Chapter 25
F ollowing Isabelle’s mind-blowing revelation that she's in fact not the town harlot, but a fucking virgin, I’ve been stumbling around like a fool.
I’ve been falling hard and fast for her since the Dreamhouse trip. Our time together is effortless—a comfort I’ve only experienced with my family. We have more in common than I ever could have guessed. She's simply incredible.
We’re on a final push before the holiday break and the backroads are complete shit by the time we ease the truck up to the cabin. It’s near whiteout condition, and it was fucking dangerous to push through but it’s not like there was anywhere we could have pulled over or stopped.
The blizzard stopped overnight, but the wind created steep snow drifts up the sides of the cabin and feet-deep snow outside.
I spend most of day digging out the best I can before the next storm front comes in.
Wishful thinking has me shoveling through the snow drift partially overtaking the covered back patio where the hot tub is.
Always knowledgeable about the properties we visit before we arrive, Isabelle had expressed her excitement for the hot tub on our drive up here. I get it turned on and it steadily heats up, so I replace the cover and head inside to thaw myself out.
We share an early dinner in front of the fireplace in companionable silence. Isabelle stretches her lithe arms over her head, revealing a creamy strip of skin between her top and her leggings. My arms burn from restraining from reaching out and touching her there.
“If it’s alright with you, I think I'm going to take advantage of the hot tub before it gets dark. Thank you so much for getting it all set up. I’m sure you had to do it for your maintenance check-off, but I’m going to pretend you did it just for me,” she says with a wink.
She has no fucking idea. At this point, she could say jump and I’d bungee off a cliff for her. I clean up after dinner and settle back in front of the fireplace.
I feel her approach before I see her, my body all too attuned to her presence. I can’t resist a peek, my eyes are drawn to her like magnets, as she comes into the living room wrapped in a towel. White strings stretch up her collar bones and tie behind her neck.
Dear lord, please let her be in a bikini .
She scurries past me, being as modest as she can and heads outside.
Possessed by a horny demon, I follow her path a few moments later once I'm confident she won’t catch me.
Thank whoever built this cabin because I have a clear shot of the hot tub if I stand off to the side of the window above the kitchen sink.
I’m shrouded in shadow and the angle is such I don’t think she'll look this way.
Just as I take my position, she drops the towel and drapes it over the edge of the hot tub. I swear, every single blood cell plummets from my brain to my cock. I sway on my feet at the sudden drunken feeling that washes over me.
She's wearing a white string bikini that covers next to nothing.
I send a silent prayer to the chauvinist clothing company that sewed together the scraps of fabric currently covering her body.
My cock is already throbbing and straining against the fly of my jeans.
I readjust myself and tuck the head of my dick into the waistband of my boxer briefs.
She sinks down into the water up to her chin, the ends of her bright hair touching the bubbling surface. Sitting up on a tall ledge in the tub, her delicate hands skate back and forth across the hot water.
A knot forms in my chest as she looks around with a look of wonder, taking in the bright white snow and the monstrous trees lining the property.
Shielded from the sky by the covered patio, the setting sun casts a pink glow over her.
It’s a mental painting I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. She’s everything.
Isabelle does a quarter turn in the water and holy shit. There are her tits. Right there. Out on display, just for me.
Perky breasts are straining against the now translucent white triangles of her bikini top.
My dick throbs as I greedily take in the rosy pink of her nipples showing through the soaked fabric.
The outline of those fucking piercings is faint, but I zero in on them.
What I'd give to get my mouth on her perfect, perky tits.
I must’ve done something right in a past life because Isabelle leans over the side of the hot tub to inspect something over the edge. Her magnificent ass is completely visible from my position. The nearly nonexistent bikini bottom has molded to her ass cheeks like a second skin.
And holy mother of—the sheer material has drawn up between her legs. I might as well be looking at her naked ass with as much as I can see.
I can’t fucking take another second of my painfully hard erection.
Like a teenage boy who’s never seen tits before, I frantically unbuckle my belt and pop the button on my jeans.
My dick is so hard and heavy, it starts to unzip my jeans from the pressure it’s exerting through my briefs.
I can’t be bothered to lower my pants below my ass, so I pull the waistband of my briefs underneath my aching balls.
I firmly grip my cock to relieve the rapidly building pressure, but it does me no good. Because Isabelle bends further forward over the edge of the basin to fiddle with the control panel, and I can see the edge of her pussy lip peeking out from the crotch of her bikini.
Pre-cum beads on the throbbing head of my dick. Lightheaded, I brace my other hand against the kitchen counter and tilt my hips back to give me enough room to furiously jack myself off.
She resubmerges into the water and moves to the opposite side.
Now unknowingly facing me, she sits up onto the underwater ledge.
At the sight of her nipples straining through the fabric, my teeth ache to bite down on them.
I pump my hand up and down my cock one, two, three more times and I come all over my fist, blood roaring in my ears.
I’ve never come so hard in my entire life, and she didn’t even touch me. My uncharacteristic voyeurism and the huge load I’ve blown that’s dripping down my forearm tells me one thing.
She’s mine.
The storm passed the town we're in, but it’s heading directly for Swiftwater. Travel advisories glare from my phone warning drivers to stay home if at all possible, and that the highway we would’ve taken is closed due to a small avalanche.
Isabelle lays out the leftover muffins and fruit from yesterday.
I fucking should’ve known better when I packed the food for this trip.
The damn company pays for it so it’s not like I was trying to be cheap.
I underestimated the storm and figured we’d be on the road this morning. What kind of man can’t feed his woman?
“Sorry, I know it’s not much. Maybe we can go into town for some supplies?”
With a curt nod, and more bite in my tone than I intend, I say, “We can take off after breakfast.” Hurt flashes across her face, and I backpedal. “It’s my fault we don’t have enough provisions. I’m not mad at you, Isabelle. I’m mad at myself.”
Taking my seat, she playfully bumps my arm with her shoulder and passes me a muffin. I'd chop off my arm to be putting her muffin in my mouth instead of this one. I bet it’s just as sweet.
Now is not the time to imagine eating Isabelle’s pussy!
Our trip to town is easy enough, and I substantially over-buy food and supplies to compensate for my failure as a provider. The afternoon passes lazily. After a delicious homemade lasagna dinner, we melt into the couch by the fireplace. Isabelle crickets her feet together with toasty satisfaction.
She leans her head back onto the cushion and turns her beautiful face towards me.
The firelight dances across her features, making her even more irresistible.
For a moment I want to hide my face. Surely the fire is casting shadows across my scars making them look more horrific.
But Isabelle watches me with such adoration, I resist. I’ve got my arm slung over the back of the couch, our bodies turned in towards each other, making a cozy little alcove.
Isabelle breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
My gut lurches painfully. I can’t deny her a thing, but the last time she “asked me something,” I poured my heart out into her hands and told her about my dream for the ranch.
“Go on,” I acquiesce, having a sinking feeling I know where this is going.
She hesitates and reaches her hand out to touch my forearm but second guesses herself and pulls it back to her lap to pluck at her blanket. I desperately want to feel her touch, but with what I fear she's about to ask, I’m not sure how I’ll react.
“You don’t have to, so please, tell me to piss off if I'm crossing the line.” Her eyes reverently take in my features, and I know. I withdraw my arm from the sofa back and grip painfully above my knees.
“Will you tell me about your accident?” she asks, anxiety lacing her tone, fearful of my reaction.
At my hesitation, she adds, “I want you to know I’ve never asked around about you or nosed into your business. This is your story to tell, and I need you to know that I care about you.”
She looks down pointedly at her busy fingers and says quietly, “Trust me, I know all about how a single moment can change your entire life.”
My hackles rise and I know I’m going to need to know what the hell that means, but now isn't the time. I want to share this with her. I spread out a bit more on the couch, getting as comfortable as possible and I begin.
“As much as I tell people, and myself, that my accident doesn’t affect me, that I don’t think about it, it's laughable how untrue that is. I think about my accident every time I'm unlucky enough to catch my reflection.”