Chapter 10: Evening Release
The scent of him was still on her skin, a musk layered under the clean smell of the pine soap from the shower. They lay tangled in the linen sheets, the last amber light of dusk bleeding through the window and painting stripes across the floor. The cicadas had begun their evening thrum, a sound so constant it felt like silence.
Matt’s fingers traced idle patterns on her bare shoulder. “Ben thinks it’ll be okay,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest where her ear was pressed. “The guy from Billings is going to be fine. No permanent damage. Just a lot of stitches and a hell of a headache. Kyle’s looking at probation, maybe some community service. If he’s lucky.”
Dasha let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding all day. “That’s good.”
“It is. Megan’s a wreck, though. Thinks it’s all her fault.” He sighed, the sound heavy with a brother’s helpless love. “I told her it’s Kyle’s temper, not her worth. Don’t know if it sank in.”
She propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. The fading light caught the silver at his temples, the tired lines around his eyes. “She’ll get there. She has you.”
His gaze found hers, blue and unguarded. “She has us,” he corrected softly.
The words settled in her, warm and solid. It wasn’t just a secret in a cabin anymore. It was a fact they would build from, piece by complicated piece.
He leaned up and kissed her, a slow, languid exploration that tasted of the cold beer they’d shared after Ben left. It was a kiss of relief, of respite. But as his tongue slid against hers, the weariness in it shifted, deepened into something sharper, more intent.
He broke the kiss, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “All day,” he murmured, his hand sliding down her spine to cup her ass, squeezing possessively. “All goddamn day, with the lawyers and the talking, all I could think about was this. You. On your knees for me.”
Her pulse kicked, a thick beat of anticipation low in her belly. “Yeah?”
“I need it,” he said, the words rough. “I need to be in your mouth. I need to fuck that pretty throat until I can’t think about anything else.”
There was no hesitation in her. The command, the raw need in his voice, unraveled her completely. She slid down the bed, the linen cool against her stomach, and settled on her knees between his legs. The room was almost dark now, shadows pooling in the corners, but she could see him perfectly. His cock was already hard, lying thick against his thigh.
He watched her, his eyes dark pools, one hand coming to tangle in her chestnut hair, not guiding yet, just holding. “Open,” he said.
She parted her lips, her tongue resting on her bottom lip. He used his grip in her hair to guide himself, the broad head of his cock nudging past her lips. She took him in, the taste of skin and salt filling her senses. He let her set the pace at first, letting her lips slide down his shaft, her tongue swirling around the crown. She took him deep, until her nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base, her throat working around him.
A guttural sound escaped him. “That’s it. Now, let me.”
His control snapped. His hips lifted off the bed, and he began to fuck her mouth in earnest. Deep, measured strokes that pushed past her gag reflex, that filled her completely. The wet, obscene sounds of her taking him filled the quiet room. His other hand came to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek where it was stretched taut.
“Look at me,” he growled.
She forced her eyes open, tears blurring her vision from the intensity. His face was a mask of rapturous tension, his jaw clenched, watching himself disappear between her lips. The ownership in his gaze, the sheer vulnerability of his pleasure, was more intoxicating than the act itself.
“You take me so good,” he panted, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “This perfect fucking mouth. Gonna come. You want it?”
She hummed her assent around him, the vibration making his whole body tense. With a broken shout, he came, his hips jerking, pulsing hot and bitter down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, her fingers digging into his thighs until the shudders subsided.
He slowly slipped from her mouth, his chest heaving. She rested her forehead against his thigh, catching her breath, her own need a tight, throbbing ache between her legs. Before she could move, his hands were on her, turning her, positioning her on all fours on the floor beside the bed.
“My turn,” he said, his voice shredded.
He knelt behind her, his hands spreading her ass cheeks. She felt the cool air on her most intimate skin, then the shocking, wet heat of his tongue. Not on her pussy, but lower. He licked a firm, slow stripe directly over her asshole.
She gasped, her back arching. “Matt…”
He ignored her, his mouth working with a focused, obscene diligence. He licked and probed, his tongue circling the tight ring of muscle before pushing insistently against it. The sensation was electric, shameful, unbearably good. He ate her ass with a patience he hadn’t shown with her mouth, until she was trembling, pushing back against his face, a stream of incoherent pleas falling from her lips.
“Please… fuck… please…”
He pulled away, leaving her feeling exposed and empty. In one swift motion, he had her up, bent over the edge of the mattress. He nudged her legs wider with his knee. His cock, already hard again, pressed against her dripping entrance.
“This cunt,” he said, slamming into her with one brutal thrust that drove a cry from her lungs. “My cunt. Wet every fucking time I need it.” He set a relentless pace, each impact jolting through her, his balls slapping against her clit. The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, of his grunts and her sharp, ragged moans. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear. “You belong to me. Every hole. Say it.”
“I belong to you,” she sobbed, the pleasure coiling into something unbearable.
“Every one.”
“Every one!”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving her clenching around nothing, bereft. Before she could protest, she felt the blunt, insistent pressure of his cockhead at her other entrance, slick with her own arousal and his saliva. He pushed, and the burning stretch stole her breath.
“This one too,” he whispered, sinking into her ass inch by agonizing, perfect inch. “Mine.”
It was an invasion, a claiming that went beyond flesh. He moved slowly, a deep, grinding rhythm that lit up every nerve ending. The pain melted, transformed into a fullness so profound it felt like truth. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her still for his conquest, his other hand finding her clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles.
“So tight,” he choked out, his rhythm faltering. “Taking me in your ass, baby. God, I love it. I love all of you.”
The combination—the filthy words, the forbidden fullness, the relentless pressure on her clit—shattered her. She came with a scream that tore from somewhere primal, her body convulsing around his invading length, her vision whiting out.
It dragged his own climax from him. With a final, deep plunge, he buried himself to the hilt and came, a hot, pulsing flood inside her that seemed to go on forever. His shouts were muffled against her shoulder blade.
They collapsed onto the floor, a heap of slick limbs and labored breathing. He didn’t pull out, just rolled onto his side, taking her with him, still joined in the most intimate way. He nuzzled the damp hair at her temple.
For a long time, there were no words. The cicadas sang. A cool night breeze filtered through the window, chilling the sweat on their skin.
Finally, he shifted, slipping from her body with a soft, intimate sound. He pulled her back against his chest, his arms banded around her. She could feel his heart hammering against her spine, slowly returning to normal.
“I’ve never said that to anyone,” he whispered into the dark. “The ‘L’ word. Not like this.”
She laced her fingers with his where they rested over her stomach. “I know.”
“It scares the hell out of me.”
“Me too.”
He held her tighter. “But the thought of not having you… that scares me more.”
Outside, an owl called, a low, mournful sound across the meadow. The problems hadn’t vanished. Kyle’s court date loomed. Megan’s heartbreak needed tending. Her life in New York was a plane ride away. But here, on the hard floor, wrapped in him, the path forward felt simple, inevitable. It was them. However messy it got. It was them.
It was them. The truth of it echoed in the silence, in the way his breath evened out against her neck. The floor was hard, the night air cooling the sweat on their skin, but she had never felt more anchored.
After a while, he stirred. “We should get in the bed,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with spent passion. “My knees are forty-two years old. They’re protesting.”
She laughed, a soft, cracked sound, and let him help her up. They moved together to the four-poster, the linen sheets cool and welcoming as they slid beneath them. He pulled her into the familiar curve of his body, her back to his front. His palm settled possessively over her lower belly.
“Ben is good,” Matt said into the dark, picking up the thread from earlier as if no time had passed. “He’ll handle Kyle. But Megan… she’s in that cycle. She picks these broken things, thinking she can fix them.”
Dasha placed her hand over his. “You can’t fix it for her.”
“I know.” The words were heavy. “I just want to build her a softer world.”
“You have.” She turned in his arms to face him. His features were shadows and silver moonlight. “You gave her a home. The rest is her journey.”
He kissed her forehead, a gesture of profound gratitude. Then his hand drifted down, fingers sliding through the slickness still gathered between her thighs. A low hum of rekindled interest vibrated in his chest.
“You’re still so wet,” he whispered. “Even after all that.”
“You’re still hard,” she countered, feeling him nudging against her hip.
“I’m insatiable where you’re concerned.” His thumb circled her clit, a slow, teasing promise. “It’s a problem.”
She arched into the touch. “I don’t mind.”
His mouth found hers, and the kiss was different now. Less frantic hunger, more deliberate exploration. It was the kiss of people who had said the words, who had crossed the final line. It tasted like ownership and surrender all at once. His fingers delved inside her, crooking just right, and she moaned into his mouth.
He broke the kiss, his lips tracing her jaw to her ear. “I want to feel you come on my tongue. Just that. Let me taste it.”
He shifted down the bed, his body a warm weight between her legs. The first lick was a flat, slow stroke that made her fists clench in the sheets. He ate her with a focused, luxurious patience he hadn’t shown before, as if memorizing her. His tongue lapped at her clit, then plunged deep, fucking her with it, before returning to flick rapidly over the sensitive peak.
“Matt… God…” Her hips lifted off the mattress.
He gripped her thighs, holding her open, his gaze locking with hers in the dim light. “Watch me,” he commanded, his voice thick. “Watch me devour this perfect fucking pussy.”
The obscenity, coupled with the intense eye contact, sent a shockwave through her. She was transfixed, watching his mouth work her, his stubble scratching her inner thighs. The coil in her belly tightened dangerously fast.
“I’m going to come,” she gasped, a warning.
He gave a low, approving growl against her flesh and doubled his efforts. His tongue was relentless, a wet, persistent pressure that pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her, a silent, breathless convulsion that left her seeing sparks behind her eyelids. He stayed with her, gentling his licks, drinking down every pulse until she was a shaking, oversensitive wreck.
He kissed his way back up her body, his mouth tasting of her. He was fully hard again, his cock pressing urgently against her thigh. The raw need was back in his eyes, darker now, tempered by a deep, unsettling tenderness. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his length, stroking him slowly.
She thought of his mouth on her ass, the shocking intimacy of it. The way he’d claimed every part of her without hesitation. A bold, reciprocal curiosity unspooled within her. Her voice was a husky whisper in the quiet room.
“Do you want me to lick yours?”
He went utterly still. The only sound was their breathing. His blue eyes searched her face, looking for any hint of obligation, of performative kink. He found only a genuine, hungry question.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word exhaled like a prayer. “Yes. God, yes, Dasha.”
The raw need in his agreement was its own aphrodisiac. She pushed at his shoulder, guiding him onto his back. She moved down his body, past his heaving chest, past his hard cock, which she took into her mouth for three long, sucking pulls, making him curse. Then she went lower.
She nudged his legs apart, the masculine scent of him here intimate and musky. She ran her hands over the firm curves of his ass, spreading him. He was exposed, vulnerable in a way that felt more significant than any penetration. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
She didn’t tease. She leaned in and licked a firm, wet stripe from his perineum right over the tight pucker of his asshole.
He jolted, a ragged “Christ!” tearing from his throat.
She did it again, circling the ring of muscle with the pointed tip of her tongue before pressing inward. The taste was clean, faintly salty, profoundly him. She licked and probed with a dedicated focus, mimicking what he’d done to her, listening to the symphony of his shattered breathing above her.
“Your tongue… oh, fuck…” he babbled, his hands fisting in her hair, not guiding, just holding on. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
She didn’t. She fucked him with her tongue, shallowly at first, then deeper as the muscle relaxed under her ministrations. She reached between his legs and took his cock in her hand, stroking him in time with the thrusts of her tongue. His hips began to move in helpless, tiny jerks.
“Dasha, I’m gonna…” His warning was a strangled groan.
She pulled her mouth away, smiling against his skin. “Not yet,” she whispered. She crawled back up his body, aligning herself over him. She positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, still dripping from his mouth and her own climax. “I want you here. Now.”
She sank down onto him in one smooth, slow descent, taking him all the way to the hilt. The fullness was exquisite, a homecoming. She braced her hands on his chest, began to move, riding him with a deep, rolling rhythm. His hands flew to her hips, his grip bruising, his eyes glazed with overpowering sensation.
“You’re fucking me,” he gasped, incredulous. “After you just… Jesus, you’re going to ruin me.”
“That’s the idea,” she said, leaning down to kiss him, letting him taste himself on her lips.
The kiss was filthy, open-mouthed. He took over then, flipping her beneath him with a growl, never slipping out. He drove into her, his thrusts powerful and unhinged. The bedframe knocked a steady beat against the log wall.
“This cunt is mine,” he snarled, each word a punctuated thrust. “This mouth is mine.” A deeper plunge. “That sweet, filthy tongue is mine.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting every stroke. “Yours,” she chanted. “All yours.”
Their climax crashed over them simultaneously, a convulsive, shared rupture that blurred the lines between their bodies. He came with a shout that was half-sob, pulsing deep inside her. Her own release clenched around him, milking him, extending the waves of sensation until they were both spent and trembling.
He collapsed, his weight a welcome anchor. They were a slick, tangled mess of limbs and shared breath. Dawn was a faint, grey suggestion at the edge of the window. The owl had gone silent.
In the quiet, he found her hand, lacing their fingers together on the pillow beside her head. The legal worries, the family drama, the separate cities waiting for them—it all still existed outside the cabin walls.
But here, in this bed, they had mapped each other completely. There were no more secret territories, only the known and claimed landscape of skin and trust. The sun would rise on the complicated world. They would face it from this new, unshakeable ground.