4. Corbin
four
Corbin
We haven’t said a single word to each other since that kiss.
I watch the rain soften against the cave entrance, a rhythm I've learned to read like others read clocks. The storm isn't done with us yet. Night is coming, and with it, a drop in temperature that could be dangerous if we're not careful. I've survived countless mountain nights, but tonight feels different. Everything feels different with her here.
Tessa sits across from me, her hair catching the firelight in ways that make it hard to look away. Golden strands frame her face, and those hazel eyes reflect the dancing flames. Twenty-five. Fifteen years between us. I shouldn't notice how the firelight caresses her skin or how her smile transforms her face, but I do. I notice everything about her.
"The temperature will drop tonight," I say, keeping my voice measured. "We'll need to conserve body heat."
She nods, understanding the practical necessity. She’s aware of the tension that's been building between us since that kiss. The kiss I shouldn't have allowed myself to take.
"I've never been good at being cold," she admits with a small laugh. "In the city, I'm the one with three blankets, even in spring."
"The mountain doesn't care about comfort," I remind her, but my voice has lost its edge. I can't seem to summon the gruffness that's become my armor over the years.
"So you've mentioned." Her smile is gentle and teasing. “You seem quite good at finding comfort even here."
I shrug, uncomfortable with her observation. "Necessity teaches you things."
"What else has it taught you?" she asks, leaning forward slightly. The movement causes her scent to reach me—something floral mingled with the earthiness of our surroundings. It’s an intoxicating combination.
"To see what's really important," I answer honestly. "To distinguish between wants and needs."
"And what do you need, Corbin?" Her question hangs in the air between us, loaded with meaning I'm not sure she intended.
I look away, tending to the fire to give my hands something to do. "Shelter. Food. Water." I pause, then meet her eyes again. "Solitude."
"Is that a need or a habit?" she challenges, her head tilting slightly.
No one has questioned my choices in years. I've built walls around my life, around my heart, brick by brick, day by day. Now, this young woman walks in and sees right through them as if they're made of glass instead of stone.
"Both," I admit finally. "It started as one and became the other."
The fire crackles in the silence that follows. Outside, the wind picks up again, sending a chill through our tiny shelter. Tessa shivers visibly, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Come here," I say before I can think better of it. "Next to the wall. It's warmer."
She moves without hesitation, settling beside me where the stone wall offers some protection from the drafts. Our shoulders touch, and even that brief contact sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with body heat.
"Better?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
She nods, but another shiver contradicts her. Without thinking, I lift my arm, offering her shelter against my side. She accepts immediately, curling against me as if we've done this a hundred times before. Her head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel her heartbeat, quick and steady.
"Much better," she murmurs.
We sit like that, wrapped together in a wool survival blanket, for what feels like hours but might only be minutes. Time behaves strangely in the mountains and is even stranger in this cave with her. The fire burns low, and the darkness presses in around us, making our small circle of warmth feel like the only real place in the world.
"Tell me something about yourself," she says suddenly. "Something no one else knows."
I consider deflecting, changing the subject, but something about the darkness and her warmth against me loosens my tongue. "I write," I admit. "Not just notes in journals. Poems. Stories sometimes."
I feel her smile against my shoulder. "About what?"
"The mountains. The changing seasons. The way light falls through trees in early morning." I pause, embarrassed by my own sentimentality. "Lonely things, I suppose."
"That doesn't surprise me," she says softly. "You see the world so clearly. Of course you'd want to capture it somehow."
Her understanding loosens something tight in my chest. "Your turn," I say. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "I'm afraid," she finally says.
"Of the storm?"
"No." She shifts slightly, looking up at me. In the dimming firelight, her eyes are dark pools. "Of going back to a life that doesn't feel like mine anymore. Of pretending to be someone I'm not."
I understand that fear better than she knows. It's what drove me to the mountains fifteen years ago. The suffocation of expectations, the mask that grew heavier each day until I couldn't breathe beneath it.
"You don't have to go back to the same life," I tell her. "You can choose differently."
"Is that what you did?"
I nod, my chin brushing against her hair. "It wasn't easy. People don't understand walking away from what they consider success."
"But you don't regret it?"
"Not for a moment." The certainty in my voice surprises even me.
The fire sputters, casting us further into darkness. The temperature is dropping rapidly now. I can feel Tessa trembling against me despite our shared warmth.
"We should sleep," I say reluctantly. "I need to conserve the rest of the firewood for the morning. We should stay close. For warmth." Yes, warmth. The purely practical reason and not because I want to feel her perfect curves against my body.
She nods and stretches out beside me, her back to my chest as I wrap my arm around her waist. The position is intimate by necessity, but that doesn't make it any less affecting. Her body fits against mine as if designed for it, her curves melding perfectly with my angles.
I try to keep my breathing steady, to ignore the scent of her hair or the softness of her skin where my arm touches it. I'm too old for this, too hardened by solitude to be undone by simple proximity. At least, that's what I tell myself.
"Corbin?" Her voice is barely a whisper.
"Hmm?"
"I can't stop thinking about that kiss."
My heart thunders in my chest, so loud I'm certain she must hear it. "You should," I say roughly. "It was a mistake."
She turns in my arms, facing me now. Even in the darkness, I can make out the determination in her expression. "Why?"
"You know why. You're young and beautiful, with your whole life ahead of you. I'm..." I struggle for words.
"You're what?" she challenges. "Wise? Self-sufficient? Honest in a way I've never encountered before? Attractive in a way that makes it hard for me to think straight?"
Her bluntness startles a low laugh from me. "I was going to say ' set in my ways .' Too old for you."
"Age is just a number," she says, and I can hear the eye roll in her voice. "What matters is that I feel more alive with you in this cave than I have in years of dating men my age who couldn't find their way out of a paper bag, let alone a mountain forest."
"Tessa," I begin, but she cuts me off.
"I'm not asking for forever, Corbin. I'm not even asking for tomorrow. I'm just asking for tonight. For this moment."
Her hand finds my face in the darkness, fingers tracing the line of my jaw and the texture of my beard. Her touch is gentle but insistent, breaking down defenses I've built over a decade of solitude.
"I've been alone for so long," I admit, my voice barely audible. "I'm not sure I remember how to be anything else."
"Then let me remind you," she whispers and closes the distance between us.
Her lips find mine unerringly in the darkness. The kiss is different from our first—deeper, more certain. There's no hesitation now, no holding back. Her mouth is warm and eager against mine, and I respond with a hunger that surprises me with its intensity.
My hand finds her waist and slides up her side to tangle in her hair. She makes a quiet sound of pleasure that vibrates against my lips, and something inside me breaks loose—a flood of need and longing I've denied for too many years.
The darkness wraps around us like a cloak as I surrender to the moment. My hands learn her by touch—the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin beneath her shirt, the elegant line of her neck.
She's equally curious, her fingers exploring the terrain of my shoulders, my chest, the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck. When she tugs my shirt up and her hands make contact with bare skin, I shudder at the sensation of her fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle beneath my skin and chest hair.
"Is this okay?" she asks, suddenly uncertain, her hazel eyes searching mine in the dim firelight.
"More than okay," I assure her, my voice thick with desire. "I want to feel your hands on me."
She smiles then, a mixture of shyness and determination that makes my heart race. Her palms slide up my torso, taking my shirt with them. I help her remove it, and the cool air of the cave hits my skin, a stark contrast to the heat building between us.
"Your turn," I whisper, my fingers finding the hem of her—well, my— shirt. I look into her eyes, seeking permission.
She nods, lifting her arms to help me. As I pull the fabric over her head, I'm struck by the beauty of her revealed skin, pale and luminous in the dying firelight. Her bra is simple cotton, practical for hiking, but the sight of her curves spilling over the fabric ignites something primal within me.
"You're beautiful," I tell her, my hands hovering, wanting to touch but still holding back.
"Touch me, Corbin," she says, taking my hand and placing it on her breast. Even through the fabric, I can feel her heart racing, the warmth of her skin seeping into my palm.
I cup her gently, reverently, watching her eyes flutter closed at the contact. Her nipple hardens beneath my touch, and I brush my thumb across it, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.
With trembling fingers, she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it fall away. The sight of her bare breasts steals my breath—full and perfect, tipped with rosy peaks that beg for my attention.
I lower my head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last moment when my lips close around one sensitive peak. She arches into me, a low moan escaping her throat as her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me to her.
"God, Corbin," she breathes as I lavish attention on each breast in turn, alternating between gentle suction and the light grazing of teeth that makes her squirm beneath me.
When her fingers dip beneath the waistband of my jeans, I groan against her skin.
"These need to go," she murmurs, tugging at my belt.
She reaches for me then, pulling me down to her, our naked bodies pressing together skin to skin. The sensation is overwhelming—her softness against my hardness, her warmth enveloping me. Our lips meet in a kiss that's both tender and hungry, tongues exploring, tasting, claiming.
My hand slides down her body, venturing between her thighs. She parts for me willingly, a soft sigh escaping her lips as my fingers find her center, already slick with desire.
"Is this good?" I ask, circling gently, learning what makes her breath catch.
"Yes," she gasps. "Just like that."
I watch her face as I touch her, memorizing every expression, every subtle change that tells me what brings her pleasure, when I slip one finger inside her, her back arches, her body drawing me deeper.
"More," she whispers, and I oblige, adding a second finger, curling them to find that spot that makes her cry out, her inner walls clenching around me.
She's uninhibited in her responses, honest in her pleasure in a way that makes my desire for her almost painful. When her hand wraps around my length, stroking with unpracticed but enthusiastic motions, I have to still her movements.
"Too much," I warn, my voice strained. "It's been a long time. You need to stop, or this will be over before it starts."
She releases me with a smile of feminine satisfaction, seemingly pleased with the effect she has on me.
I roll us over gently, settling between her thighs, the heat of her core pressing against me, tempting and inviting.
"I don't have protection," I admit the realization cutting through my desire.
Her eyes widen briefly, then soften. "I'm on birth control," she says. "For regularity. And I'm healthy. Are you...?"
"Yes," I assure her. "I get tested regularly at my physicals. Even though I haven't been with anyone in a very, very long time."
She smiles, reaching between us to guide me to her entrance. "Then there's nothing to worry about."
I enter her slowly, inch by inch, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. The sensation is overwhelming—tight, wet heat enveloping me, drawing me deeper. When I'm fully sheathed within her, I pause, forehead pressed to hers, both of us breathing hard.
"You feel incredible," I whisper against her lips.
"So do you," she responds, her hands sliding down to grip my backside, urging me to move.
I begin with slow, measured thrusts, savoring the friction, the way her body yields and welcomes me. Her legs wrap around my waist, changing the angle, allowing me to sink even deeper inside her tight pussy. Each thrust draws a soft sound from her.
If I died right now, I’d be a happy man. But I don’t want to. I want to spend forever with her like this, deep inside her wet pussy.
"Faster," she urges after a while. “Corbin. Fuck me harder. I want your cock.”
Hearing her pretty mouth say those dirty words makes me let loose.
“Fuck,” I grunt, the sensation of her wetness driving me into a frenzy. I rut into her like a caveman, pressing her into our pile of clothes that have become a makeshift bed. I slide a hand between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, circling in time with my thrusts.
"Yes, there," she gasps, her body tightening around me. "Don't stop."
I can feel her climbing toward release, her inner walls fluttering around me, her breathing growing ragged. “Come for me, city girl.”
She does, spectacularly, her back arching off the ground as waves of pleasure wash through her. The sight of her in ecstasy, combined with the rhythmic pulsing of her body around mine, sends me hurtling toward my climax.
"Tessa," I warn, my control slipping.
"Inside," she gasps, still riding the aftershocks of her orgasm. "I want to feel you."
Her words break the last of my restraint. With a final thrust, I bury myself deep within her, my release hitting me with an intensity that whites out my vision. Pleasure courses through me in endless waves as I empty myself inside her, pumping my seed deep inside of her until I’m completely drained.
For long moments afterward, we remain joined, our bodies trembling with aftershocks, our breathing gradually slowing. I'm careful not to crush her beneath my weight, but she holds me tight when I try to move away.
"Not yet," she whispers, and I understand her reluctance to break this connection.
Eventually, our bodies separate naturally, and I gather her against my side, her head nestling perfectly into the crook of my shoulder. Despite the hard stone beneath us, I've never felt more comfortable, more at peace.
"Are you cold?" I ask, pressing a kiss to her forehead, tasting the salt of her skin.
Tessa shakes her head, nestling closer, one leg thrown possessively over mine. "Not anymore."
She settles against me, and I pull her closer, marveling at how natural it feels. Tomorrow, the storm will clear. Tomorrow, we'll make our way down the mountain. Tomorrow, reality will intrude with all its complications and questions.
As her breathing deepens in her sleep, I press one more kiss to her hair and allow myself to follow her into dreams—something I haven't done in years. For once, I don't fight against vulnerability or connection. For once, I simply let myself be happy.