Chapter 005 Ariel
The cabin door closes behind Joel with a solid thud that echoes right through my chest. It's final. Decisive. A hard line slammed down between the raging storm outside and whatever the hell is about to unfold in here.
My heart slams against my ribs as I watch him prowl the space, all fluid control. He tosses another log onto the fire, sparks snapping up the chimney. Checks the windows with quick, assessing glances. Rattles the door latch once, twice, like he's securing the perimeter of his territory.
His territory. And I'm smack in the middle of it.
The thought hits me low in the gut. I'm still swimming in his clothes—the flannel shirt hanging loose and soft against my skin, the jeans bunched at my ankles earlier but now riding high enough to feel like a brand. I should look ridiculous, drowned in all this fabric. Instead, it feels like I'm already marked. Already his.
Joel turns from the fire, flames carving sharp shadows across his face. His eyes lock on mine from across the room, and the raw intensity in them yanks the air straight out of my lungs. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to.
The tension humming between us has been coiling tighter since he hauled me in from that frozen waterfall. Since he cut through the blizzard to drag me here. Since we stood on that ridge in the snow, and he growled that warning about being careful what I ask for.
I'm done being careful.
"Joel," I whisper. His name hangs there—a question. An invitation.
He crosses the room in three long strides, eating up the space until he's right in front of me. Close enough that his body heat seeps through the layers between us. Close enough that I catch the sharp tang of pine, woodsmoke, and something deeper, more essentially him clinging to his skin.
His hand lifts, cups my face. His thumb drags slow across my cheekbone, the touch so gentle it nearly buckles my knees.
"Last chance," he says, voice gravel-rough with the effort of holding back. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."
I lean into his palm, turning my head to press my lips against the rough skin there. Warm. Callused. Tasting faintly of salt and cold. "I don't want you to stop."
His jaw ticks tight. Something flares hot in his eyes—control cracking at the edges. His hand shifts to the back of my neck, fingers knotting in my hair as he reels me in.
Our first kiss is shockingly soft. A brush of lips. Almost tentative. Like he's asking permission one last goddamn time.
But I'm finished with questions. I push closer, parting my lips under his, urging him on. A low growl vibrates from his chest, rumbling straight through me, and just like that, the softness shatters.
Now it's all fire and demand. His tongue sweeps in, claiming mine in bold strokes. His free hand clamps my hip, yanking me flush against him. I gasp into his mouth at the feel of him—hard length pressing insistent against my stomach through the clothes. He's huge. Everywhere. His hands span my waist like they were made for it.
Joel breaks away, mouth trailing hot down my neck. Teeth scrape light over the pulse point, sending sparks skittering across my skin. "Been wanting to taste you since I saw you out in that snow," he mutters, breath scorching my throat. "Looking like something I wasn't supposed to have."
"Touch me," I breathe, arching up into him. "Please, Joel."
He doesn't hesitate. One smooth move, and he's backing me up against the wall. The rough logs bite into my shoulders, warmed from the fire nearby, but it's nothing to the solid wall of him pinning me there. His big hand snags both my wrists, hauling them up over my head and trapping them in one iron grip.
"Like this?" It's not really a question. His other hand dives under the flannel hem, calluses rasping over my stomach, climbing higher until he palms my breast through the bra. "This what you want, sweetheart?"
"Yes." The word punches out on a gasp as his thumb rolls over my nipple. Sparks shoot down my spine, pooling hot between my legs. "God, yes."
He takes my mouth again, deeper this time. Hungrier. Tongue thrusting in time with the knead of his hand on my breast. I tug against his hold on my wrists—not hard, not to escape, just enough to let him know I'm here for it. Alive in it.
He pulls back a fraction, lips curving into something sharp and predatory against mine. "Struggling won't help," he murmurs, nipping my lower lip. "I've got you right where I want you."
Heat floods me fresh, soaking through my panties. I should feel exposed, how fast my body betrays me. How quick I melt under his command. But shame's got no place here—not with this clawing need swallowing me whole.
His fingers make quick work of the flannel buttons, popping them open one by one. Cool air licks my skin as the shirt gapes wide. I shiver, nipples peaking harder under his stare.
He lets go of my wrists long enough to shrug the shirt off my shoulders. It pools at our feet. His gaze drops, darkens as he drinks me in—bra straining over my breasts, soft waist dipping to hips still wrapped in his jeans. "Beautiful," he says, voice stripped raw. Honest. It lands like truth.
"Turn around."
I do it without a second thought. Palms flat to the warm wood, facing the wall. He crowds in behind me, chest brushing my back. His fingers sweep my hair aside, baring my neck. Then his mouth latches on—that spot where neck meets shoulder. He sucks hard, teeth grazing, and I moan loud as the sting blooms into heat. A mark. His.
"Mine," he growls right against my skin. The word vibrates through me, possessive as a brand. My knees shake.
His hands slide around my waist, one splaying wide over my stomach, anchoring me back against him. The other dips lower, under the jeans waistband, into my panties. Fingers find the slick mess between my thighs.
"Fuck," he breathes hot in my ear, sliding through my folds. "So wet for me already."
I whimper, thighs clamping on instinct as he circles my clit—precise, unhurried strokes that send ripples outward. His arm bands tighter around my waist, holding me up as my legs go liquid.
I grind back against him, feeling that thick ridge of his cock straining his pants. He groans low, hips jerking once.
"Not yet." He pulls his hand free, slick fingers trailing fire up my hip. "Not like this."
Before I can whine at the loss, he's spinning me to face him. Hands hook under my thighs, lifting me easy—like I weigh nothing. I lock my legs around his waist, gasping sharp as his hardness grinds direct against my core.
He carries me across the room to the sturdy wooden table, sets me on the edge. Gentle, despite the feral hunger in his eyes.
"Want to see you," he says, hands already at my bra clasp. "All of you."
It snaps open, falls away. I fight the urge to cross my arms—bare, flushed, nipples tight under the room's warmth and his stare. He looks at me like I'm a revelation. Like he could devour me whole.
He dips his head, mouth closing hot and wet over one nipple. I cry out, the suction pulling straight to my clit. Tongue swirls, teeth graze just shy of pain. His hand claims the other breast, thumb mirroring the rhythm.
I spear my fingers through his dark hair, holding him there. Arching hard into it.
He switches sides, cool air hitting the wet peak and making me shudder deeper. His hand drifts to my hip, tugging the jeans.
"Lift up."
I do. He peels them down my thighs, off my ankles. Now it's just panties, clinging damp.
Joel straightens, eyes going near-black as he scans me—perched on his table, legs dangling, body bared and quivering. "Look at you," he rumbles, voice low enough I feel it in my bones. "So fucking perfect."
He steps between my thighs, big hands gripping my knees, spreading them wider. Tugs me to the table's edge. Exposed. Aching. His fingers ghost the panty edge, and I squirm, chasing friction.
"Patience." There's a tease in his tone, rough-edged. He hooks the elastic, drags them slow down my legs. Torturous.
Naked now. Him still dressed. The imbalance should twist me up. It doesn't. It's a rush—his eyes on me like I'm priceless. Like his grip's fraying thread by thread.
His palms slide up my thighs, parting them further. "Want to taste you."
He drops to his knees before I can answer. First lick—flat tongue on my clit—nearly whites out my vision. I gasp, hands scrabbling for the table edge. He holds my thighs wide, thumbs digging into soft inner flesh. Licks deliberate. Sucks focused. Alternating firm laps with feather teases until I'm bucking, breath ragged.
"Joel." It's a moan, hips jerking. "Oh God."
He hums against me—vibration layering on—driving me higher. Tension coils tight low in my belly, release shimmering close.
"Please." Not even sure what for.
He knows. Rises smooth, hands at his belt. I watch, pulse throbbing, as buckle clinks open. Jeans and boxers shoved down just enough. His cock springs free—thick, long, intimidating. Doubt flickers—will it fit?—then drowns in fresh want.
"Look at me." Command, eyes locking mine. Electric. "Tell me you want this. Want me."
"I want you." I hook my legs around his waist, pulling. "Please, Joel. I need you inside me."
He groans, hand fisting my hair to tilt my head back. Mouth claims my throat as he notches at my entrance. Pushes in slow.
Stretch burns sweet—fullness teetering pleasure-pain. He inches deep, muscles rigid under my palms, giving me time.
"So tight," he rasps against my neck. "So perfect."
Fully in, we freeze. Breathing hard. I'm stuffed full, claimed primal. His forehead to mine, control etched in every line.
"Okay?" Concern threads his voice, even now.
"More than okay." I rock my hips, taking him deeper. "Please move."
First thrust jolts me half off the table. I clutch his shoulders. He sets a rhythm—measured, deep, nailing spots that spark fireworks up my nerves.
Table groans under us, mixing with our breaths, fire pops.
"Fuck, you feel good." Pace ramps, control thinning. "So wet. So tight around me."
Moans are all I've got, body chasing the climb. His hands bracket my hips, fingers bruising soft as he hauls me into each drive. Pinch of pain amps it all.
He stills sudden, deep inside. Lifts me again before I complain—filled and shifting, gasp ripping free. Carries me to the rug by the fire, lowers us gentle.
"Want you under me."
Firelight dances over him as he yanks his shirt off. Chest bare—muscled slabs, abs cut tight. Scars etch his skin: pale lines on ribs, torso. Battle map. I reach, trace one along his side.
He snags my hand, presses it to his chest. Heart thuds wild under my palm. "Later."
He thrusts home again, deeper in this angle. I arch, cry out. His weight pins me to the thick rug—fibers prickling my back—as he drives harder. Restraint gone raw.
Legs hook high around him, shifting. We both groan—he grinds my clit perfect now. Hands roam his back, flexing muscle under sweat-slick skin. Power leashed for me.
"Joel." Tension spikes, brutal. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Not stopping." Growl edges frantic. "Not ever. You're mine now."
Possession tips me closer. Hips buck to match. Fire throws our shadows wild on the wall—twisting, merging.
He braces one arm, hand dives between. Thumb finds my clit, circles firm.
Muscles seize around him. He grunts deep.
"That's it." Pressure perfect. "Come for me, Ariel."
Name on his lips shatters me. Pleasure crashes—waves ripping cries from my throat. Nails rake his shoulders. Lost.
My clench breaks him. Rhythm stutters. One deep bury, he follows—shuddering, pulsing hot inside. Groan guttural.
Aftershocks milk him. We gasp, locked.
Long minutes pass, breaths syncing slow. His weight comforts, heavy and safe.
I stroke sweat from his back, marveling the strength that held back for me.
He rolls us side-by-side, still joined. Facing the fire. Hand sweeps hair from my face, thumb gentle on my cheek.
"Okay?" Voice soft now, checking.
I smile, kiss his chest over that hammering heart. "More than okay. Perfect."
Arm tightens, tucking me into his heat. Fire cracks soft. Storm howls distant.
His. Mine. Finally.