Chapter 7
Luke
The power cut out sometime around midnight.
We were still up talking, and though I was tired, I knew she was nervous, so I sat up with her.
One second, the fridge was humming and the small lamp was lit, and the next, the cabin went silent and completely dark.
The wind howled outside like it was that wolf she dubbed me, and the rain pelted the windows in no particular rhythm.
The cabin was fighting the gusts of wind but would stand through it.
Quinn’s sharp intake of breath echoed loudly throughout the room.
“It’s just the storm,” I say calmly as she burrows under the blanket she’s sitting with. I get up and flip the generator on. It rumbles low and struggles to take hold, but within a minute, the fridge is back on.
“Turn off the lamp. We don’t want the generator to work too hard.” She gets up quickly, flipping the light off, and grabs the candle that was on the end table, fumbling for the matches. I whip out the lighter from my pocket and have it lit before she can move away from the table.
The darkness of the cabin makes it seem smaller than it is.
This could be a bad idea.
Something about a beautiful woman in a rainstorm turns me on and my mind has already thrown out a number of possibilities of things I’d like to do to her.
“Why don’t you go on to bed? The sooner you sleep, the sooner the storm will be over.”
“No.”
I raise one eyebrow at her backtalk. “Quinn.”
“Luke.”
I let out a breath. I shouldn't be surprised. “You’re stubborn.”
“I prefer ‘persistent.’ The couch is fine. It’s not fair for me to sleep in a nice bed while you’re out here.”
We stare each other down until I finally throw my hands up in defeat.
She smiles to herself as she pads to the bedroom, only to emerge with pillows and a blanket, like we're having a slumber party.
We lay all the blankets but one down on the floor, and then she puts the other on the couch and climbs underneath.
I lay on top of the blankets, propped on my side with my elbow, eyes trying to stay focused on the fire but still checking her out at every turn. “You said you were a romance writer?” I ask, trying to keep her mind off the weather.
“Mhmm. For about four years now. It started as a hobby. I loved to write and dreamed about finding a forever love as a kid. I almost felt like I could manifest it for myself if I continued to write the stories. But all it’s brought me is unrealistic goals.”
“Can you read me something of yours?”
She giggles, and I don't know if it’s out of nervousness or sarcasm. “You really want to hear what I write?”
“Why not?”
I hear the couch creak, and when I look over at her, she’s sitting up with her phone in hand, blanket wrapped around her waist. The shadows dance over her full tits in that tank, and I swallow hard. “Do you know what smut is, Luke?”
I roll my eyes in the dark, knowing she can’t see me. “Yes, Quinn. I know what smut is. I find it on PornHub.”
She laughs out loud at my dry tone, and the sound fills the room.
“You’re such a mountain man,” she teases. “PornHub. You probably still think Fifty Shades is edgy.”
“Fifty what?” I shake my head. “I don’t read romance,” I grunt, shifting on top of the blankets. “I live in a cabin and chop wood. What kind of material do you expect me to be consuming out here?”
She snickers again. “That’s a shame. You’d probably make a great book boyfriend.”
“Book boyfriend?” I question, already regretting asking.
“Tall, broody, emotionally unavailable until the right woman stumbles into your life in the middle of a storm.” Her voice is playful as she teases me.
“You’re not subtle.”
“Neither are your arms,” she fires back.
I laugh, and the realness of it surprises me. I don’t know what fun is, not having had any in quite some time, but this feels like it. She giggles in response, and the thought I had when we met about her feeling like a friend already resurfaces and rings true this time.
“You still haven’t read me anything,” I say after a pause.
Quinn goes quiet. I see her fidget with the blanket, and then she sighs. “Okay, but you asked for this.”
The light on her phone shines, illuminating her face. Her lips are full, and she brushes that red hair of hers back off her shoulder. “I’m not getting my laptop out, but I’ll pull up some notes I wrote on my phone from earlier today.” I hear her clear her throat, then she speaks.
“His hands were rough, calloused from years of building, but when he touched me, it was soft, and he was taking his time like I was his most prized piece of work. He treated me like I was special, and with a protectiveness I hadn’t found from anyone else, but he still allowed me to be myself—talkative, smart-ass tone and all. ”
She pauses, and our eyes meet as she looks up from her phone. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the feelings washing over me.
“Go on,” I murmur, my voice lower than I intended.
She continues.
“I moaned as his hands continued to meet every inch of my body. I arched into his touch, begging him not to stop. His soft touches weren't so soft anymore, giving me what I craved. He took control, our bodies meeting roughly but in perfect rhythm. He was more man than I had ever met, and I knew I’d never find another like him.”
When she stops this time, the silence between us stretches.
My heart’s hammering like I just sprinted through the woods, and my dick is aching behind the zipper of my jeans.
“Damn,” I clear my throat. “I never saw that on PornHub.”
She giggles then says, “I’m sorry. That was too much. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I cut her off and sit up, meeting her eyes. I do my best not to drop my eyes to her tits, but a glance still sneaks out. “It wasn’t too much. I guess I just didn’t know what to expect to hear.”
Quinn rests her phone on her lap and takes a breath, the movement showcasing those breasts I can’t stop looking at.
Her lips roll in at my stare, and I know she’s feeling what I am.
“I tend to write the scene I’m confronted with, ya know?
That’s why I don’t read it out loud. People either get uncomfortable or they want to make it a joke. ”
“I’m not laughing,” I say, and I’m not.
I move slowly until I’m in front of her. I know I’m big, so I give her space, but she could reach out if she wanted to. I look at her and say, “I guess I didn't expect smut to have so many feelings.”
Her mouth parts as she bites her lip, but she doesn’t answer. The blanket on her lap is bunched, and I reach out and brush her calf with the back of my hand. She shivers but doesn’t pull away.
“I haven’t felt much in a long time,” I admit, my voice lower still.
“But I feel this. With you.” Her breath catches, but I just keep talking.
“You said you write about looking for a forever love,” I say, letting my hand linger.
“Maybe finding all the wrong ones was just fillers until you had the right moment to believe in it again.”