Chapter 2: The Cabin's First Claim
The truck shuddered to a stop in a clearing ringed by towering pines, their branches thick enough to swallow the last of the afternoon light. The cabin hunched before them, all dark timber and rough-hewn stone, with a wraparound porch that sagged slightly under years of harsh winters. Drey was out of the truck before the engine fully died, boots crunching on gravel, his silhouette massive against the fading sun.
Eve sat frozen in the backseat, her sundress still bunched around her hips from where Serge had touched her. The cooling air hit her skin and she shivered.
The door opened. Drey’s hand closed around her wrist, not rough, but immovable.
“Out.”
She scrambled to obey, her sandals slipping on the loose stones as he pulled her up. The cabin loomed closer. Somewhere inside, an animal—a dog, maybe—let out a low, questioning bark, then went quiet as if it recognized its master’s footsteps.
Serge appeared behind them. He’d left his jacket in the truck. His collar was askew, his composure gone entirely. He looked like a man who’d stopped praying mid-sentence and forgot how to finish.
“Drey.” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to do this.”
Drey didn’t turn around. He pushed open the door, releasing Eve only to gesture her inside. The room opened into a single vast space—high ceilings, dark beams, a stone fireplace dominating one wall where embers glowed low and orange. Furs carpeted the floor, some still stained with traces of whatever animal they’d been peeled from. The bed dominated the far corner, iron-framed and vast, covered in a patchwork of stitched hides. Weapons hung on the walls: rifles, knives, a coiled rope. The air smelled like smoke, old blood, and pine resin.
It smelled like a place where things died.
And something in Eve’s belly tightened at the thought.
Drey walked to the fireplace and kicked a log into the embers. Flames crackled to life, casting dancing shadows across the room. He turned, feet planted wide, arms crossed. His gaze settled on Eve like she was prey he’d just cornered.
“You.” He pointed at her. “Stand there.” He indicated a spot in front of the bed, clearly visible in the firelight.
She moved to stand where he’d gestured. Her legs felt weak. The furs were soft under her bare feet.
“Now,” Drey said, his voice dropping low. He turned his eyes to Serge. “You strip her.”
Serge’s face went white beneath his dark skin. “What?”
“You heard me.” Drey stepped closer, not threatening exactly, but there was a hard promise in his posture. “You wanted this. You reached for her in that office. So finish what you started. Strip her down and lay her out.”
“I don’t—this isn’t right, Drey. She’s my stepdaughter.”
Drey laughed. Short, flat, cold. “She was your stepdaughter when you had her up on that desk and your mouth against her throat.” He crossed his arms. “Don’t get righteous with me now, Reverend. Rightness flew out the door the moment you grabbed her.”
Serge’s jaw worked. His hands hung at his sides, fingers flexing. He looked at Eve, and something in his eyes shifted.
She saw the fight drain out of him.
“Please,” Eve whispered. She didn’t know if she was asking Serge to stop or to continue. The words left her mouth without permission.
But Serge heard them. He stepped forward and cupped her face. His calloused palm was warm and rough against her cheek. He closed his eyes, made a small noise in the back of his throat, and then slid his hands to the straps of her sundress.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”
He pulled the fabric down, inch by slow inch. The yellow cotton slid over her shoulders, over the heavy swell of her breasts, pooling at her waist before he tugged it free entirely. She stood in nothing but her white cotton panties, goosebumps rising across every inch of exposed flesh.
The fire crackled.
Drey made a low sound of appreciation from somewhere behind them. “Turn her around.”
Serge took her hand and turned her slowly, displaying her to Drey like an offering. She faced the fire, arms crossed instinctively over her chest, trying to make herself smaller.
Drey didn’t like that. He walked up and took her wrists, pulling her hands away.
“Don’t hide.” His voice was the scrape of gravel. “You got a gorgeous body. Made for it.”
She looked at the fire. At the dancing flames.
“Take the panties off.” Drey’s order was casual. Without urgency.
She hooked her thumbs into the cotton and pushed them down, stepping out of them as they pooled at her ankles. She was fully naked now. In a cabin with her stepfather and her father-in-law. Heat crawled up her cheeks, but between her legs she was still slick.
“Beautiful.” Drey’s voice had softened, almost reverent. He ran a hand up her spine, from her tailbone to her neck, and she trembled under his touch. “You ever done this before, girl?”
“What?” Her voice came out thin.
“Been with a real man.” He stepped behind her, hands settling on her hips. She felt him—heat radiating off his body, and something hard pressing against the curve of her ass, long and thick even through his jeans.
Eve struggled to answer. “I—Zeke is the only one. He’s a good husband.”
“I asked if you’d been with a real man.” His hands tightened. “Not if you’d had a boy fumbling around in the dark.”
He turned her around and pushed her gently onto the bed. She fell back onto soft furs that smelled like earth and animal. Drey climbed over her, and she felt the full weight of him, the sheer breadth of his shoulders, and her chest rose sharply with a small breath.
“Drey,” she said, hand coming to rest flat on his chest. Her voice thin. “Are we really doing this?”
“We’re already doing it,” he murmured. He kissed her shoulder. Then his mouth traveled down to her neck, and his beard scratched against her sensitive skin. “Been doing it since the moment you walked into my town, looking at me with those big hungry eyes.”
“I wasn’t—” A moan broke the protest as his teeth grazed her collarbone. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” he said, low against her skin. “You just didn’t know it.”
He unbuttoned his shirt one-handed, letting it fall open. His chest was a mural of scars and dark hair, an old cracked leather map of a hard life. Eve reached up to trace the edge of a pale scar that ran from his shoulder to his sternum, winded by the solid heat of him.
“Who gave you this one?”
“A bear.” He grinned. It was cold and wild. “Won the fight.”
There was no humor in it. Only a certainty that she was looking at a man who had never lost anything he truly wanted to keep.
His hand slid down her stomach, between her legs, and Eve gasped as his thick fingers found her. The touch was entirely sure, entirely confident. He stroked her slowly as his other hand wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just resting there.
“You’re wet,” he observed. “So goddamn wet.” He circled her sensitive pearl, and she arched into his hand with a raw, helpless sound. “All this because I touched you for two minutes? Or because you been imagining this every night you laid next to my son?”
Her face flamed. “I—please don’t.”
“Answer me.” His fingers pushed into her then. Two at once, thick enough to stretch her. She cried out and bucked against his palm, and he held her down with his hand around her throat. “When Zeke was inside you that first night, who were you picturing?”
“Nobody. I swear.” But tears of pleasure gathered at the corners of her eyes. “He’s good. He’s gentle. It’s different.”
Drey’s expression flickered. Something indecisive passed through his face—maybe a flicker of anger, maybe a hint of disappointment. He withdrew his fingers and Eve gasped at the sudden emptiness.
He eased back, revealing the massive ridge straining against his jeans. His hands went to his belt buckle, deliberate.
“Different,” he repeated. “Tell me, girl. How many times did he warm you up before he put it in?”
Eve’s eyes dropped. “He tried. He did. But he finished—he didn’t wait long. He couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t wait.” Drey’s belt slide loose. His zipper lowered, intentionally slow. The sound was like glass breaking. “Makes sense. I raised him to take what he wanted before thought could get in the way.” He pushed his jeans down his hips. “But he ain’t never learned how to take his time. That ain’t a skill you’re born with. That’s a lesson—and tonight, you’re going to learn it together.”
Eve opened her mouth to ask what he meant when Drey’s underwear came down, and words died in her throat.
He was massive. Thick as a wrist and long past where her tiny hands could wrap around. A vein ran along the underside like a swollen river, and the head was dark, slick, and glistening.
Fourteen inches. Maybe more.
Arteries, she felt like the word was branded onto her brain. He was like nothing she’d ever seen—not in magazines, not in the way Zeke and she had explored each other. Zeke was nothing like this. Zeke was a boy-sized version of a man, and this was something else. The promise of an animal. A threat that she could feel pressing against the inside of her thigh.
“Don’t look so scared,” Drey murmured. He stroked himself slowly, and she watched every movement in a trance. “I’ll take it slow. First time.” He tilted her chin up with his free hand. “Gonna be gentle with you. But I want you to look me in the eye when I put it in.”
He moved over her. She felt the head of him pressing against her entrance, hot and broad, and involuntarily her breath came in short little pants.
“What about Serge?” she whispered. The words came out unbidden.
Drey cast a glance over his shoulder. Serge stood frozen. He watched them with a face full of shame and a body that betrayed his hunger. His hands were white-knuckled at his sides.
“He’ll watch,” Drey said. “And when I’m done teaching you, he’s going to get his turn.” His eyes glittered. “I want you to know what you’re getting into, Eve. I want you to be sure all the way down to your bones. That what we’re about to do—it ain’t something you can blame on me or on Serge or the whiskey we might’ve drank. It’s something you’re going to take into yourself, and it’s going to change you.”
Eve looked up at him, at the hard planes of his face, the scars, the years written in the lines around his eyes.
“I’m sure,” she breathed.
Drey pushed in, inch by screaming inch.
Eve cried out, gripping fur, the furs beneath her shifting as she clawed. The stretch was white-hot, agonizing, too much—and yet her thighs spread wider of their own accord, welcoming him as he sank deeper. She felt every ridge of him, every pulse of blood inside that enormous shaft as it filled her completely. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
“Good girl,” Drey grunted. “Take it. All of it.”
He seated himself fully inside her and held still. Eve gasped, hands fisting the furs, her body trembling around him, clamped so tight she felt the muscle straining. Sweat broke out along her brow.
Then he moved.
There was no mercy in his thrust—just a primal, unbound rhythm. Each stroke shoved the breath from her lungs and rattled the iron bed frame. The sound of him slapping against her wet flesh filled the cabin, obscene and honest.
“Who feels better, girl?” Drey growled, voice straining. His face had that edge of predatory focus. “Me or my son?”
Eve’s eyes rolled. Words swam uselessly in her head. He was so much bigger, deeper. Every thrust reached a place she didn’t know she had. Zeke had never touched this far into her. She felt overpowered, torn open and remade.
“I—I’ve only ever been with Zeke.” The words came out shattered, broken by thrusts. “I don’t know what to compare it to.”
Drey grunted. Some kind of strong emotion flickered across his face, then settled into something darkly amused and possessive. “No comparison then.” He let his weight press down on her, driving deeper. “Then I’ll just have to give you a new standard to measure life against.”
He sat up, gripped her hips, and flipped her over in one smooth motion. She landed on her knees with her face buried in the furs before she could process the movement. Drey positioned her on all fours and drove back into her from behind.
This time, the angle was even deeper and Eve screamed into the fur.
Then without warning, he pulled out and flipped her again, so she was sitting astride his lap. His cock was still buried deep within her, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, guiding her up and down in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her tits bounced in her face, so she pressed them together to stop the ache.
“Open your eyes,” Drey said.
She opened them. Each exhale hitched in her chest.
Serge was standing at the foot of the bed, watching them with a face that was pure hunger. His hands hung loose at his sides. His chest heaved. He looked like a man trying to talk himself out of doing the inevitable.
“Look at him,” Drey said, voice rough. He bounced her a little faster on his lap. “He wants you so bad he can’t breathe.”
Eve’s mouth opened. She couldn’t help it. A plea escaped her, meant for Serge. “Please.”
“Beg him properly,” Drey said.
“Daddy.” The word came out of her throat like honey and need, dripping and raw. “Come here. Please. I need you.”
Serge broke like a dam.
He crossed the space in two strides and climbed onto the bed. His hands found her face. He kissed her deeply, wetly, devouring. Drey’s hands anchored her hips and pulled her down onto his cock, rolling his hips in rhythm.
“Suck her tits,” Drey commanded against her shoulder.
Serge moved lower. His mouth closed over her nipple, and Eve cried out as his tongue worked over the sensitive tip. She arched between them, caught between the hard thrust of Drey beneath her and the heat of Serge’s mouth on her chest. It was too much. Not enough. Fire everywhere.
Then Drey shifted and laid her back against the furs. He pulled out, and she felt the sudden cool air on her slick, empty sex.
“Your turn, preacher.” Drey’s voice was low and firm, and his eyes were fixed on Serge. “Show her what you’ve been saving.”
Serge shed his clothes in a rough, frantic hurry. When he stepped forward and settled between her thighs, Eve saw him—fully erect, thick and long, nearly as formidable as Drey’s. Her eyes widened and a sound came from her throat, caught between fear and anticipation.
He pressed forward, and she felt the head breach her entrance. She cried out, gripping his shoulders as he worked his way inside.
“Daddy,” she whimpered.
“I know,” he breathed, face tight with strain. “I know. Just breathe.”
He slid deeper, filling her in a way that was different from Drey but just as overwhelming. She clawed at his back. Her hips rose to meet him, hungry. He began to move, and she lost herself in the rhythm, in the dark, heavy pleasure pulsing through her veins.
From the edge of the bed, Drey watched. His massive hand wrapped around her ankle, rubbing slow circles over the bone.
“Good girl,” he murmured, eyes locked on the point where Serge buried himself inside her over and over. “You’re going to be so good for both of us.”