Chapter 5 – Ariel
The cabin door closes behind Joel with a solid thud that seems to echo in my chest. The sound is final, decisive—a barrier between the wild storm outside and whatever is about to happen in here.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch him move through the space, his movements fluid and controlled as he adds another log to the fire, checks the windows, secures the perimeter of his domain.
His domain. And now I'm in it.
The thought sends a shiver through me. I'm still wearing his clothes, the flannel shirt soft against my skin, the jeans bundled at the bottom. I should feel awkward, swallowed by fabric, but instead I feel marked.
Claimed, even before his hands have touched me.
Joel turns from the fire, his face cast in sharp relief by the dancing flames. His eyes find mine across the room, and the intensity in them steals my breath. He doesn't speak. Doesn't need to.
The air between us crackles with tension that's been building since he found me by the frozen waterfall, since he guided me through the storm, since he stood with me in the snow and warned me to be careful what I asked for.
I'm not being careful anymore.
"Joel," I whisper, his name a question and an invitation.
He crosses the room in three long strides, and suddenly he's right there, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the pine and smoke and masculine scent that clings to his skin.
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone in a gesture so unexpectedly gentle it makes my knees weak.
"Last chance," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."
I lean into his touch, turning my face to press my lips against his palm. "I don't want you to stop."
Something shifts in his expression—a tightening of his jaw, a flare in his eyes that speaks of control slipping. His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me toward him.
The first brush of his lips against mine is shockingly soft, a question rather than a demand.
But I'm done with questions. I press closer, opening my mouth under his, inviting him deeper. A growl rumbles in his chest, the sound vibrating through my body, and suddenly there's nothing soft about his kiss.
It's all heat and demand, his tongue sliding against mine as his free hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him.
I gasp at the contact, at the hard length of him pressing against my stomach through our clothes. He's huge everywhere, his hands spanning my waist.
Joel breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, teeth scraping gently against sensitive skin. "Been wanting to taste you since I saw you in the snow," he murmurs, his breath hot against my throat. "Looking like something I wasn't supposed to touch."
"Touch me," I breathe, arching into him. "Please, Joel."
His response is immediate and overwhelming.
In one fluid motion, he backs me against the nearest wall, pressing me into the rough-hewn logs, his body a solid wall of muscle pinning me in place.
The wood is warm from the nearby fire, but it's nothing compared to the heat of him as he grabs my wrists in one large hand and pins them above my head.
"Like this?" he asks, but it's not really a question. His free hand slides under the hem of the flannel shirt, callused fingers finding the soft skin of my stomach, trailing upward until he's cupping my breast through my bra. "Is this what you want, sweetheart?"
"Yes," I gasp as his thumb brushes over my nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting down my spine. "God, yes."
He leans down to take my mouth again, the kiss deeper, more demanding this time. His tongue explores, claims, conquers, while his hand kneads my breast, thumb circling the hardened peak through the thin fabric.
I strain against his grip on my wrists, not really wanting to break free but needing him to know I'm not passive in this.
Joel smiles against my mouth, the expression more predatory than amused. "Struggling won't help," he murmurs, nipping at my lower lip. "I've got you exactly where I want you."
The words send a fresh wave of heat through me, dampening the already slick patch between my thighs. I should be embarrassed by how quickly my body responds to him, how easily I surrender to his control, but there's no room for shame in the fierce need consuming me.
His hand leaves my breast to work at the buttons of the flannel, deftly unfastening them one by one. The air kisses my exposed skin as the shirt falls open, and I shiver at the contrast between the room's warmth and the coolness against my flushed body.
Joel releases my wrists to slide the shirt from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at our feet.
His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me in just my bra, his gaze lingering on the curves of my breasts spilling over the cups, the softness of my waist, the fullness of my hips still hidden by his pants.
"Beautiful," he breathes, and the raw honesty in his voice makes me believe him. "Turn around."
I obey without hesitation, facing the wall, palms flat against the warm wood.
Behind me, I feel him step closer, his chest brushing my back as he sweeps my hair to one side, exposing my neck. His lips find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I moan as he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.
"Mine," he growls against my skin, and the possessiveness in that single word makes me tremble.
His hands slide around my waist, one splaying flat against my stomach, holding me against him. I feel the fabric loosening around my hips, and then his hand is slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, fingers seeking and finding the slick heat between my thighs.
"Fuck," he breathes against my ear as his fingers slide through my folds. "So wet for me already."
I can only whimper in response as he circles my clit with precision, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.
His other arm wraps around my waist, supporting me as my knees threaten to give out. I press back against him, feeling the hard ridge of his bulge against my ass, and he groans, the sound vibrating through my body.
"Not yet," he says, withdrawing his hand from my panties. "Not like this."
Before I can protest the loss, he's turning me to face him again, lifting me as if I weigh nothing at all. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as the position brings his hardness directly against me.
He carries me across the room to a sturdy wooden table, setting me on the edge with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the hunger in his eyes.
"Want to see you," he explains, his hands going to the clasp of my bra. "All of you."
The bra falls away, and I resist the urge to cover myself.
Joel's gaze is almost a physical thing, hot and appreciative as it roams over my naked breasts.
My nipples tighten under his scrutiny, and when he dips his head to take one into his mouth, I cry out at the sensation of wet heat and gentle suction.
His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through me.
One hand comes up to cup my other breast, thumb circling the nipple in rhythm with the movements of his mouth. I thread my fingers through his dark hair, holding him against me, arching into the exquisite sensation.
When he switches to my other breast, the cool air on my wet nipple makes me shiver. His hand slides from my waist to my hip, tugging at the loose pants.
"Lift up," he commands, and I comply, allowing him to pull the denim down my thighs and off completely, leaving me in just my panties.
Joel straightens, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me perched on his table, nearly naked and trembling with desire. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones. "So fucking perfect."
He steps between my spread thighs, hands gripping my knees to pull me closer to the edge of the table. The position leaves me open, vulnerable, and I can feel how wet I am, how ready for him. When his fingers trace the edge of my panties, I squirm, seeking more direct contact.
"Patience," he warns, but there's a smile in his voice as he hooks his fingers under the elastic and slowly, torturously draws the fabric down my legs.
Now I'm completely naked while he remains fully clothed, and the disparity should make me feel exposed, uncertain. But it's intoxicating—the way he looks at me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever seen, the way his control seems to slip a little more with each passing moment.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing them further apart as he moves closer. "Want to taste you," he says, dropping to his knees before I can respond.
The first stroke of his tongue against my clit nearly undoes me. I gasp, hands flying to grip the edge of the table as he explores with deliberate, maddening precision. His hands hold my thighs apart, thumbs pressing into sensitive flesh as he licks and sucks with focused intensity.
"Joel," I moan, hips bucking involuntarily. "Oh God."
He hums in response, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure building low in my belly. His tongue works with methodical skill, alternating between firm pressure and feather-light teasing until I'm gasping and trembling on the edge of release.
"Please," I whimper, not even sure what I'm asking for.
Joel seems to know.
He rises in one fluid motion, his hands immediately going to his belt. I watch, mesmerized and still trembling from the pleasure that had been building, as he undoes the buckle and pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself.
He's large—intimidatingly so—and for a moment I wonder if this will work. But the concern dissolves under the tide of renewed desire as he positions himself between my thighs.