tell you, they are the least scary thing in the world. Half the time they steal the ball from their own team and score on their own goal. But I had—have—this fear of getting close to people. To feel a connection with family because I know that family bonds aren’t unbreakable. They’re supposed to be, but they’re not. And it terrifies me more than anything to build a connection and have it shatter like they have all my life. So I’d rather never build it in the first place. Suffer alone but at least I’ll be safe.”

         As I listen to his voice, I realize my breathing has evened out and I find myself relaxing all the muscles I was unconsciously tensing. “But Sam taught me that it’s always better to have family and lose them than never have one at all.”

         I step out of the bed and gingerly tip-toe across the room to the door. I don’t know if I’m going to unlock it yet, so I don’t want him to know I’m up in case I decide against it. I think he hears me anyway because he sighs deeply. “It’s okay to be scared, Fiona. But being scared together is always better than being scared alone.”

         I stand unmoving inches from the door. For seconds or minutes, I don’t know. But eventually I decide to unlock it and with the sound of the lock, Gareth tentatively turns the knob and pushes it open.

         His hair is still wet from the shower, and he’s dressed in a matching gray sweat suit. He looks devastatingly handsome and I don’t know what to do but take his hand and lead him to the bed.

         Unspeaking, we lay next to each other fully clothed, and as he wraps an arm around my waist, I nestle my back to his front.

         I focus on the rise and fall of his chest, steady and constant against my back. I focus on it and nothing else until my own breathing syncs and we gently slip away into sleep.

Chapter 4

         When I wake from the nap, I’m alone in the bed and I wonder briefly if I dreamed it all. But the sheets next to me are still warm and smell slightly of him. I roll on my back and follow the grain of the wood on the ceiling.  I expect my mind to be spinning, drowning, but instead I’m calm. Unsure, but calm.

         It’s dark outside and rain continues to batter the roof in a peaceful tattoo. I put on an oversized cardigan and head out of my room. The smell of bacon permeates the air and I follow it to the kitchen, passing a crackling fire in the den’s stone hearth.

         “Listen, Gareth—”

         “Grab a plate, princess. The movie’s about to start.” He brushes the small of my back as he walks out of the kitchen and I poke my head out to see he’s setting up Princess Bride.

         I look at the spread before me—bacon, eggs, home fries, chopped strawberries—and try to remember a time when Vincent cooked for me. Maybe when we first started dating? That was more than six years ago. To be fair, I never asked him to cook for me.

         Then again, I never asked Gareth either. And he’s cooked twice in as many days.

         With a bittersweet niggle, I pile my plate high and join Gareth on the couch. He drapes a chunky blanket over my lap, but is careful to not tuck himself under it too. He goes to press play but I stop him, waves of something I can’t define crashing through me when I touch him.

         I can’t meet his eyes when I speak. “You’re right, I am scared. I don’t know who I am without Vincent.”

         “There’s never been a better time to learn.” He removes my hand from the remote then places it in his lap and presses play.

______

         The next morning, I am staked out by the ancient land line, waiting for the realtor I’d been in talks with to call. Cell service is non-existent out here, but we’d tentatively scheduled a visit so she could check out the property.

         Leading up to this visit, Gareth has made it very clear he has no interest in selling. I got him to reluctantly agree to one on-site meeting with an agent. I was hoping that a big enough number would convince him otherwise, but these last few days have made me wonder if there’s a number big enough to let this place go. And not just for him, for myself too.

         No, damnit, I need that money. Vincent may be a certified psychopath, but he’s a rich psychopath. Not only do I not know who I am without him, I don’t know how I’d support myself without him. It sounds spoiled and pathetic but with less than three semesters of college and zero work experience, my prospects are pretty slim. 

         If we sell, I have guaranteed tuition money. I can finish my degree and really make something of myself, independent of Vincent.

         If I can stay away from him long enough. . .

         A shrill ring makes me jump in my seat and I swing around to pick up the phone. The loopy cord bounces as I pace and talk. In under two minutes, a meeting is set for two days from now. Just like that, I am one step closer to getting that degree.

         So why do I have a sinking feeling in my gut that I’m making a terrible mistake.

         Everywhere I look, memories come flooding back to me. The old gas range reminds me of that time we made s’mores on the stove when we ran out of wood. The umbrella rack by the door reminds me of puddle stomping and playing tag in the rain. Even the tick of the wall clock reminds me of the times I fell asleep watching a movie and would partially wake up to the tick-tock sound as Uncle Sam carried me to bed. The pit in my stomach grows wider and deeper.

         Gareth rounds the corner into the kitchen and that same pit begins to simmer with heat. He’s dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants—I mean, come on, gray sweatpants­­? Cut a girl some slack. His hair is tousled in a messy way that makes me wonder what it would feel like if I ran my fingers through it. A soft sleepiness still clings to his eyes and his cheeks are rosy.

         My pulse jumps as I take in his Greek god abs. He slides his hands casually into his pockets, pulling the waistband just ever so slightly lower. I finally gain control of myself and flick my eyes back to his face to find him smirking and he dusts his thumb across his bottom lip. Fuck me.

         “Good morning,” his raspy morning voice makes me wish I was wearing panties under my pajama shorts.

         “What are you doing?”

         “Getting some coffee?” He quirks an eyebrow like he doesn’t know exactly what I’m referring to as he pours himself a cup.

         “It’s like you’re trying to tempt me.”

         He leans back on the counter and crosses his legs at the ankles. He takes a long, slow sip from his mug, his eyes locked on mine. It should be illegal for anyone to exude this much sensuality simply drinking coffee. “You can’t tempt someone who doesn’t want to be tempted.”

         “Right, I forgot you were a philosopher.” I scoff and try to subtly clench my thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice.

         “Come here.” He sets his cup down and beckons me with nothing more than those two words and a look.

         And I’m utterly helpless under his spell. I make my way over to stand a few feet in front of him.  My body buzzes being this close to him and my palms itch to travel the hot expanse of his chest. Apparently it’s not close enough because he loops an arm around my waist and pulls me flush to him. Keeping me locked with one arm, he uses the other hand to tilt my chin.

         I’d say breathing becomes harder because of how closely I’m pressed to him, but that would be a lie. I feel, yet again, the unmistakable nudge of his growing arousal between us. Is this man ever not ready to fuck at the drop of a hat? 

His thumb slides from my chin to my lip and a shiver runs down my arms when he brushes it across my lips.

        “Open.” His eyes are dark and hungry and I do what he says as that same hunger brews within me. Sliding it past my lips, “Suck.” 

         He groans when I do, and I feel his cock respond. “Good girl,” He purrs and I wonder if I’ve ever felt this kind of high before. His hand snakes to my stomach as he plays with the waistband of my flimsy pajamas. “I bet you didn’t even need to wet my thumb, but I appreciate you listening.”

         His praise makes me weak in the knees as his hand descends and his thumb finds my throbbing clit that is in fact wet as hell. The lazy circles he’s drawing make it hard for me to understand what he says next, “Tell me, Fiona, do you want to come on my fingers or my tongue?”

         “Wha—what?”

         “Do you want to come on my fingers or my tongue, princess?”

         He pinches my clit and I yelp, “I—I don’t know.”

         He swiftly picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth crashes down on mine as he walks us back to the small breakfast table. For a moment I forget about everything except the way our lips move together like two rivers flowing into the same ocean.

He lays me down and kisses a trail down my throat and chest, pausing to suck my pebbled nipple through my camisole. He chuckles devilishly when it makes me moan and arch off the table. He pulls my shorts off and kneels before me.

         “You like having this pretty pussy eaten?” My breath catches in my throat and all I can do is sort of shake my head and shrug. He pauses and looks up at me with fitted brows, “Is that a no?”

         “It’s an ‘I don’t know’.”

         “Vincent must not have been very good if you don’t know.”

         “He never—” Before I can finish my sentence, Gareth’s eyes widen with a sweet look of concern and he picks me back up and throws me over this shoulder.

         “Gareth! What in God’s name are you doing?” I laugh as he stomps down the hallway to my room.

         He throws me down on the corner of the bed facing the sliding closet door with a mirror. I sit up to ask what the hell is going on but he doesn’t waste a second getting on his knees. His rough hands skate up my bare thighs as he presses his mouth to my pussy. Sparks skitter across my skin.

         A shuttering gasp escapes me at the first stroke of his wide tongue against my hot flesh. I flop back down, my mind already swimming.

         “No, princess. Sit back up.” He doesn’t pause his ministrations as he fists my camisole and tugs me back to sitting. “Look in the mirror. You’re going to watch me do this to you. Then you’re going to watch to see the look on your face as you realize it’s me making you feel this way, and that there’s no going back after this.”

         With that he puts all his attention on drawing leg-quivering strokes over my clit. I take in my reflection—all flushed cheeks and messy hair—and realize that he is absolutely right. There is no going back. There is no pretending he doesn’t exist, no pretending to hate him. He might hate me when I make him sell this place, but for right now, there is nothing but unbridled passion between the two of us.

         Though I suppose there’s passion in both love and hate.

         When I’m moments away from orgasm, he throws my thighs over his shoulders and cups my ass to drag me to the very edge of the bed. Without missing a beat, he thrusts two fingers inside me. He slows the flicks of his tongue and curls the fingers inside me so I am stuck teetering on the edge. Even the sight of his bare back, carved like stone, between my thighs isn’t enough to take me over. I meet my own gaze in the mirror and am shocked by the pure desire written all over my face.

         “Gareth, please.” He only laughs at my whimpers, never letting up the slow, teasing torture. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I claw at his hair and my legs clamp down on his head as every single nerve in my body sets alight. Muscles I didn’t even know I have clench and release in the most euphoric way.

         While I’m still in a post-orgasm daze, Gareth joins me on the bed and scoots us up to pillows. He peels off my top before stripping off his own clothes. He hovers above me and tenderly brushes the hair out of my face. “You’re a fucking dream, Fiona. And as much I’d love to tongue fuck you all day, I think I might die from a three-day-long hard-on if I don’t bury myself in you right now.”  

         He faintly trails his fingers over my pussy as his cock nudges my thigh. Even the feather-light touch sends shock waves through me. “Gareth, I’m so sensitive—”

         “I know, baby, but you can take it. And I’ll be gentle. . .” he smirks and brushes a kiss on my lips, “This time.” I swallow hard and despite the raw ache between my thighs, I find myself spreading my legs for him to fit between.

         We both stare captivated at the place our bodies join as I position him at my entrance and he slowly pushes in. I cling onto his arms as if I can somehow tether myself to this moment forever because after this, nothing will ever be the same. His muscles are strong but shaky under my fingers and I can tell he’s struggling to control himself. His face is twisted as much from the pain of constraint as pleasure and while part of me wants to make slow love to him until our heartbeats synchronize, I want him—all of him—more.

         I cup his face in my hands and he shudders at the contact. Drawing him to meet my gaze, “You’re right, I can take it. So, give it to me. Fuck me like you want to, Gareth.”

         He inhales sharply before kissing me so hard it takes my breath away. I can feel his whole frame strung tight like a bow. He pulls away, “Under one condition.”

         “Okay?”

         “The next time you come, it’s my name you scream.” It’s a simple ask, almost an inevitability, but for some reason it feels like so much more.

         “Deal.” And just like that I sign away whatever parts of me are left to be claimed.

         And the façade breaks, the tempered control shatters and Gareth fucks me, and I mean fucks me. Each thrust is like he’s trying to consume me piece by piece until I can’t be whole unless he’s with me.

         I surrender to his want and cling to him, becoming equally lost in the animalistic ways our bodies speak without words. I’ve never felt so full, so owned but also so free. Sex with Vincent was never this blending of two into one, it was transactional and one-sided. I tolerated the sex for the chance of cuddling afterwards which was the real affection that I craved. But  this. . . nothing compares to this.

         “Flip over, baby. I need something more to hold on to.” He eases out of me and I scramble onto my hands and knees, feeling like a hollow pit without him even for a few seconds. “Good girl,” he praises as he trails his palms lightly down my back making me shiver.

         Anticipation makes my skin tingle as he slides his cock slick with my own arousal between my legs. “You're gorgeous from every angle. But I think this might just be my favorite,” he says, anchoring himself with a solid grip on my hips.

         He gently slides into my pussy and I whimper at the soreness but also the relief at having him back. Before he starts moving, the sensations already threaten to overwhelm me and I bury my face in the pillows. He fists my hair and yanks me up to look at him. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

         “I don’t think it will ever be enough.”

         “Me neither, princess, me  either.” He sighs almost sorrowfully before pulling my hips back while plunging forward into me. We both cry out and any hint of sorrow is replaced with pure, heady bliss.

         His fingers crush the soft flesh of my hips as he shoves me back onto his cock, again and again. Each thrust is somehow harder and deeper, and I begin to feel like I’m floating above my body. I tilt my hips up and his thick cock glides roughly against my g-spot. “Oh, God.”

         “My name, baby. God has nothing to do with this.”

         “Yes, Gareth, yes—oh fuck—” He wraps a hand around to my front and rubs my clit. “Gareth, I’m gonna come.” He groans and rubs faster, harder on my front while still pounding into me. The room fills with the sounds of his hips slapping against my ass, his fingers sliding through my wetness, and my desperate, aching cries for more.

         “Then you better start screaming my name, princess.” He wraps his hand around my hair again and yanks me to my knees so my back is arched against his front. He bites my throat and whispers in my ear, “Come for me, just don’t forget who’s making you feel this.”

         “Gar—Gar—Gareth!” I scream between moans and my orgasm pounds through every inch of me. My entire body pulses and infuses with heat. “Gareth,” I whimper again as the last of my climax melts into the deepest parts of me.

         “Such a good fucking girl, coming with only my name on your lips,” he growls and thrusts once more before emptying himself inside me.

         He collapses on the mattress and pulls me on top of him. We lay like that for minutes or hours, reveling in the closeness of our two naked bodies and the steady rise and fall of our breaths.

It’s Gareth who breaks the silence, “So, what’s the verdict, pretty girl?” He brushes my hair to the side to kiss the hollow of my throat and when he looks up at me with those soulful green eyes, I nearly forget his question.

         “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but whatever it is, you’re one hundred percent guilty.” He laughs and I can’t help but think how different his laugh sounds. Like I am hearing it pure and unfiltered by years of animosity for the first time.

         “I can’t argue with that,” he rolls us over, tickling my sides. I scream and kick and he finally relents but stays on top of me. “But I was asking: do you like getting your pretty pussy eaten?”

         I instantly blush and laugh, “What do you think?”

         “I think you taste fucking divine and if I wasn’t suffering from the world’s worst case of blue balls I would have happily stayed on my knees until you couldn’t take anymore.” We smile at each other but then his tone shifts, “Was I really the first to go down on you?”

         He asks it like it’s a tragedy, a gross case of negligence. And I suppose with the way he made me feel today, I may even agree with him.

         “Well, Vincent never did. . .” I find myself embarrassed by that fact but the non-judgmental look on his face urges me to continue. “And all the other times were drunk hook-ups in college that are too fuzzy to know if it was any good or not.”

         He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at me like he’s trying to memorize every line of my face as if I might disappear into thin air. “What else did Vincent never do?”

         “Probably everything a boyfriend is supposed to do. He never got me flowers or brought me coffee in bed. We never danced in the rain or anything romantic like that.” His brows knit together and I have to turn away. I can’t stand the look of pity on his face.

         “You deserve so much more than him. You know that, right?”

         I pause to really consider his question. What do I deserve?

         Afterall, I’m the lovesick fool who keeps showing back up, like a kicked puppy who remains loyal to its owner. I convinced myself his anger was passion, his jealousy was protectiveness, his cruelty was constructive criticism. But after these last couple of days, it’s getting harder to believe those same things.  

         “Honestly, I don’t know. But I think I’m starting to learn.”

Chapter 5

We spend all day tangled up in the sheets and each other’s limbs. Gareth makes me come more times than I thought possible and shows me a side of myself I never knew existed. And the best part is, Vincent’s nagging voice is nowhere to be heard. It could be the constant endorphin rush from the orgasms, but I never even get close to the panic attack I had after the shower.

         I stretch in bed the next morning. My whole body is sore in the best possible way, each ache a reminder of the pleasure that caused it. I try to run my fingers through my hair to re-do my bun but it’s a knotted mess. God, I need a shower. 

         Before I climb out, I notice a mug and a note written on a napkin on the nightstand.

         Coffee in bed for my princess.

         Working on the trail.

         x G

         PS don’t even think about putting on panties.

         My heart flutters in my chest and a giddy smile tugs on my lips. For some reason, I find his messy script endearing. I also laugh at the Christmas themed napkin it is scrawled on. Uncle Sam probably bought them in January at a discount. Despite the success of his auto garage, he was an avid couponer. Which is probably why the cabin hasn’t been updated since dinosaurs roamed the earth.  

         I take my time showering, playing chicken with the hot water. My pussy clenches when I realize that even my scalp is sore is from the way Gareth fisted my hair. I’m surprised by the urge to touch myself after literally fucking all day. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’d been horny enough to masturbate in the last year. Something about Gareth’s unfettered worship of my body, unlocks new cravings in me.

         And I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

         A few minutes later, I’m panting and on the verge of climax when the curtain snaps back and I scream. Gareth scans me head to toe and smirks, “Dirty girl, playing with your pussy without me. Tell me, princess, whose hands did you imagine touching you just now?”

         I bite my lip and my blood roars heavy in my ears, “Yours.”

         “And what did you imagine I was doing?”

         “Touching me,” my voice is barely audible over the shower stream.

         “No, princess, you can do better than that. Tell me.” I sigh, knowing what he wants, but not sure I’m brazen enough to do it. I swallow back any fear of judgment or embarrassment and remember his reverent gaze from yesterday.

         “I used up all the hot water and you were punishing me.” I clamp my mouth shut as soon as the words leave my lips. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just said that out loud. And by the look on Gareth’s face, he can’t either.

         He releases a throaty exhale and I notice he’s muddy and sweaty from working outside. I can almost smell the outdoors on him, fresh pine, wet soil and that intoxicating scent of exertion. Fuck, I’m getting wet at just the smell of him. “And how was I punishing you?” He demands as he starts undoing his belt.

         “Well, first you pulled my towel away and threw me over your shoulder—”

         He slams the faucet off and hucks my wet, naked body over his shoulder. “Like this?” My pulse spikes and I nod vigorously. “And?”

         “And you carried me to the bed,” he’s already starting down the hallway as I speak, “And take me across your knee and—” He finishes my sentence with a swift and fiery slap to my ass.

         After that he doesn’t ask, he just does. He shoves two thick fingers into my dripping pussy and I yelp at another slap. He alternates cheeks, pumping his fingers until I am a writhing mess on his lap. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, yet so safe. Ravished and cherished.

         “You took that so well, princess,” he sighs contentedly and massages my stinging ass. “Are you ready to take me now?”

         I slide off his lap to my knees and wet my lips as I rub my hands up his thighs. “Fiona, you don’t have to….That’s not what I meant.”

         I look up at him and tease down the zipper straining over his cock, “But it’s what I want.”

_______________________

         That evening, I’m making a Bolognese sauce at the stove when Gareth wraps an arm around me and pulls my back to his chest.  I want to melt into him and if I wasn’t so hungry, I would insist he throw me back over his shoulder for a repeat of earlier.

         “Hi,” I say and tilt my head so he can nuzzle along my neck.

         “Hi,” he whispers back, his lips just coasting along my skin, making chills run down my spine. He whips his other hand in front of me to present the most rag-tag bouquet I’ve ever seen.

         Yellow and pale pink blooms pop out among small pine branches and I notice there’s some dangling roots clumped in dirt. “Gareth, are those dandelions?” I can’t help the ear to ear grin on my face or the laugh I’m barely concealing.

         “No, dandelions are the white puffy plants.”

         I can’t hold it any longer and burst into laughter, “Those are what these turn into.”

         “Oh,” I can hear his face fall without even looking at him.

         I spin around in his arms, taking the bouquet from him, “It’s beautiful, I love it. Thank you.” I reach up on my tiptoes to kiss him and a shy smile returns to his lips. “Let’s get them in water,” I mumble as I search for anything resembling a vase.

         “You don’t have to do that if they’re just weeds.”

         “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m keeping them.”  I see him stand a little straighter and puff out his chest. This man. Goes from fucking me to high heavens without a whiff of shame to being shy over a handpicked bouquet. How did I never see this side of him before?

         The side that just wants to please, to protect, to care for. The side that built a mile long up-hill ramp for a dying man. Or attends every one of his little brother’s soccer games despite life-long fears of abandonment. And the side that sat outside my door and talked me through a panic attack. Had I never noticed it or had he never shown it to me?

         I fix the flowers in a quart mason jar and walk up to him and hug him. Tight. “You’re amazing, you know that?” I smile up at him and I can’t be certain, but I think his chin quivers before he smiles back.

         “Took ya long enough.” He laughs and tugs me ever closer.

Chapter 6

 “That was you?” We’re on the couch, legs overlapping and fingers intertwined, retelling stories and secrets from childhood.

         “I heard you say once that you missed Easter egg hunts and I thought: I could do that.” 

I woke up one morning, during the summer I turned sixteen, to find our entire lawn and backyard dotted with pops of bright pastels. My parents insisted they had nothing to do with it and I thought they were just being coy. I would never in a million years guess it was Gareth, especially considering the broody teen he was at the time.

         “All because I said I missed doing Easter as a kid once?” My cheeks hurt from smiling and a soft spot in my heart pinches. “I can’t believe you’d do that for me.”

         “That and so much more, princess.” His eyes pool with a sincerity that makes my chest sting.

         A crackle of thunder rattles the cabin and rain begins to patter the window panes. Gareth jumps up, pulling me by the hand with him. “Come on, let’s go.” He drags me across the den and out the front door, right into the pouring rain.

         We bound down the steps into the gravel driveway. Gareth lets go of my hand and takes a dramatic sweeping bow, “May I have this dance, princess?”

         My cheeks burn despite the icy rain spilling down them. The wind through the trees is loud and our clothes are already soaking through. But I’ve never seen a more perfect time for a dance.

         “You may,” I take his hand and he pulls me close. I rest my head on his shoulder and he kisses my hair. Suddenly realization hits me and I am overwhelmed:

         Coffee in bed.

         Flowers.

         Dancing in the rain.

         Gareth is checking everything off the list of things Vincent never did. My jaw feels painfully tight as tears threaten to join the rain on my cheeks. We sashay to nature’s song, wrapped up in each other. It’s something out of a movie, something too perfect to be real.

         And yet, it’s as real as Gareth’s heartbeat pounding against my own. As real as his hot frame warming me in the chill. And when he kisses me, I expect to wake from this dream but I never do.  

         “It’s going to be hard letting go of this place now,” I murmur.

         “Then I guess my plan is working.” He smirks, pressing another kiss to my lips.

         “What plan?”

         “The plan to seduce you into keeping the cabin, of course,” he laughs but I don’t. I go rigid and suddenly the warmth from his chest isn’t enough and I’m freezing to the bone.

         “What does that mean, Gareth?” A million questions race through my mind: Is this why he kept asking about Vincent? If we were truly over? Is that why now after years of nothing, he finally makes a move? The flowers, the coffee, the Easter eggs. . . was any of it real?

         I recoil from him and he reaches for me but I side step. “It was just a joke, Fiona.”

         “Was it? Or was it the truth and now you’re backtracking because you've been caught?” I’ve dealt with enough lying and manipulation for a lifetime. I got my fill of bastards trying to control me with Vincent.

         “Goddamn Fiona, of course it was a joke!” He sounds honest, looks honest, but then again so did Vincent. He was smiling and holding my hand like it was the greatest gift seconds before he broke the valet’s nose. I don’t know if it’s him I can’t trust to tell the truth or myself to recognize it.

         Rain streams into my eyes and I shiver in my wet clothes, “I—I—I don’t know if I can believe you.” It’s a weak proclamation because I feel weak. I feel weak and confused and terrified I’ve only traded one monster for another. I stand still as he tries to embrace me.

         “Fiona—” We both turn in surprise as headlights light up the driveway. A car barrels towards us, gravel flying and engine roaring.

         Between the dusk, the rain, and the blinding headlights, I can’t even make out the car. The driver parks, keeping the lights trained on us like a spotlight, and steps out, slamming the door shut.

         “I didn’t want to believe it. Had to see for myself.” Vincent. He stalks towards us and Gareth pushes me behind him and steps out of the direct light.

         “Vincent,” Gareth warns and the growl in his voice is unmistakable: I’m his and he’ll fuck shit up to protect me.

         “So, you’re fucking this blue-collar trash now? I bet his rap sheet is longer than his dick.” Vincent spews. And for the first time, I don’t cower.

         “At least it’s bigger than yours.” I step toe to toe with him. Gareth stands by, ready to pounce but letting me say my piece.

         “Fucking slut, get in the damn car before you say anything else you’ll regret.” Vincent is trembling with rage.

         “The only thing waiting for me in that car is faked orgasms and a shitty boyfriend with an even shittier personality.” Gareth laughs and that’s the final straw: Vincent snaps and slaps me hard across the face.

         I stumble back, shocked more than anything. He hit me. He finally hit me. With perfect clarity, I realize this is always how it was going to end. Every excuse I made for him because he never hit me becomes a bold faced lie. Men like Vincent never plateau, their violence only escalates. If it wasn’t now, it would be a week from now or a year from now, but it would happen and I was a fool to ever think differently.

         But now I’m a fool who knows better.

         “That was a really bad idea,” I hear Gareth growl right before his fist smashes into Vincent’s face. Again and again and again.

         Until Vincent is stumbling back, bent over with his hands above his head blubbering for him to stop. Gareth steps back, his hand trembling and his heavy breaths creating clouds in the cold. His jaw is clenched so tight I don’t think he can talk, so I go up to Vincent instead.

         “You will not call me. You will not text me. You will not even fucking think about me. Ever again. Do you understand me?” Vincent looks at me through a puffy eye and I feel nothing as blood drips from his nose. I know him well enough to know that he doesn’t want to agree because he thinks he owns, is entitled to me. But not anymore. “If you don’t understand, I’m sure Gareth is happy to go another round until it’s crystal clear.”

         “No, no, I’m good.” Vincent stutters and crawls back into his car with his tail between his legs.

____________

I crack the ice tray and dump the cubes into a dish towel. Twisting the top, I hand the makeshift ice pack to Gareth as I join him on the couch. He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand before putting the ice on his busted knuckles, “Are you okay?”

         “Yes, but I still have one question.”

         “Anything,” he says and it feels like he truly means anything. Not just this one question this one time, but anything, anytime, anywhere.

         “Why now?”

         He nods and sighs heavily, I brace myself for whatever he’s about to say, “Sam had a high school sweetheart, Carol. Six months ago, he saw her in a newspaper article about a diner she owns and decided to send her a letter. They started writing and then calling and then sorta dating. He was so happy, I’d never seen him like that.” He smiles softly at the memory.

         “But then he got the diagnosis and three months later, he was gone. He waited forty years to go after what—who—he wanted only to lose her again. And it made me realize that I don’t want to wait to live and love the way I want to. I want to do it all right now. Today. Tomorrow. And every day after that.”

         My throat constricts and I don’t have words. I chew on my lip and Gareth takes my trembling hands in his. One is cold and one is hot. He looks me straight in the eyes so I don’t miss a single word he’s about to say.

         “Listen to me, I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. I loved you the only way a traumatized kid knew how: from a distance, with pranks, with fucking Easter egg hunts in the middle of July. And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to love you the right way, the only way you deserve.”

         My ribcage feels too tight as my heart expands beyond belief at the truth in his words. My tongue still feels tied as the words that bounce around my head don’t seem like nearly enough. So instead I stand up and walk away.

         “Fiona, where are you going?”

         “I have a phone call to make.” I look over my shoulder and the confusion in his pinched brows tugs at my heart. “I have an appointment with a realtor to cancel.”

         The end.