Twenty-one
Danica
I lean against a doorframe in the cabin, watching Austin as he settles into a large leather chair after bringing the warm glow of the fireplace to life. We’ve had a few bites, but the picnic sandwiches no longer seem super appealing. “What do you want, Austin?” I ask.
He turns to me with those hazel eyes that seem to see right through me. “I told you to take your clothes off. Strip for me,” he says, his tone inviting, but leaving no space for me to decide. I like it.
The corners of my mouth twitch upward. The suggestion stirs something primal within me, yet I can’t resist a playful jab. “Should I leave my sneakers on?”
Austin’s response comes with a shake of his head, the light from the fire dancing in his eyes. “That’s going to earn you a good spanking,” he notes.
A shiver races down my spine. “Promises, promises,” I murmur, feeling a rush of daring mixed with nervous excitement. My fingers hover at the hem of my shirt, teasing the fabric up slowly, drawing out the moment. His gaze follows, intense and unwavering, sparking a thrill that urges me onward.
The shirt leaves my body, and I let the material fall to the floor. “Like what you see?” I ask.
Austin doesn’t respond with words. His body does all the talking. His eyes darken with want, a silent command to continue. I oblige, hands sliding over the contours of my hips, easing the denim down to my feet. Stepping out of my jeans, I’m acutely aware of the swell of arousal pressing against the front of his pants. And I’m sure he can tell how wet I am as I stand in panties that match my sheer white bra.
My fingers trace the edges of lace, palms cupping my breasts before giving a gentle pinch to my nipples through the thin fabric. The sensation is like a spark, igniting a fire within me. “Need some help with that?” I nod toward the bulge in his pants.
Austin rises from the chair, the soft leather creaking under his weight. He’s swift to shed his clothes—T-shirt, boxer briefs, cargos—with an urgency that matches the pounding of my heart. Standing before me, he’s unabashedly aroused, his cock hard. He takes himself in hand, stroking languidly, eyes locked on mine. “What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” he asks.
I smirk, feeling a surge of power at the sight of him so undone. “Why don’t I show you?” I suggest.
He complies, returning to the chair, the king of his domain. But tonight, I’m the one in control. I close the distance between us on hands and knees, the carpet brushing against my skin. The predatory way he watches only spurs me on.
Positioned between his legs, I cradle his balls gently with one hand while the other continues the rhythm he started, my grip firm. Every stroke elicits a response—a hitch in his breath, a flex of muscle—and I drink it in, reveling in the power I wield.
“Tell me if I’m doing this right,” I whisper, though I’m no novice. I’m determined to give as good as I get, to ensure this night is memorable.
I lean in closer, the warmth of his skin radiating against my face. My tongue traces the crown of his hardness, lavishing him with attention, each stroke thorough and deliberate. The research I’ve pored over these past weeks, all those articles about pleasure, they’re not just words on a page now. They’re my strategy as I seek to unravel him.
“Like this?” I murmur, taking him into my mouth. The slight nod and the tightening of his hand at the back of my head affirm my actions. His fingers thread through my hair, a silent guide yet a testament to his restraint.
He groans deeply as I explore further, the vibrations of my moan reverberating along his length. Each time he goes deeper into my mouth, he encourages me, pushing ever so slightly, but always mindful, always attuned to my cues. My hand, slick with desire, matches the rhythm of my lips, creating a dance of flesh and need that drives us both toward the precipice.
I take him to the back of my throat, swallowing around him, and his entire body shudders. His cock slips deeper, velvet steel encased by the warmth of my mouth. His eyes close and his head lolls back against the chair, surrendering to the sensation. There’s an unspoken trust in his vulnerability, a silent plea for more.
And it’s intoxicating, the way he relinquishes control to me, the way his pleasure feeds my own. Emboldened, I let my fingers drift down to the sheer fabric of my panties, slipping beneath to where I am slick and wanting. The first touch sends a jolt through me, and I press into myself, hungry for that cresting wave.
His fingers tap a gentle rhythm on my head, a silent cue that he’s close. But I’m not ready to let this moment end—not yet. The determination to see him unravel under my touch stirs within me like wildfire. His eyes, clouded with lust, meet mine as he rasps out a warning.
“I’m going to come.”
I wink back at him and double my efforts, my hand feverishly working between my thighs. With each bob of my head, I take him deeper, reveling in the salty musk that signals his impending release. His grip tightens ever so slightly on my breast, his thumb grazing my nipple, and it’s that subtle pinch that sends electric shocks straight to my core.
“Danica…” He breathes my name like a prayer, and then I feel it—the pulsing heat, the rhythmic throbbing as he comes undone. It’s overwhelming and as he spills into my mouth, my world narrows down to the sheer intensity of the moment.
Ripples of my own climax wash over me, and I ride them out, my moans muffled by the fervent task still at hand. My body quakes, pleasure cresting and crashing through me in waves, spurred on by the richness of his taste and the sound of his deep, guttural groans. When the tremors finally subside, I collapse onto the floor, gasping for air, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
Austin shakes his head, the corner of his mouth turning up even as he struggles to catch his breath. “God, Danica, you’re amazing,” he says, his voice rough with awe. “Seeing you like that, so turned on… It’s just…wow.”
I laugh softly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Sands.” I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him.
He reaches out, tracing a line along my jaw with the pad of his thumb.
There’s something incredible about lying here with him, skin still tingling, hearts still racing.
Austin’s arms envelop me, strong and steady, lifting me from the floor. The world spins a little as he carries me through the dimly lit cabin to his bedroom, our skin still flushed and damp. He lays me down on the bed, and we slip under the covers together, our limbs entwined.
“Tell me about your folks,” he murmurs, his voice gentle in the quiet room. He strokes my hair, waiting.
It’s a simple question, yet it feels like an invitation to bare more than my body. I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my past pressing against my chest. “My mom… She loved my dad with her entire being.” I pause, choosing my words. “And Dad tried to stay faithful, I guess, but before long, he’d break her heart again. She always took him back, though, no matter how many times she caught him cheating. Then last year he finally left.”
“Damn,” he says softly, his fingers playing with strands of my hair.
“Yeah.” My voice cracks a bit. “It’s why I don’t do long-term commitments. Better not to expect what someone can’t give.”
He’s quiet for a moment, but then he chuckles, the sound warm. “So, you’re saying you’re the perfect woman, huh?”
The laughter in his tone draws a reluctant smile from me. “Maybe for someone who doesn’t want to be tied down.”
“I’m not sure I’d mind being tied down,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m up for anything if it means more nights like this.”
I laugh, a genuine burst of amusement. For once, I let myself enjoy the moment, the intimacy, without bracing for the inevitable fallout.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm light on Austin’s face. “What about you?” I murmur, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “Tell me about your family.”
He takes a deep breath, and his gaze drifts toward the ceiling, as if summoning the memories from there. “It was just me and my mom growing up,” he starts. “She was really young when she had me, and… Well, I never knew who my dad was. She never talked about him, and I never asked.” His eyes meet mine again. “She worked multiple jobs, went without so many times just to make sure I had what I needed. We’re tight, my mom and me. She’s everything.”
“She sounds incredible,” I say.
“Yeah, she is.” A smile tugs at his lips.
I lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, wanting to acknowledge the strength it must’ve taken to forge a life with only each other as anchors. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
Austin nods, then reaches over to the nightstand, drawing a small square packet from the bedside table. He holds it between us.
“Let’s not think about anything else tonight,” I say, taking it from him.
With care, I help him with the condom, our movements slow and deliberate, a contrast to the fiery passion that consumed us earlier. Then, as we come together once more, there’s a gentle cadence to our lovemaking, whispers and soft moans filling the space of the cozy cabin.
Afterward, we lie entwined in the warmth of the surrounding blankets. His arms encircle me, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady drumming of his heart. The outside world, with all its disarray and unpredictability, fades away until there’s nothing but the comforting rhythm of his breathing and the soft caress of his fingers on my back.
“Goodnight,” Austin murmurs, his voice drowsy.
“Goodnight,” I reply, feeling something akin to peace as I drift off in his embrace.
Golden light spills across the room, and my eyelids flutter open to a new day while Austin groans beside me, a low rumble of discontent. “We should’ve shut that curtain,” he mumbles, squinting against the sun’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“Tomorrow,” I murmur in agreement, stretching languidly beneath the sheets, muscles tender with sweet reminders of the night past. “Breakfast,” I suggest, steering my thoughts away from the temptation he embodies. “We should grab something before kayaking. We never did eat much last night.”
He props himself on an elbow. “I’m just fine eating you for breakfast,” he quips, and I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head at his incorrigible flirtation.
Sliding out of bed, I stand, feeling the slight pull of exerted muscles. “You’re impossible,” I say with mock exasperation, even as warmth curls in my belly.
“Can’t decide if I like you coming or going better,” he says as I make my way to the bathroom, and it’s enough to draw another laugh from me.
“Keep it up, and I’m locking this door,” I threaten. It’s empty, that threat, and we both know it.
He grouses dramatically. “Go on then,” he concedes. “But remember, the river won’t wait for us.”
“Nor will breakfast,” I add, closing the bathroom door behind me with a soft click.
The steam from the shower envelops me, and I close my eyes, letting the water sluice down my back. It’s a soothing counterpoint to the turmoil in my mind. Austin and I—our chemistry is undeniable. But this is all temporary. We’re good together, so good it scares me. Yet once the box of condoms runs out, that’s it. When we started, that seemed logical, reasonable, safe. No reason to hope for something more. It’s too risky. But now, my heart clenches at the thought, and I push back against the feelings threatening to take root. I have to protect myself because I’m not sure I could bear a betrayal. I know what that did to my mom.
“Hey, mind if I join you?” Austin’s voice cuts through the misty cocoon of the shower.
“Only if you’re shaving,” I reply, trying for light-hearted, but I worry my voice betrays a hint of vulnerability.
“Party pooper.”
I peek around the curtain, and there he is, towel slung low on his hips, the dark hair on his chest damp with condensation. It takes effort to pull my gaze away, to focus on anything but the man who systematically breaks down my defenses.
“That stubble looks good on you, though,” I manage to say, turning under the spray to give myself a moment’s respite from the sight of him.
“Ah, but I’ve got to stay sharp, right? Can’t let the wilderness win.” I hear the clink of his razor and the splash of water.
A smile tugs at my lips, despite the fluttering in my stomach. “Careful you don’t cut yourself,” I call.
Austin laughs, the sound resonating in the small space. “Never,” he assures me. There’s silence for a moment, save for the sounds of our respective routines. Then, without warning, I feel his eyes on me, and I make the mistake of meeting his gaze in the mirror.
“Like what you see?” he teases, and I’m caught. His back... I wince internally, seeing the marks I left, red lines drawn by my fervor.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur, looking away. It was never my intention to leave evidence of our intimacy on his skin.
“Hey, no apologies,” he says, turning to inspect the scratches. “Consider them battle scars.”
Warmth floods me, knowing he wears them without regret, that this weekend we are making memories, even if they’re as fleeting as the steam rising around us.
“Look all you want,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to something more intimate. “Touch, too, if you’re brave enough.”
The offer hangs in the air, but I resist—for now. “Maybe after breakfast,” I tease, my heart pounding. “And kayaking.”
“Kayaking,” he repeats with a chuckle. “Sure thing. Whatever you say.”
I trail a tentative finger down his spine, the marks standing out like I’ve signed my name with a bit too much zeal. “Austin, I really am sorry about your back.”
He glances over his shoulder, a grin spreading across his face. “Don’t worry about it.” He chuckles. “They’re just scratches. Makes me look tough, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” I reply. “Tough as nails—or maybe good in bed.”
“Well, that’s a given.”
I roll my eyes and finish my shower before I take it too far and we miss breakfast. I need sustenance before we kayak.
As we head over to the lodge to eat, the fresh mountain air fills my lungs. Seated in the dining room, Austin scans the menu with an almost predatory focus before placing his order—three eggs, pancakes, sausage, and bacon. It’s a feast fit for a lumberjack, and I have to rib him a little. “Eating the whole left side of the menu?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Fuel for the day,” he says, flashing a smirk that seems to smooth over every rough edge in the world.
I order my eggs benedict with the sauce on the side, a small attempt at exerting control where I can. But Austin’s quick to catch the implication behind my choice, his teasing shifting into something gentler, more personal.
“You don’t need to watch your weight.” His gaze holds mine, earnest and unwavering. “Actually, a few extra pounds would suit you.” He leans in. “More cushion for the pushin’.”
My cheeks warm at his words, the blush involuntary and telling. “Well, if I do gain weight, it all goes to my boobs and hips,” I confess.
“That’s quite okay with me,” he replies, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a way that suggests he’s picturing just that scenario.
And despite myself, despite our looming end date and my fears of vulnerability, I blush even deeper, caught in the gravitational pull of his casual acceptance.
When we finish breakfast, we take the shuttle to the launch point.
The morning chill lifts as we approach the Merced River, its waters a liquid mirror reflecting the brightening sky. A bustle of activity surrounds us, with kayakers adjusting their gear and guides calling out instructions over the murmur of excited voices. Austin walks beside me, his strides confident.
“Ready for some adventure on the water?” he asks, nudging me with his elbow.
“Absolutely,” I reply, though my stomach flutters. “Are you? I thought you were the indoor cat.”
“Let’s do this,” he says confidently.
“Okay. Kayaking is a new one for me, too.” I should be nervous, yet with Austin, I feel a strange sense of calm.
We watch as one man from our group attempts to get into his kayak for the third time. Each prior attempt has ended with a splash and him standing waist high in the water. The guides, patient as saints, wade into the water to steady his boat.
“Third time’s the charm!” Austin calls encouragingly, but the man just nods.
While the guides busy themselves, Austin casually flicks water in my direction. I gasp, more from surprise than the coolness of the droplets against my skin, and then retaliate.
“Hey!” I laugh, scooping up water to send it splashing back at him. It feels good, playful, free, until my aim proves less precise than intended, and water arcs past Austin to hit a couple of bystanders. “Sorry!” I call, my hand flying to my mouth.
But it’s too late. One of the guides strides over, his expression stern. “If you’re going to splash, we’ll have to ask you to leave.” He’s not joking.
My face heats instantly, redness creeping up my neck. I glance at Austin, who looks as innocent as a man can look with water dripping from his chin.
“Sorry,” I mutter again, feeling chastised.
Austin flashes me a wink, his eyes crinkling with silent laughter.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, we all manage to launch our kayaks. The river welcomes us, gentle ripples kissing the sides of my boat as I paddle alongside Austin. He looks relaxed, at home even on this moving body of water.
“Look at you, practically a pro already,” Austin notes, his tone light.
I smile, my earlier embarrassment forgotten as I focus on the rhythm of paddling, the sun warming my shoulders. “Maybe I’ve found my calling,” I counter. Each time our eyes meet, his smile widens, and he seems to see through to my very core. It’s disarming how easily he strips away the layers I’ve spent years building.
We glide over the water, navigating around rocks and fallen branches with an ease that surprises me. There’s something about being here with Austin, surrounded by nature’s grandeur, that makes the rest of the world fade away—the looming questions, the uncertainties, the fear that grips my heart whenever I think of endings.
He smiles at me once more, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine there’s not an end date to the connection we share. What would that even look like? Maybe the walls around my heart aren’t as solid as I thought.