The air tasted like wet pine needles and secrets. Kaylee pushed aside a curtain of trembling ferns, the dampness soaking into the knees of her worn jeans. Sunlight, fractured and weak, struggled through the dense New Hampshire canopy, painting the undergrowth in shifting patterns of gold and deep green shadow. It was quieter here, deep in the woods behind her rented cottage, the only sounds the rustle of unseen creatures and the frantic drumming of her own heart. City noise felt like a lifetime ago. So did Liam. So did the hollow ache his leaving had carved out inside her, the one she’d hoped solitude and nature would somehow fill. Mostly, it just felt… bigger. Emptier.
She scrambled over a moss-slick boulder, her small hands finding purchase on rough granite. The trail wasn’t really a trail anymore, just a suggestion swallowed by ferns and tangled roots. She wasn’t sure why she’d hiked this far. Maybe it was a stupid, persistent hope that something would happen out here, something that wasn't just the crushing weight of her own thoughts.
Then she pushed through a final thicket of witch hazel, branches scratching her arms, and stumbled into the clearing.
Light. Blinding, sudden. She shielded her eyes, blinking against the unexpected brilliance after the forest gloom. It was a perfect, roughly circular space, carpeted in lush, vibrant green moss. In the center, like a fallen giant, lay a massive oak, its roots ripped violently from the earth, exposing dark, wet soil. And beside it, entirely still, stood a man.
Her breath hitched, sharp and loud in the sudden silence. Not the crunch of leaves, not the wind – just her own panicked intake.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered beneath a simple, dark flannel shirt rolled to the elbows, the fabric stretched taut over muscles that spoke of hard labor, not a gym. His jeans were faded, practical. Work boots, scarred and muddy. Thick, dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing a face that seemed carved from the same granite as the surrounding hills. Angular, harsh lines. A strong jaw shadowed with stubble. And his eyes…
They locked onto hers. Dark. Not just brown. Deep, fathomless pits that seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it. They held her pinned, a butterfly under glass. There was no surprise in them. No welcome. Just a watchful, unnerving intensity. Possessive. She felt it coil around her, cold and electric, rooting her to the spot. Her skin prickled, a flush creeping up her neck despite the cool forest air. Her nipples tightened almost painfully against the thin cotton of her tee. This wasn’t curiosity. This was a physical pull, sudden and terrifyingly potent, like stepping off a cliff.
Neither spoke. The air thickened, heavy with the scent of pine resin, damp earth, and something else… something wild and musky. The void inside her yawned wider, aching with a sudden, unfamiliar hunger. She should run. Every city-born instinct screamed it. This man radiated danger, isolation, a feral edge that didn’t belong on any hiking trail.
But her feet stayed. Rooted. Stuck in the moss.
He moved first. Not towards her. Not away. He simply tilted his head, a predator assessing prey. His gaze raked over her – the messy black hair escaping her ponytail, the smear of dirt on her cheek, the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, the tight press of her small breasts against her shirt. It was a look that stripped her bare. Heat flooded her core, shocking her. Shame warred with a raw, thrilling spike of arousal.
“Lost?” His voice was low, gravelly. Like stones grinding together deep underground. It vibrated through the clearing, through her.
Kaylee swallowed, her mouth dry as dust. “No,” she managed, the word barely a whisper. A lie. She was profoundly lost. Had been for months. “Just… walking.”
A ghost of something flickered in those dark eyes. Amusement? Disbelief? He took a single, deliberate step forward. Just one. The distance between them shrank, crackling. “This is private land.” He stated it flatly.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I… I didn’t see a sign.” Her voice sounded feeble, girlish. She hated it. She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze again. That intense focus… it ignited something reckless in her. A defiance born of months of numbness. “Is there a problem?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze dropped again, lingering on the curve of her hip, the line of her throat. She felt it like a physical touch. He took another step. Closer. The sheer size of him was overwhelming. He smelled like woodsmoke, leather, and something uniquely male, earthy and primal. It invaded her senses.
“Depends.” Another step. He was close enough now for her to see the flecks of gold in his dark irises, the faint scar cutting through one eyebrow. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “On what you’re looking for out here.”
The implication hung heavy. Her breath caught. This was insanity. Pure, dangerous insanity. She should turn. Run back through the ferns, back to the safe, empty cottage. But that hollow ache… it pulsed, demanding to be filled. With anything. With this. The raw electricity in the air was the most alive she’d felt since Liam drove away. Her voice dropped to a husky murmur, surprising her. “Maybe I found it.”
His eyes narrowed, a spark igniting in their depths. Hunger. Recognition. He moved so fast she gasped. One large hand shot out, fingers like steel bands wrapping around her upper arm. Not painful. Not yet. But unyielding. Possessive. He pulled her hard against him. Her small frame collided with his solid chest, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Her hands flew up, palms flat against the rough flannel covering hard muscle. She could feel his heart pounding, a heavy, powerful counterpoint to her own frantic flutter.
His other hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look up at him. His gaze burned into hers, fierce, demanding. “You don’t know what you’re playing with, little rabbit,” he growled, his breath hot against her lips.
The pet name, the rough dominance, sent a jolt straight to her core. Wetness bloomed between her legs. Fear and desire twisted together, inseparable. She should fight. But the void screamed for oblivion. For feeling. Even this. Especially this. Her lips parted. Not in protest. An invitation. A surrender.
A dark, satisfied smirk touched his lips. “Yeah,” he breathed, the word thick with understanding. “That’s what I thought.”
He didn’t kiss her. His mouth crashed down on hers. Brutal. Claiming. It wasn’t gentle. It was devouring. His tongue forced its way past her lips, hot and demanding, tasting her with a raw urgency that stole her breath. She whimpered, a low sound muffled against his mouth. Her hands, trapped against his chest, clenched in the fabric. His grip on her hair tightened, holding her immobile as he plundered her mouth. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and it lit her up from the inside. She kissed him back, clumsy at first, then with a desperate hunger that matched his own, her tongue tangling fiercely with his.
He broke the kiss just as suddenly, leaving her gasping. His dark eyes were molten, fixed on her swollen lips. Without a word, he spun her around, pressing her back hard against the rough, damp bark of the fallen oak. The shock of the cold wood against her spine made her cry out. He crowded her, his powerful body pinning her in place. One hand remained fisted in her hair, pulling her head back at a sharp angle, exposing her throat. His other hand slid down, over the curve of her breast, rough fingers finding her nipple through the thin cotton of her tee and bra. He pinched, hard.
A gasp tore from her, sharp and needy. Pain and pleasure arced through her, lighting up nerve endings she didn’t know she had. “Fuck,” she breathed, arching into his touch despite herself.
“Yeah, ‘fuck’,” he rasped against the sensitive skin beneath her ear, his teeth grazing the pulse point. He bent down as his hand left her breast, sliding down her trembling stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her jeans. The button popped open easily under his strength. The zipper rasped down. Cool air hit her stomach. Then his hand was inside, shoving past the elastic of her panties, sliding down through the nest of dark curls.
She cried out again, louder this time, as his thick fingers plunged into her slick heat without preamble. “Oh ohhh fuck!” Her head thumped back against the bark. She was drenched. Embarrassingly, achingly wet. He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her neck. His fingers worked her ruthlessly, thrusting deep, curling against her inner walls, finding that swollen, desperate spot with unerring accuracy. He rubbed it hard, his thumb pressing relentless circles while his fingers pistoned inside her.
"Rabbit you're fucking soaked," he muttered against her throat, his breath hot. "Dripping for it. Wanted this the second you walked in here, didn't you? Wanted a fucking animal to ruin you?"
She'd never had a man speak to her this way. She couldn't find any words. Could only whimper and writhe against his hand, against the bark, lost in the brutal, exquisite friction. Her hips rocked, fucking herself on his fingers, chasing the white-hot coil tightening low in her belly. He watched her, those dark eyes devouring every gasp, every tremor. His fingers drove deeper, faster. The rough pad of his thumb ground against her clit, relentless.
"Come on," he commanded, his voice thick and rough. His lips found her earlobe, nipping. "Cum on my fingers, little rabbit. Show me how bad you need it."
The command, the crude words, the relentless assault on her senses – it shattered her. Her body clenched violently around his thrusting fingers as wave after wave of intense, almost painful pleasure crashed over her. She screamed, the sound raw and echoing slightly in the clearing, her body bowing against his, held upright only by his grip and the solid oak at her back. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. Her legs trembled violently.
He held her through it, fingers still buried deep inside her, working her gently now, prolonging the shudders until she slumped, boneless, panting against his chest. Sweat slicked her skin. His hand slowly withdrew, glistening wetly in the dappled sunlight. He brought his fingers to his lips, his dark eyes locked on hers as he deliberately licked them clean. The sight was obscene, possessive, and sent another surge of weak, aftershock heat through her core.
Her knees buckled. He caught her easily, one arm banding around her waist, holding her up. She clung to his shirt, her breath ragged, the world spinning. He didn't say a word. He just looked at her, his expression unreadable again, the fierce possessiveness simmering beneath the surface. The void wasn't gone. But it was… different. Filled with fire and confusion and the stark, undeniable imprint of his touch.
He lowered her gently until her feet touched the moss, but kept his arm firmly around her. His gaze flickered past her shoulder, scanning the surrounding trees, then back to her flushed face. He reached down with his clean hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he tucked a sweat-damp strand of her black hair behind her ear. The contrast between the tenderness and the raw ferocity moments before was jarring.
"Ethan," he said, his voice still rough but quieter now. "My name's Ethan Blackwood."
Kaylee stared up at him, her mind struggling to process the name, the man, the seismic shift in her universe. Her lips felt bruised. Her body hummed. The scent of him – pine, smoke, sex, and earth – was imprinted on her skin. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The silence of the clearing pressed in again, heavy and expectant. The fallen oak loomed behind her. Ethan’s arm was a solid, inescapable weight around her waist. She was trembling, utterly spent, and more alive than she'd felt in years. The quiet woods suddenly felt less like solitude and more like the edge of a precipice. And she had no idea how to step back. Or if she even wanted to.
The silence stretched, thick and humming. Kaylee stared up at Ethan Blackwood, her body still pulsing with the aftershocks, her mind a jumble of shock, shame, and a terrifying, undeniable thrum of desire. His name echoed in her head, Ethan Blackwood, fitting the harsh lines of his face, the dark intensity of his eyes that watched her now, unreadable. His arm around her waist was the only thing keeping her upright; her legs felt like wet rope.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held her gaze, the dappled sunlight catching the gold flecks in his irises, turning them molten for a second. The scent of him – pine, sweat, woodsmoke, and the raw musk of sex – filled her nostrils, overwhelming the clean forest air. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers inside her, the rough scrape of bark against her back. The void inside her hadn't vanished, but it was filled now with a buzzing, chaotic energy, a dangerous spark where there had been only numb cold.
"Kaylee," she managed, her voice raspy, unused. "My name’s Kaylee S." It felt absurdly formal, announcing her name while his handprint felt seared onto her skin and her jeans hung open.
A flicker crossed his face. Not quite a smile. More like recognition. Or maybe just assessment. His gaze drifted downward, past her trembling lips, down her throat, lingering on the open waistband of her jeans, the glimpse of pale skin and dark cotton panties peeking out. His eyes, when they lifted back to hers, were darker. Hungrier than before. The possessiveness was back, a tangible force wrapping around her tighter than his arm.
"Kaylee," he repeated, her name a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through her. "Pretty name for a pretty little rabbit who wandered too deep into the woods."
She flinched slightly at the pet name, a mix of unwanted thrill and unease coiling in her stomach. She tried to pull away, a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of control, some distance from this overwhelming force. His arm tightened instantly, like iron bands, pinning her closer. The movement brought her flush against the hard ridge of his erection, straining against his jeans. The contact was electric, jolting through her already sensitized nerves. A small, involuntary gasp escaped her.
He felt it. Of course he did. His eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam flashing within the dark depths. He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers cascading down her spine. "Still hungry, rabbit?" His voice was a dark caress, laced with a promise that felt more like a threat. "That little shiver… you liked that. Liked feeling my cock pressed against your stomach, didn't you?"
His crude words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding between her legs. Shame warred with arousal, the latter winning horrifyingly easily. She couldn’t lie, couldn't form words. She just trembled in his grasp, her body betraying her completely.
He shifted then, his grip on her waist loosening slightly, but only to slide his hand lower, his large palm cupping her ass firmly through the denim, pulling her even harder against his erection. She moaned, the sound thin and desperate, lost in the rustling leaves. He ground himself against her, a slow, deliberate friction that made her knees threaten to give out again. His free hand came up, fingers tangling roughly in her hair again, tilting her head back to expose her throat. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the frantic pulse beating there, not a kiss, but a claiming. A brand.
"Felt you come on my fingers," he murmured against her skin, his tongue tracing the vein. "Felt that tight little pussy squeezing, milking them. So fucking greedy." He nipped at her collarbone, sharp enough to make her gasp. "Think it’s hungry for more? Think you can take more?"
She couldn't think. Could only feel the relentless pressure against her core, the heat radiating from him, the dizzying scent of his skin, the rough dominance in his touch and voice. The void screamed to be filled, obliterated. "Y-yes," she choked out, the word barely audible.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his dark eyes boring into hers, searching for something. Truth? Submission? He must have found it. That dark, satisfied smirk touched his lips again.
"Prove it," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. He released her hair and her hip in one fluid motion. Stepped back half a pace, putting a sliver of cool air between them. His gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto hers. He didn't gesture. Didn't point. Just held her eyes, the command radiating from him like heat from a forge. His voice, when it came, was a low, hard crack in the clearing's stillness.
"Get on your knees."
The words landed like physical blows. Kaylee froze, her breath catching in her throat. Every instinct screamed no. Run. This was madness. Degrading. Dangerous. She stared at him, at the harsh lines of his face, the implacable demand in his eyes. He wasn’t asking. This was a test. A line drawn in the moss.
Her gaze flickered down. The thick bulge straining against the worn denim of his jeans was undeniable. Obscene. Terrifying. The memory of the power in his hands, the brutal pleasure he’d wrung from her moments ago, warred with the rising panic.
"Do it," he growled, the command laced with an edge of impatience. "Now. On your fucking knees."
The raw authority in his voice, the sheer dominance, short-circuited her hesitation. That void inside, aching and vast, drowned out the screaming warnings. A strange calm washed over her, a surrender to the inevitable pull of this dark current she’d stepped into. Slowly, her movements stiff with the aftermath of her climax and the weight of this new demand, Kaylee lowered herself.
The cool, damp mossy soil soaked instantly through the thin knees of her jeans. She knelt before him, the fallen oak at her back forgotten. The forest floor tilted. He loomed above her, immense, blocking the sun. She kept her eyes downcast, fixed on the muddy toes of his work boots, feeling absurdly small, exposed. Vulnerable in a way she’d never imagined.
He didn't move for a long moment. She could feel his gaze on the top of her head, heavy as stone. Then, the rasp of a zipper. Loud in the tense silence. She flinched. He pushed his jeans and briefs down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already fully erect, the head flushed dark and glistening slightly. She didn't look up yet, but could sense its intimidating presence. The musky scent of him, intensified, filled her nostrils.
"Look at it," he ordered, his voice thick.
Swallowing hard, Kaylee forced her gaze upward, tracing the thick vein running along the underside, the taut skin, the swollen head. It looked impossibly large. Unmanageable. Her mouth went dry.
"Touch it."
Her hands trembled as she lifted them. Her fingertips brushed the hot, velvety skin. It pulsed against her touch, thrumming with life. A low groan escaped him as her fingers tentatively closed around the thick shaft. The heat was shocking. The solid weight of it in her hand felt… significant. Dangerous. She squeezed gently, experimentally.
"Harder," he grunted. "Fucking grip it like you mean it."
She tightened her hold, pausing a moment before she began to move her hand, a tentative slide from base to tip. His hips jerked slightly. A bead of moisture welled at the tip. He brushed his thumb over it, then leaned over to smear it across her lower lip. The taste, salty and musky, exploded on her tongue.
"Now open that pretty mouth, rabbit," he commanded, his voice rough with arousal. "Show me what that hungry little tongue can do."
Heart pounding against her ribs, Kaylee leaned forward, eyes fixed on the swollen head. She parted her lips. Tentatively, hesitantly, she extended her tongue and brought it down with her hands, touching the slick tip with her tongue. The taste was stronger now, overwhelming. She licked, a small, nervous flick.
He hissed, a sharp intake of breath. "More. Take it in. Suck it."
Guided by a mix of fear, obedience, and that relentless, traitorous hunger, Kaylee opened wider. She slid her lips over the broad head, feeling it stretch her mouth. The salty-bitter taste flooded her senses. She took more, inch by terrifying inch, her jaw already aching. She had to sit up higher on her knees and stretch her neck to take more in as he loomed above her. When the head nudged the back of her throat, she gagged reflexively, pulling back slightly, tears springing to her eyes.
"Easy," he murmured, though his hand slid back into her hair, not forcefully, but possessively. "Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. Just take what you can."
She tried, sucking in air shakily through her nostrils. She focused on the salty skin under her tongue, the heavy weight on her lower lip. She sucked tentatively, swirling her tongue around the head. A strangled groan rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating through her. Emboldened, she took him deeper again, fighting the gag reflex, focusing on the rhythmic pull of her mouth, the slide of her lips, the increasingly desperate sounds escaping him.
"Fuck yes," he breathed, his fingers tightening almost painfully in her hair, not forcing, but guiding the pace. Her head moved, bobbing slowly at first, then faster as he began to flex his hips, shallow thrusts pushing deeper into her mouth. "Just like that. Suck me, rabbit. Take it all. Good girl..."
The praise, filthy and dominant, sent another jolt of heat straight to her core. She moaned around him, the vibration drawing a harsh curse from his lips. She lost herself in the rhythm, the taste, the sounds he made, the sheer overwhelming presence of him filling her senses. Her jaw screamed in protest, her throat burned, but the void was roaring, demanding to be filled, silenced by this brutal intimacy.
He thrust deeper, harder, his control fraying. "Gonna fucking cum," he growled, his voice ragged. "Swallow it. Take it all down your greedy little throat."
The pace became punishing. He held her head steady, hips pumping, driving his cock deep into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat with each thrust. She choked, tears streaming freely now, but she didn't pull away. Couldn't. Trapped by his hand, by her own submission, by the terrifying, all-consuming need to please this dangerous, demanding man. Her fingers dug into his thighs, grounding herself against the onslaught.
With a final, guttural shout that echoed slightly off the trees, he slammed deep and held. Thick, hot pulses flooded her mouth, bitter and salty, overwhelming her. She swallowed desperately, gagging but forcing it down, throat working convulsively. He kept her impaled, shuddering, emptying himself completely down her throat until the last tremor subsided.
He withdrew slowly, slick and spent. Kaylee gasped for air, coughing, saliva and his release slicking her chin. She stayed on her knees, trembling violently, utterly spent and humiliated, yet a perverse sense of accomplishment warring with the degradation. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, unable to look up, savoring the salty taste.
Ethan stood over her, tucking himself back into his jeans, zipping up with a soft rasp. He looked down at the top of her head, at the disheveled black hair, the flushed skin of her neck, the smear on her chin. For a long moment, there was only the sound of her ragged breathing and the rustling leaves. Then, his hand, surprisingly gentle again, brushed the damp hair from her forehead. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, coming away wet. He looked at his thumb, then slowly, deliberately, put it in her mouth. She instinctively wrapped her lips around it to clean it off, his dark eyes never leaving hers. They held a complex mix of satisfaction, lingering heat, and something else… something almost like regret, quickly masked by his usual intensity, as he lowered his hand.
The cool air bit her flushed skin as Ethan scooped her up like she weighed nothing. One arm hooked under her knees, the other supporting her back, he strode away from the fallen oak and the mossy clearing where the world had tilted. Kaylee didn't fight. She pressed her face into the rough weave of his flannel shirt, inhaling the scent of pine, sweat, and him – a dark, musky undertone that was already becoming terrifyingly familiar. Her body felt like liquid fire and ice, trembling from the aftershocks and the brutal intimacy of what had just happened on her knees. Shame warred with a gnawing, hollow ache that his dominance had momentarily filled, only to leave it gaping wider now. She felt raw. Used. And inexplicably, desperately, wanting more.
He moved through the dense woods with unnerving ease, navigating invisible paths. Roots, thickets, low-hanging branches – none seemed to impede him. The sun dipped lower, casting long, distorted shadows that made the forest feel even more ancient and alien. The silence was profound, broken only by the crunch of his boots on the forest floor, the rustle of leaves, and her own ragged breathing. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the solidity of his chest, the rhythmic thud of his heart beneath her ear.
After what felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat, the dense trees thinned. They emerged into a smaller clearing dominated by a structure that seemed to grow directly from the forest itself. Ethan’s cabin. It was low and sturdy, built from dark, rough-hewn logs, the roof thickly thatched. A stone chimney rose from one end, wisps of grey smoke curling lazily into the twilight sky. A covered porch held a single rocking chair and a stack of split firewood. It looked like a fortress. A refuge. Or a prison.
He didn’t pause at the door; it swung inwards under his shoulder. The interior was dim, lit only by the fading light filtering through small, thick-paned windows and the orange glow emanating from a massive stone fireplace where logs crackled and spat. The air inside was warm, heavy with the scent of woodsmoke, old leather, and something earthy like dried herbs. It smelled untouched by the outside world. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books, jars, and tools Kaylee couldn't identify. A worn rug covered part of the plank floor. And in the center, dominating the single room, was a large bed covered in a thick, dark quilt.
He didn't set her down gently. He tossed her onto the bed. The impact jarred her, the quilt rough against her skin. She landed on her back, her open jeans riding low, her shirt rucked up. Before she could scramble or protest, he was on her. His weight pinned her effortlessly. One large hand planted firmly on her sternum, holding her down. The other went straight to her jeans, yanking them down her legs with a single, brutal tug, taking her panties with them. Cool air washed over her exposed skin, making her gasp, her nipples hardening instantly against her thin shirt.
"Ethan—" she started, a tremor in her voice.
"Shut it," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, rougher than before. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties still tangled around one ankle and ripped them off completely, tossing the scrap of dark cotton aside. His gaze was pure fire, sweeping over her bare legs, the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, her stomach. The hand on her chest slid up, pushing her shirt up and over her head in one fluid motion, leaving her clad only in her plain white bra. He didn't bother unfastening it. His fingers hooked into the front, gave a sharp, decisive tug, and the flimsy fabric tore apart. Her small breasts spilled free, pale and vulnerable in the firelight, nipples dark and tight peaks.
She lay utterly exposed beneath him, pinned by his weight and his fierce gaze. His eyes devoured her, lingering on every curve, every inch of newly revealed skin. The air crackled, thick with heat and tension. The firelight danced across the hard planes of his face, deepening the shadows in his eyes, making him look even more primal, more untamed. The look in them wasn't just hunger anymore. It was ownership. Stark, absolute possession.
"Fucking perfect," he rasped, his voice thick. He lowered his head, not to her mouth, but to her breast. His mouth closed hot and wet over one hard nipple, sucking fiercely, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. A sharp cry tore from her throat, half pain, half blinding pleasure, arching her back off the bed. His hand left her chest, sliding down her trembling stomach, over the curve of her hip, fingers delving roughly through her curls. He found her wetness immediately. She was slick, swollen, still sensitive from her earlier climax, yet the touch ignited fresh fire.
"Geesh, you're still drenched," he muttered against her breast, his breath hot. "Like a fucking fountain. Couldn't wait to get filled again, could you?" His fingers plunged into her without ceremony, two thick digits driving deep, curling against her inner walls. He found that spot again instantly, rubbing hard, relentless circles while his fingers pistoned in and out. The dual assault – his mouth on her breast, his fingers fucking her deep – short-circuited her thoughts. She writhed beneath him, her hips lifting off the bed, meeting the thrust of his hand. Whimpers and gasps spilled from her lips, uncontrolled.
He lifted his mouth from her breast with a wet pop, leaving the nipple reddened and aching. His eyes, blazing and dark, locked onto hers as his fingers worked her ruthlessly. "Look at you," he commanded, his voice guttural. "Look at how you take it. Sucking my fingers in like a greedy little cunt. Bet you'd suck my cock even better now, wouldn't you? Bet you're desperate for it." He thrust his fingers deeper, harder, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit. "Answer me!"
"Y-yes!" she choked out, the word ripped from her. "Fuck yes!" The crude demand, the relentless friction, the sheer overwhelming force of him – it stripped away everything but the desperate need he was stoking. Her body clenched around his fingers, the coil tightening unbearably fast.
"Then cum," he ordered, his voice harsh against her ear as he leaned down, his teeth nipping her earlobe. "Cum on my fingers. Show me how much you want my cock inside you."
The command was the final spark. Her body convulsed, shattering around his thrusting fingers. Wave after wave of intense, almost violent pleasure crashed through her, tearing a ragged scream from her throat. She arched violently, her back bowing off the bed, her muscles locking as the ecstasy ripped through her core. He held her there, his fingers buried deep, working her through the violent tremors until she collapsed, gasping, utterly spent, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
He withdrew his fingers slowly, glistening wetly. He just looked at them, then back at her flushed, trembling form sprawled beneath him. His expression was fierce, predatory. Without a word, he pushed himself up, kneeling between her splayed legs. His hands went to his belt buckle, the rasp of leather loud in the sudden quiet broken only by the crackling fire and her ragged breathing. He shoved his jeans and briefs down over his hips.
His cock sprang free, thick, heavy, and fully erect, the flushed head glistening. He had clearly recovered in the time it took to carry her back to the cabin. It once again looked impossibly large, intimidating, carved from stone in the firelight. He grasped the base, his knuckles white. His eyes, dark and burning, held hers captive.
"No more playing, rabbit," he stated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the bed frame. "Time you learned who owns this pretty little hole." He positioned himself, the broad, hot head pressing against her slick, swollen entrance. She flinched at the blunt pressure, still hypersensitive from her climax. He didn't hesitate. Didn't ask. With a single, powerful thrust of his hips, he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt.
"FUCK!" Kaylee screamed, the sound raw and echoing off the cabin walls. It wasn't just pleasure. It was a tearing, stretching burn as her body struggled to accommodate his size. Her inner muscles clenched instinctively, spasming around the thick intrusion. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, his body going rigid above her. "Fuck rabbit, you're tight... fucking vice..." he ground out, his voice strained.
He didn't move. Just held himself buried deep, letting her body adjust, his dark eyes watching the play of shock and pain and dawning sensation on her face. The burn began to recede, replaced by a throbbing fullness that resonated deep in her core. Her inner walls fluttered around him, a traitorous ripple of pleasure starting beneath the ache.
Then he moved. Pulling back slowly, almost entirely out, until just the swollen head remained lodged inside her, stretching her entrance. Then, with the same brutal force, he slammed back in. Hard.
A choked gasp escaped her. He set a punishing rhythm immediately – deep, driving thrusts that pushed her body up the bed with each powerful surge. No finesse. No gentleness. Just raw, possessive claiming. The bedframe groaned in protest with every lunge. Her breasts bounced with the force of his movements. He filled her completely, stretching her beyond anything she'd known, the thick shaft rubbing against every sensitive spot inside her. The initial pain was swallowed by an overwhelming tide of sensation – the shocking fullness, the friction, the sheer physical power of him dominating her.
He leaned forward, planting one hand beside her head, his other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise, keeping her anchored as he drove into her. His face was inches from hers, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes burning with a fierce, almost feral intensity. "Feel that?" he demanded between thrusts that rocked her entire body. "Feel how deep I go? How fucking deep I fill you?" He slammed in harder, making her cry out. "This cunt is mine now. Say it."
She couldn't form words. Could only gasp, her hands scrabbling at the quilt, at his corded forearm. He hooked an arm under her knee, lifting her thigh higher, spreading her wider, changing the angle. He drove deeper still. The head of his cock hammered against her cervix with shocking force.
"SAY IT!" he roared, the sound raw and primal.
"Yes!" she screamed, the word torn from her soul. "Yours! It’s yours!" The admission, forced out under the relentless assault, shattered something inside her. The last shred of resistance dissolved into pure, primal surrender. Her inner muscles clenched tightly around his invading length, a desperate, involuntary spasm of acceptance.
A savage groan ripped from his throat. "Fucking right it is." He pistoned into her faster, harder, his control fraying completely. The slap of skin on skin, her gasps, his harsh grunts, the creaking bed – the sounds filled the small cabin, echoing the wild rhythm. He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, a raw, animalistic drive to possess, to mark, to conquer. His gaze never left her face, watching her unravel beneath him, her eyes glazed, mouth parted in continuous breathless cries.
The coil inside her, despite the recent climax, wound impossibly tight again, fed by the sheer brutality, the overwhelming fullness, the raw dominance radiating from him. She felt herself hurtling towards the edge, her body tightening like a coiled spring. "Ethan... please..." she whimpered, not even sure what she was pleading for.
"Cum," he commanded, his voice guttural, strained. "Cum on my cock, rabbit. Now!"
The order was the trigger. Her body obeyed instantly. Pleasure, sharp and blinding, detonated deep within her core, radiating outwards in shattering waves. Her back arched off the bed, her inner muscles clamping down on his thrusting cock in fierce, rhythmic spasms. A ragged scream tore from her throat, echoing the crackle of the fire. She convulsed around him, lost in the white-hot ecstasy that blotted out everything but the sensation of being utterly filled, utterly claimed.
Her climax triggered his. With a final, guttural roar that seemed to shake the cabin walls, he slammed deep and held, his body locking rigid above her. She felt the hot, thick pulse of his release deep inside her, filling her in powerful spurts that seemed to go on forever, each one sending aftershocks through her own trembling body. He shuddered violently, his grip on her hip bruising, his face contorted in a grimace of pure, savage release.
He collapsed onto her, his weight crushing, his head dropping to her shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, hot gasps against her neck. They lay entangled, slick with sweat, the only sounds their harsh breathing and the settling pops from the fireplace. The scent of sex, sweat, and woodsmoke hung thick in the air. His cock remained buried deep within her, still pulsing faintly. Kaylee floated in a haze of utter exhaustion and overwhelming sensation. The void was gone, obliterated by the brutal, all-consuming force of him. She felt shattered. Filled. Utterly possessed.
Ethan didn't move for a long time. His breathing slowly evened. Then, with a rough sigh, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his weight lifting slightly. His dark eyes, no longer burning with frenzy but still intense, looked down at her. Her face was flushed, tear-streaked, her lips swollen, her eyes wide and dazed. He looked at her, then at the mess he’d made of her – the torn bra, the reddened marks on her hips, her thighs, the intimate joining of their bodies. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze – satisfaction, yes, but also a shadow of something darker, more complex. He slowly withdrew from her, his spent cock slick with her wetness and his release. The sudden emptiness between her legs felt vast and cold.
He rolled off her onto his back beside her on the wide bed, staring up at the darkened rafters. He didn't touch her. Didn't speak. The fire crackled. Outside, the forest was utterly silent. Kaylee lay perfectly still, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling, feeling the cooling sweat on her skin, the deep, satisfying ache between her legs, and the terrifying, undeniable knowledge that nothing would ever be the same. The quiet of the cabin, deep in the New Hampshire woods, felt less like solitude now and more like the eye of a storm. And she was caught right in the center.
The silence in the log cabin thickened, broken only by the settling embers and their uneven breathing. Kaylee lay still on the rough quilt, staring at the smoke-stained ceiling beams, feeling the cooling sweat on her skin and the deep, throbbing ache between her legs. Ethan’s release felt heavy, wet, and alien inside her. His weight shifted beside her. She turned her head slightly, watching his profile in the firelight as he pushed himself up.
He swung his legs off the bed, his back to her, muscles shifting beneath sweat-slicked skin. His cock, still thick but softening, glistened obscenely in the dim light, covered in a slick mixture of her wetness and his seed dripping down the flushed shaft onto his thigh. He reached down, grasped himself firmly near the base, and with a rough, deliberate motion, dragged the entire length of his cock upward across her cheek, from jawline to temple. The sticky warmth smeared thickly across her skin, the musky, saline scent overwhelming her nostrils. She flinched, a small gasp escaping her lips, but held still, eyes wide.
"Stay," he rumbled, the command absolute, before turning away completely and walking naked towards the small kitchen area tucked into the corner of the cabin. The rough-hewn floorboards creaked under his weight. Kaylee lay frozen, the wet, cooling trail on her face a brand of humiliation that burned deeper than any bruise. She heard him fill a kettle from a pump handle, the metallic groan echoing in the quiet. The scrape of a cast-iron stove door. The clatter of coffee grounds being scooped. The mundane sounds clashed violently with the raw, animalistic scene minutes before and the degrading residue cooling on her skin.
A strange numbness battled with a rising tide of shame and a persistent, traitorous thrum low in her belly. She pushed herself up slowly, wincing at the soreness in her muscles and the tenderness inside. She found her torn shirt and pulled it on, covering her breasts, the ripped bra useless beneath it. Her legs trembled as she stood. The scent of coffee began to permeate the air, rich and dark, a sharp counterpoint to the lingering musk of sex and sweat. She moved towards the small, scarred wooden table near the stove where Ethan stood, his back still to her, pouring boiling water into a chipped enamel pot. Steam curled around his powerful shoulders.
He didn't turn as she pulled out one of the two wooden chairs and sat down gingerly, the hard seat a stark contrast to the yielding bed. She stared at her hands, knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table. The warmth from the stove touched her skin, but she felt cold inside. He placed the coffee pot on a trivet on the table with a soft thud. Then his shadow fell over her.
His large hand landed heavily on her shoulder, not gentle. His grip tightened, fingers digging in as he leaned down. His mouth brushed her ear, his voice a low, dangerous vibration she felt in her bones. "Did I say you could sit?"
She froze, the breath catching in her throat. His proximity, the heat radiating from his naked body, the possessive pressure of his hand – it all screamed danger. The memory of his cock stretching her mouth, slamming into her body, flooded back. The void within her yawned again, a dark chasm demanding to be filled with this.
"Get," he commanded, the word sharp and final. "On your knees. Where you belong, rabbit."
His hand moved from her shoulder to the back of her neck, applying downward pressure. Not a suggestion. A demand sheathed in steel. A shiver raced down her spine, part terror, part perverse thrill at the absolute certainty of his dominance. Her place. He’d defined it brutally in the forest, reaffirmed it violently in his bed, and now cemented it at his table. The defiance she’d briefly felt earlier had evaporated, replaced by a bone-deep, terrifying submission she didn't understand but couldn't fight.
Slowly, her movements stiff and awkward, Kaylee slid off the chair. Her knees hit the rough plank floor with a soft thud. She knelt beside the table, staring at the grain of the wood, the legs of the chair, avoiding looking up at him. The cold floor bit into her knees through the thin fabric of her jeans. His large, bare feet moved into her line of sight a few feet away. He remained standing, pouring dark coffee into a heavy mug. The rich aroma intensified.
He didn't speak. Didn't look down. He simply placed the steaming mug on the floor directly in front of her knees. The ceramic scraped against the wood. The message was devastatingly clear. He took a slow sip from his own mug, the sound loud in the heavy silence. Kaylee stared at the coffee in her mug, the dark surface reflecting the flickering firelight, the steam curling upwards. Her reflection was a pale smudge on its surface, marked by the sticky smear Ethan had left. The warmth of the mug didn't reach her. The cabin felt vast and cold despite the fire's glow. She remained kneeling, the bitter tang of coffee and the lingering taste of him mixing on her tongue, waiting.
