Chapter 45: Cabin 6, Night 4
The atmosphere in Cabin 6 was deceptively calm, a stark contrast to the brittle standoff next door. Logan occupied a corner, methodically cleaning a pair of expensive hiking boots with a concentration that bordered on ritual. His silence was not hostile, but imposing—a quiet force that filled space without trying. Kofi lounged on a bunk, scrolling through his phone with a lazy arrogance, his athletic frame relaxed but somehow still projecting a challenge.
Kim was the chatterbox, perched on the edge of Alya’s bunk. “You were so fast in that sand crawl!” he said, his voice dripping with genuine-seeming admiration. “I was watching. Your technique, the way you used your hips to gain traction? Amazing. Briv is a lucky guy.”
Alya offered a tight smile, hugging a thin pillow to her chest. The compliment felt like a trap. “It was just running,” she deflected, her voice softer than usual. The memory of the challenge played in a loop behind her eyes—the frantic digging in the hot sand, Briv’s competitive snarl when another guy got close to her, the way his attention had felt more like possession than protection. The fine grains of sand still seemed to coat her skin, gritty and irritating. “I think I need a shower. I’ve got sand… everywhere.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Kim beamed. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”
Kofi didn’t look up from his phone. “Don’t use all the hot water.”
Logan gave a barely perceptible nod, his eyes still on his task. It was dismissal and permission all at once.
The bath cabin was a separate, rustic structure a short walk from the main living quarters, built of rough-hewn wood with a corrugated metal roof. Inside, it was stark and functional: a concrete floor with a drain, two showerheads, and a single wooden bench. The air was humid, smelling of damp wood and the faint, chemical tang of diluted bleach.
Alya let the thin towel fall from her shoulders. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She stepped under the spray of one showerhead, turning the knob until the water was almost scalding. It was a relief, washing away the physical grit of the day. She tilted her head back, letting the stream plaster her brown hair to her scalp and run in rivulets down her neck, over the firm curves of her small breasts, down the flat plane of her stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to wash away the mental static, too—the image of Briv’s jealous scowl, the weight of Kim’s calculated praise.
The creak of the door was loud against the steady drum of water.
Her eyes snapped open. Logan and Kofi stood there, naked and utterly unselfconscious. Water dripped from Alya’s body as she froze, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest, her hands splaying to cover herself. It was a futile, reflexive gesture.
“Room for two more,” Kofi said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the steam. He didn’t smile.
Logan said nothing. His gaze, cool and assessing, traveled over her from head to toe without a hint of apology. He was all lean, hard muscle and weathered skin, a map of old scars and sun damage. Kofi was a sculpture of polished ebony, his confidence a physical presence in the small space.
They moved together, flanking her under the twin streams of water. The space, which had felt empty a moment before, was now claustrophobically full.
“Don’t,” Alya whispered, but the word had no force. It was a plea lost in the spray.
Kofi’s hands were on her first, large and warm, sliding over her wet shoulders, pushing her own arms down. He exposed her to the humid air, to their combined gaze. “Shhh,” he murmured, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. His teeth grazed her skin, not hard, but with a possessive pressure that made her gasp.
Logan moved in from the other side, his touch more deliberate. One calloused hand cupped her small breast, his thumb circling her nipple until it tightened into a hard, aching peak. He bent his head, and his mouth replaced his hand, his tongue and lips working with a brutal efficiency that drew a sharp, involuntary moan from her throat. Her head fell back against Kofi’s chest, her body arching into the sensation even as her mind screamed in protest.
Her hands came up, fluttering against Logan’s shoulders, pushing weakly. He ignored her, his other hand sliding down the curve of her spine to her tiny, round ass. His palm connected with a sharp, stinging slap that echoed in the tiled space. The pain was a bright, shocking flare, followed by a warm, spreading heat. Alya cried out, the sound muffled against Kofi’s skin as he turned her face to his and kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth.
It was not gentle. It was a conquest. Logan’s mouth was on her breast again, suckling deeply, while his hand kneaded the flesh of her backside where he’d struck her. Kofi held her pinned between them, one arm wrapped around her waist, his other hand tangled in her wet hair, controlling the kiss.
She was moaning openly now, a continuous, ragged sound of shame and surrender. Her resistance melted under the onslaught, her body betraying every vow she’d made. Her hands, which had been pushing, now clutched at Logan’s arms, her nails digging into his hard biceps. She was kissing Kofi back, her tongue meeting his with a frantic hunger she didn’t recognize in herself.
Logan pulled his mouth from her breast, his breath hot against her ear. His voice was a gravelly whisper, cutting through the haze of pleasure and steam. “Do yourself a favor and get wild in this contest, princess.”
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his gaze piercing and knowing. A sharp, open-handed slap landed on her other buttock, making her jolt against Kofi.
“It’s clear you crave more than just your… Briv!”