Chapter 5 Avery
AVERY
My legs shake with a deep, vibrating weakness centered right where his hand worked me into a frenzy.
The cold seeps through the windowpane where I’m standing.
He had walked away, the back door slamming shut as he headed into the whiteout to run from the tension between us.
The heavy thud of his boots recedes into the back room, followed by the back door slamming shut against the wind.
He’s going out into the blizzard. Running from the fire he just lit inside me.
I press my forehead against the frosted glass of the kitchen window.
The air in the cabin feels too thin to fill my lungs.
My panties cling to my skin, soaked and uncomfortable, a constant, wet reminder of how easily he unraveled me.
Years of bad dates and awkward fumblings in college dorms never prepared me for this.
This is a physical ache, a hollowness demanding to be filled.
You belong to me.
His words echo in the silence, louder than the wind howling outside. He said it with terrifying certainty. Not a question. A fact.
The lights overhead flicker—a dying gasp of the grid.
I pull back from the window just as the cabin plunges into darkness.
"Oh, come on." The words tumble out on a ragged exhale.
The hum of the refrigerator dies. The electric heater in the corner clunks off. Silence descends, heavy and suffocating. The only light comes from the glowing embers in the massive stone fireplace across the main room.
I stand frozen in the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter. My toolkit lies scattered on the floor by the pantry—useless tools for a job I didn't know how to do. Just like everything else. I'm always the girl with the wrong tools, trying to fix things too broken to be saved.
But Oliver didn't try to fix me. He wrecked me. And now I’m standing in the dark, wanting him to come back and finish the job.
The back door opens again with a gust of wind sending a chill skittering across the floorboards. He stomps the snow off his boots. The heavy bolt slides home.
"Oliver?" My voice sounds small in the dark.
"Power’s out," his deep voice rumbles from the entryway. He sounds calm. Unbothered. "Lines probably went down up at the ridge. I’m shutting down the generator to save fuel for the furnace. We’ll rely on firelight tonight."
Fabric rustles as he sheds his heavy outer coat. His footsteps approach, heavy and deliberate, vibrating through the wood floor. He moves through the darkness like he owns it.
A match flares, illuminating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the thick beard. Moss-green eyes look black in the shadows. He lights a kerosene lantern on the dining table, then another by the sofa. The golden glow pushes the shadows back but makes the cabin feel smaller. Intimate.
He looks at me. Really looks at me. I’m still standing by the pantry, wrapping his oversized flannel shirt tighter around my body, trying to hide the trembling of my limbs.
"Come to the fire, Avery." It’s not an order this time. It’s an invitation.
I walk toward him, bare feet silent on the rug. He adds logs to the fireplace, building the flames up until they crackle and pop, casting dancing orange light over his skin. He’s taken off his own flannel, leaving him in a tight black thermal clinging to the thick muscles of his chest and arms.
Sitting on the edge of the leather sofa, I watch him. He moves with a grace that defies his size. Lethal. I saw the way he looked when he fixed my porch—dangerous, feral. But with me, he’s careful. Restrained.
"Are you cold?" He stands, turning to face me.
"No." I lie. I am, but not from the temperature. "I’m..." My voice breaks. I can't find the word.
He stops, hands resting on his hips. The lantern light catches the silver dog tags hanging around his neck. "I shouldn't have done that earlier. In the kitchen."
My heart stutters. "You shouldn't have stopped."
The admission slips out before I can check it. My face burns, but I don't look away. I’m done being the scared city girl. Done waiting for life to happen to me.
Oliver goes perfectly still. The air between us thickens, charged with that same electricity that snapped earlier. He steps into my personal space until his thighs brush my knees. He towers over me, a wall of heat and muscle.
"Be careful, Avery." His voice drops an octave, turning into a growl. "I’m hanging on by a thread here. You push, and I’m going to break."
"Good," I breathe, looking up at him. "Break."
His jaw tightens. He reaches down, large, calloused hands cupping my face. Thumbs trace my cheekbones, rough skin against soft. He tilts my head back, forcing me to hold his gaze.
"You don't know what you're asking for. I’m not some boy from town who’s going to be gentle because you look sweet. I’ve lived alone on this mountain a long time. I take what’s mine."
"I know." My hands reach up to grip his wrists. His pulse hammers beneath my fingertips. "I want you to."
He searches my eyes, looking for hesitation. Finding none, he makes a low sound in his throat—a rumble of surrender and hunger.
"Stand up."
I stand.
"Shirt off."
My fingers fumble with the buttons of his flannel. My hands shake uncontrollably. He doesn't help me; he watches, eyes tracking every inch of skin I reveal. When the shirt slides off my shoulders and pools on the floor, I’m left standing in just my panties.
Firelight licks at my skin, but Oliver’s gaze is hotter. He looks at my breasts, my stomach, the curve of my hips with a reverence that makes my knees weak. He isn’t just looking at me. He’s memorizing me.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So fucking soft."
He drops to his knees.
The sight of him—this giant, rugged man kneeling before me—steals the air from my lungs. He grips my hips, fingers digging in, anchoring me to the spot. He presses his face against my stomach, inhaling deeply, his beard scratching deliciously against my sensitive skin.
"Oliver," I gasp. Fingers thread into his thick, dark hair.
"I need to taste you," he says against my skin, the vibration sending shockwaves down to my core. "I need to know you’re wet for me."
He pulls my panties down, movements urgent now. I step out of them, kicking the fabric aside. I am completely bare before him. Vulnerable.
He leans back, looking at the center of me. My thighs tremble. I feel exposed, raw.
"Open for me."
Widening my stance, I tremble as his shadow falls over me.
An electric jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shoots straight to my gut the moment his tongue licks my swollen clit.
Anchored only by his massive, calloused hands digging into my hips, my knees buckle under the assault.
Relentless and skilled, his tongue laps at my clit with a heavy, demanding rhythm that turns my vision into a blurred haze of orange firelight.
Vibrations from his guttural groan rattle through my very bones as he presses his face against my dripping pussy, greedily lapping up the hot juices I’m helpless to stop from pouring out of me.
"So sweet," he grumbles, his nose brushing against my engorged clit while he works. "You taste like you were made just for me to eat."
Pulling back and leaving me panting and bereft, Oliver stands abruptly to strip.
Tossing his thermal into the shadows, he reveals a chest that is a literal wall of corded muscle and jagged scars.
My breath dies in my throat as his jeans and boxers hit the floor.
Standing before me, he is a terrifying, beautiful monster.
His cock is brutal—thick, heavy, and jutting upward with an intimidating curve, the broad head already weeping with pre-cum.
I’m going to be ruined, I think, a mix of panic and desperate need flowering in my chest.
Sinking onto the thick fur rug in front of the fireplace, he reaches out and pulls me down until I’m straddling his lap.
The coarse fur pricks at my bare knees as I wrap my legs tight around his waist. This position spreads my pussy wide, forcing my soaking lips to mash directly against the throbbing, hot ridge of his cock.
"I've never done this before," I whisper, my fingertip tracing a jagged scar over his pectoral muscle.
My confession hangs in the air, heavy and fragile, as I explain that my body was the only thing the foster system couldn't process—the only thing that was truly mine.
I want this to be his. I want him to take it all.
A primal growl rumbles from deep in his chest, his grip on my hips tightening until it’s nearly painful.
"Now I’m never letting you go," he rasps against my ear, his eyes turning black with a dark, absolute possessiveness.
"If I take you... there is no going back.
You are mine until the mountain crumbles. "
Positioning the blunt, broad head of his cock at my opening, he lifts me slightly. I can feel the massive head of him pressing against me, beginning to stretch my pussy lips apart until the sensation feels impossible.
"Look at me, Avery."
Strained with the effort of restraint, his face is a mask of focus as sweat beads on his forehead.
His hips sink upward, forcing the massive girth of him past my tight pussy lips.
My fingernails draw blood from his shoulders as I gasp; the sensation is a violent, beautiful stretching that feels like I'm being torn open from the inside.
"Breathe," he coaches in a wrecked growl. "You're so fucking tight. I'm going to fill every inch of you."
Control shatters as he grips my hips and drives upward with a guttural roar, sinking nine inches of rock-hard cock into me in one slow, devastating thrust. A sharp sting flares as my virginity tears, followed immediately by a staggering feeling of absolute fullness. He’s inside me.
The sheer, impossible scale of him is a violent shock, nine inches of rock-hard cock stretching my pussy until I’m sure I’ll tear.
He’s bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping against my soaking thighs while he fills every empty, aching space I've ever had."
Slow, torturous friction follows as he begins to move, his thick cock sliding against my raw, internal pussy walls. "You feel that?" he grits out, his jaw clenched as he stares into my soul. "That’s my cock inside you. My mark."
Every wet slap of skin echoes through the quiet cabin as he picks up the pace. Unyielding and fast, he pounds into me, his cock hitting my cervix with a force that makes my toes curl. I am screaming his name, lost in the sensation of being owned by this mountain of a man.
Reaching down between our sweating bodies, his thumb finds my engorged clit and rubs it in circular, punishing motions while he thrusts.
I shatter. Blinding and white-hot, an orgasm rips through me as my pussy clamps down on his length, milking him with frantic, rhythmic pulses.
Oliver roars, his muscles knotting as he drives into me three more times, fast and brutal, before he stiffens. Wave after hot wave, I feel his thick, heavy seed pouring into me, filling me up until I’m overflowing.
He holds me tight against him, burying his face in my hair, breathing harsh and ragged. We stay like that for a long time. The fire crackles beside us. The storm rages outside. Neither matters.
Slowly, the trembling stops. He pulls back just enough to look at me. His expression is serious. Intense. He brushes a damp strand of hair off my forehead.
"You okay?" he asks, voice surprisingly gentle.
I nod, resting my forehead against his. I feel different. Changed. The girl who walked into this cabin yesterday is gone.
"I’m okay."
He kisses my nose, then shifts, lifting me effortlessly into his arms as he stands. He doesn't let me go. He carries me toward the bedroom, my legs still wrapped around his waist, his essence still dripping down my thighs.
"Where are we going?" I murmur sleepily.
"Bed," he says, kicking the door open. "You’re sleeping in my arms tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night after that."
He lays me down on the mattress, pulling the heavy quilt over us. He pulls me back against his chest, arm heavy and possessive over my waist.
"Mine," he whispers into the dark.
"Yours," I agree, closing my eyes. For the first time in my life, I know exactly where I belong.