Chapter 4 – Megan
The drive back to the cabin feels different this time. The rain has eased to a fine mist that clings to the windshield, and the forest on either side of the narrow road is dark and dripping, branches heavy with water that catches the headlights and scatters them into fragments of silver light.
Morgan drives with the same steady focus, I'm acutely aware of him in the enclosed space—the way his shoulder shifts when he adjusts his grip, the faint sound of his breathing, the warmth radiating off his body despite the cold seeping in through the vents.
When we reach the cabin, the world feels smaller than it did this morning, like everything beyond the porch light has ceased to exist. He cuts the engine and the silence that follows is thick.
Inside, the cabin smells like wood smoke and the faint herbal scent of the tea, and the warmth wraps around me immediately.
Morgan moves past me to add wood to the fire, and the space is tight enough that his arm brushes mine, a fleeting contact that sends a jolt of awareness through me sharp enough to make my breath catch.
He doesn't apologize or step back, just continues what he's doing, and I stand there watching the play of firelight across his shoulders, noticing the way his muscles shift beneath his shirt.
He straightens and turns to face me, and for a long moment we just look at each other across the small space.
Then he moves to the kitchen, pulling down mugs and filling the kettle, and I follow without thinking, drawn by the simple pull of his presence.
When he hands me the mug a few minutes later, his fingers brush mine and linger just a fraction longer than necessary. We move to the couch, and when he sits he's close enough that our knees touch.
I wrap my hands around the mug and try to steady myself against the rising awareness that's been building all day.
"You were in the military, weren’t you?" I ask, watching steam rise from my tea.
He takes a slow sip, considering. "Yeah. Logistics mostly." His hand rests on his thigh, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off it. "Kept things moving when everything else was chaos."
I shift slightly, my knee pressing more firmly against his. "That's why you're always planning three steps ahead."
"Habit." His mouth quirks slightly. "Hard to turn it off."
His free hand moves to rest on the back of the couch behind me. I set my mug down and turn toward him more fully, our legs now pressed together from knee to hip.
"I was twenty when I met him," I say quietly, the words coming easier than I expected because Morgan's presence somehow makes vulnerability feel less dangerous. "Fresh out of a shitty retail job, no real plans. He seemed like he had everything figured out."
Morgan's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. His hand drops from the couch to my shoulder, fingers resting there lightly, thumb brushing the curve where my neck meets my collarbone. "How long before things changed?"
"Slowly at first. Little comments about what I wore, who I saw. Suggestions that felt like care." I lean into his touch without thinking, and his hand settles more firmly. "By the time I realized it wasn't care, I was already cut off from everyone who might've noticed."
His fingers tighten briefly on my shoulder before he forces them to relax, but I can feel the tension in his body, the controlled anger simmering just beneath his calm exterior. "You were a kid. He picked you because you were young enough not to see it coming."
The validation hits hard, and I shift closer. "I kept thinking if I just did better, tried harder—"
"It wouldn't have mattered." His voice is rough, certain. "That's not on you, that's on him."
His hand leaves my shoulder to cup the side of my face, his palm warm and slightly rough against my skin, his thumb brushing my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my throat tight.
I'm totally focused on how close we are now, how his thigh is pressed against mine, how his hand on my face is cradling rather than just touching, how our breathing has started to sync.
My hand resting on his chest can feel his heart beating faster than it was a moment ago, and when I look up at him his gaze is locked on my mouth with an intensity that makes heat pool low in my belly.
He doesn't move closer. Just watches me, waiting, giving me space to decide.
I let my hand slide up his chest slowly, feeling muscle and warmth beneath fabric, until my fingers reach the back of his neck. His breath catches, barely audible, but I feel it.
I lean in slowly, watching his eyes darken, watching his control hold even as I close the distance between us.
When my lips brush his, it's tentative, testing, and for a heartbeat neither of us moves.
Then his hand tightens on my face and he kisses me back slowly, like he's savoring it. His mouth is warm and firm against mine, and I open to him, letting the kiss deepen by degrees.
His free hand finds my hip, settling there with just enough pressure to ground me, and I shift closer still, my body angling toward his.
The kiss deepens further, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me gasp softly, and I feel his restraint in every deliberate movement, carefully holding himself back, letting me control the pace even as I can feel the tension coiled tight in his body.
I pull back just enough to catch my breath, and his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing harder than we were.
His hand on my hip flexes, fingers pressing softly into the soft flesh there, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
He starts to say something, but I kiss him again before he can finish, harder this time, and his control slips just slightly. His hand slides from my hip to my lower back, pulling me closer, and I go willingly, practically climbing into his lap as the kiss turns hungry.
My hands move to his shoulders, gripping tight, and I can feel the hard muscle beneath my palms, feel the way his body responds to mine even as he tries to keep himself in check.
I shift fully into his lap, straddling him, and the new position brings our bodies flush together in a way that makes us both freeze for a second.
I can feel him beneath me, pressing against me through our clothes, and the knowledge that he wants me this badly sends a surge of heat through me so intense it makes me dizzy.
I rock my hips forward, grinding down against the hard length of him, and he makes a sound low in his throat. His hands grip my hips hard, fingers digging in, and for a moment he just holds me there, his eyes squeezed shut like he's fighting for control.
I do it again, slower this time, watching his face as I move against him, feeling the rigid heat of him pressed right where I need friction most.
His jaw clenches, his hands flexing on my hips, and I can see him holding himself back with everything he has.
"If you need to stop—" His voice is strained, barely controlled. "Just say it."
I shake my head, my hands sliding from his shoulders to frame his face. "I'm not stopping."
Something in his expression shifts, the restraint cracking just enough to let the hunger show through, and when he kisses me again it's harder, his hands pulling me down against him as his hips rock up to meet mine.
The friction makes me gasp into his mouth, and I start grinding against him through our clothes with growing desperation.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms rough and hot against my bare skin, and I arch into his touch. I pull back just enough to yank my shirt over my head and toss it aside, and he stares at my breasts spilling over the cups of my bra.
His hands move to cup my breasts through the fabric, thumbs brushing over my nipples, making me gasp and rock harder against him.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, and he helps me pull it over his head, revealing broad shoulders and a chest marked with old scars that I want to trace with my fingers and my mouth.
I run my hands over his skin, feeling the heat and hardness of him, and he shivers under my touch. His fingers find the clasp of my bra and unhook it, and then his hands are on my bare breasts, palming them roughly, thumbs circling my nipples until I'm trembling and desperate.
He leans forward and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth scraping just enough to make me cry out.
His hands grip my hips again, holding me steady as I grind against him, and the combination of his mouth on my breast and the friction between my legs is driving me out of my mind with need.
I reach down between us, my hand finding the hard outline of him through his jeans, and I squeeze, feeling the thick length of him pulse beneath my palm. He groans against my breast, his hips jerking up involuntarily, and I work at his belt, my fingers clumsy with urgency.
He pulls back, his breathing ragged. "Bed."
I nod, and he stands with me still wrapped around him, his hands gripping my ass to support my weight as he carries me across the cabin.
He lays me down on the bed and follows me immediately, his weight pressing me into the mattress as his mouth finds mine again, hungry and demanding.
His hands move to the button of my jeans, and I lift my hips to help him strip them off along with my underwear. When I'm bare beneath him he pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze sweeping over my body.
He strips off the rest of his clothes quickly, and when he settles between my thighs I can see all of him, thick and hard and flushed, and the sight makes my body clench with anticipation.
He kisses me again, his hand sliding down my body to cup between my legs. I'm already wet, desperate, and when his fingers slide through the slickness and brush against my clit I gasp.
He works me with his fingers for a moment, circling and stroking until I'm trembling and gasping beneath him, but I don't want this.
I want him filling me completely.