Chapter 2: Cabin Fever
The cabin was a dark pupil in the eye of the night. Inside, Tim sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, the wool blanket scratchy under his palms. The lantern was turned low, a dim golden pupil of its own, casting long, dancing shadows up the log walls. He’d showered, the scent of pine soap clinging to his skin, overlaying the deeper, muskier smell of his own anticipation. He listened to the wind worrying the eaves, to the distant, hollow call of an owl. Every pop of the cooling timber made his muscles tense.
He had left the door unlocked. Just as he’d promised himself he would.
The guilt was a dull, persistent throb beneath his ribs. Dale was in the smaller secondary cabin fifty yards away, supposedly asleep. He pictured her there, curled on the narrow cot, and the image felt like a betrayal. But layered over it, hot and urgent, was the memory of Chloe’s flushed cheeks, her direct gaze, the thrilling, illicit conspiracy in the clearing. You’d be thinking of her. Dale’s words were a loop in his head.
A floorboard on the porch groaned.
His breath stopped. The sound was not the wind. It was weight. A presence.
Two soft knocks followed, so quiet they were almost swallowed by the night.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His mouth was dry as ash.
The iron latch lifted with a soft clack. The door swung inwards, a slow invasion of deeper darkness. A silhouette filled the frame, backlit by a sliver of moonlight. It was slight, feminine. Hair loose around the shoulders. She stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind her, the click of the latch final, deafening.
The lantern light reached for her. Chloe’s tank top, Chloe’s shorts. The scent that hit him wasn’t the familiar vanilla of Dale’s perfume, but something fruitier, younger—cherry blossom and salt. It was her scent, from the trail. She’d remembered.
“Hey,” she whispered. Chloe’s voice, but lower, soaked in the dark.
“Hey,” he managed, the word cracking.
She moved towards him, her steps silent on the floorboards. The light finally caught her face. It was Chloe. The same high cheekbones, the same full mouth. Her eyes were wide, dark pools reflecting the flame. She was biting her lower lip, a gesture of nervous excitement he’d seen her make by the creek.
“I couldn’t stop thinking,” she said, closing the distance. “About you up here alone.”
Her hands came up, palms resting on his chest. Through his thin t-shirt, her touch was electric. He could feel a slight tremble in her fingers. Good touch. Believable.
“This is insane,” he breathed, his own hands rising to her hips. The fabric of her shorts was rough under his fingers.
“Yeah.” She grinned, Chloe’s dazzling, reckless grin. “So don’t think.”
She leaned in and kissed him.
It was different. The pressure, the rhythm of her mouth, the way her tongue flicked against his. It was younger, hungrier, less practiced. A mimicry of novelty. It felt utterly, convincingly other. The last thread of his resistance snapped. His guilt was burned away by a surge of pure, selfish hunger.
He kissed her back, hard, his hands gripping her ass, pulling her tight against him. He was already hard, a painful ache confined by his jeans. She ground against him, a soft moan escaping her throat—a higher, breathier sound than Dale’s. The performance was flawless.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth.
“Yeah, fuck,” she whispered back, her fingers scrabbling at the hem of his shirt. He tore it over his head. Her hands were on his skin, nails scraping down his back. It was rougher than Dale would be. New.
He pushed the straps of her tank top down, revealing her breasts. They spilled into his hands, full, the nipples already hard peaks. He bent his head, taking one into his mouth, sucking hard. She cried out, her back arching, and her fingers tangled in his hair. “Oh god, right there…”
He switched to the other, biting gently, then soothed with his tongue. Her hips bucked against him. The cherry blossom scent was everywhere, mixed with the clean smell of her sweat. He fumbled with the button of her shorts, yanked them down along with her panties. She kicked them aside, standing naked before him in the flickering light. She was perfect. Shaved smooth, the thatch of blonde hair he’d glimpsed at her waistline now gone. Everything was detail, intent.
He stood, shucking his own jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and eager. Her eyes dropped to it, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of appreciation.
“You’re so much bigger than I imagined,” she breathed, reaching to wrap her hand around him. Her grip was tentative at first, then firm, pumping slowly. The touch was slightly wrong, the rhythm off by a fraction. It felt studied. It drove him wild.
He pushed her back onto the bed. The old frame screamed in protest. She fell amidst the rumpled blankets, her hair fanning out. He followed her down, covering her body with his, the heat of her skin a brand. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts again, a trail of wet, possessive fire down her stomach. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee.
She was wet. Soaking. The slickness gleamed in the low light. He rubbed the head of his cock through her folds, gathering her wetness, and her whole body trembled.
“Please,” she whimpered, and it was that whisper, that desperate, unfamiliar whisper, that undid him completely. Any last shred of analytical thought vanished.
He drove into her in one fierce, deep thrust.
She gasped, a sharp, punched-out sound, her nails digging into his shoulders. She was tight, unbelievably tight, a hot, gripping velvet sheath around him. He froze, buried to the hilt, savoring the shocking, perfect fit.
“Oh my god,” she moaned, her head thrashing side to side. “Fuck, you’re splitting me open…”
He began to move. Slow, deep strokes at first, each one drawing a ragged breath from her. Then faster, harder, the bed hammering against the wall in a relentless, pounding rhythm. The cabin filled with the sounds of them: skin slapping against skin, his guttural grunts, her high, keening cries.
“You like that, you dirty girl?” he growled, the filthy words spilling out. “You like sneaking in here to get fucked by a stranger?”
“Yes!” she screamed, her legs locking around his back, heels digging into his ass. “Fuck me harder! God, your cock is so good!”
He pistoned into her, each thrust a claim, an annihilation of his old, predictable life. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest. He was lost in a fever of sensation—the clench of her cunt, the smell of sex and cherry blossom, the sight of her breasts jolting with every drive of his hips. He was fucking Chloe. The young, vibrant, forbidden fruit from the trail. The fantasy was complete, total.
He felt her inner muscles begin to flutter and spasm around him. Her cries climbed to a desperate, broken pitch. “I’m coming… I’m coming, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!”
Her orgasm gripped him, a series of violent, milking contractions that pulled him over the edge. With a raw shout, he slammed into her one last time, his body bowing as he emptied himself deep inside her in hot, pulsing jets. He collapsed on top of her, spent, gasping, the world a blur of sweat-slicked skin and pounding heartbeats.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing gradually slowing. The smell of sex was thick, primal, in the air. He nuzzled her neck, planting a soft kiss there. His mind was blissfully, utterly empty.
Then, she shifted beneath him. Her hand came up, not to stroke his hair, but to reach across him. Towards the lantern on the bedside crate.
“What are you doing?” he mumbled, drowsy, still buried inside her.
She didn’t answer. Her fingers found the lantern’s dial. With a soft scrape, she turned it up.
The light blazed, harsh and sudden, bleaching the shadows from the room.
Tim winced, pulling back to look down at her.
The face beneath him was flushed, streaked with sweat and satisfaction. But the eyes looking back at him were not Chloe’s wide, bright blue ones. They were Dale’s dark, fathomless, knowing brown eyes. They glittered with triumphant, unshakeable love and a fierce, devious joy.
The smile that spread across her lips was slow, utterly her own.
“Surprise,” Dale said, her real voice, husky from screaming, landing on him with the weight of the world.