Chapter 5 – Carrie
The cabin is silent except for the gentle pattering of rain against the windows and the occasional pop from the fireplace.
I've been sitting on the edge of Hugh's bed for what feels like hours, though it's probably only been minutes.
My fingers twist nervously in my lap, my mind replaying that kiss over and over—the rough press of his beard against my skin, the unexpected softness of his lips, the way my entire body seemed to ignite at his touch.
After Aria interrupted us, Hugh retreated into himself even more completely than before. He barely looked at me as he rushed back to the cabin, leaving me standing alone in the mud, my lips still tingling.
I gave them space, wandering the perimeter of my damaged cabin, trying to make sense of what had happened between us.
But as evening approached, the thought of spending another night alone in the cold, damp ruins of my aunt's cabin was too much to bear.
So I found myself here, back in Hugh's space, sitting on the edge of his bed after he gruffly offered it to me for the night.
He insisted on taking the couch, and I didn't have the energy to argue.
Aria is already asleep in her room, exhausted from the day's excitement. The house creaks and settles around me, unfamiliar yet somehow comforting. I've changed into the clean clothes Hugh lent me—another oversized flannel shirt that smells faintly of pine.
The bedroom door opens slowly, and Hugh appears in the doorway, his large frame silhouetted against the warm light from the hallway.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him—hair tousled, beard slightly damp from washing his face, wearing only a thin white t-shirt and worn jeans that hang low on his narrow hips.
"You need anything?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through me.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
He nods once, hand already on the doorknob to pull it closed. "Well... goodnight, then."
"Hugh," I say softly, stopping him. "About earlier..."
His body tenses visibly, broad shoulders going rigid. "We don't need to talk about it."
"I think we do." I gather my courage, rising from the bed to face him. "You kissed me. And then you ran away."
"I didn't run," he growls, but his eyes avoid mine.
"Then what would you call it?" I step closer, drawn to him despite the warning signals radiating from his posture.
"Being responsible." His jaw clenches. "Aria needed me."
"And now?" I'm so close I can feel the heat emanating from his body. "Aria's asleep. What's your excuse now?"
His eyes finally meet mine, storm-gray and turbulent with emotions I can't fully decipher. "This is a bad idea, Carrie. You don't know what you're asking for."
"I'm not asking for anything," I whisper, even as my body betrays me, leaning unconsciously toward his. "I'm just... I'm trying to understand what's happening between us."
His hand reaches up, almost against his will, calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The simple touch sends electricity coursing through me. "Nothing's happening," he says, but his voice has lost its conviction.
"Liar," I breathe.
Something breaks in his expression. His hand slides to the back of my neck, firm but gentle, and then he's pulling me toward him, his mouth crashing down on mine with a hunger that steals my breath.
This kiss is different from the first—deeper, more desperate. There's no hesitation now, no holding back. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me, and I respond with equal fervor, my hands sliding up his chest to clutch at his shoulders.
He tastes like coffee and desire, his beard rough against my skin as he angles his head to deepen the kiss further. My body arches into his instinctively, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him.
Hugh breaks away first, breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine. "We should stop," he says, but his hands betray him, sliding down to my waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh at my hips.
"I don't want to stop," I confess, my voice barely audible over the sound of our ragged breathing.
His eyes search mine, darkened with want but still cautious. "Have you done this before?"
The question surprises me, though it shouldn't. Something about him makes me feel transparent, like he can see straight through my bravado to the nervous, inexperienced woman beneath.
"No," I admit, heat rising to my cheeks. "But I want to. With you."
He groans, a sound of both pleasure and pain. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I do." I reach up, tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the prickle of his beard against my fingertips. "I've never been more certain of anything."
For a long moment, he just looks at me, weighing, considering. Then he reaches behind him and quietly closes the bedroom door, the soft click of the latch sealing us away from the world.
"If we do this," he says, his voice low and serious, "and you want to stop at any point—any point at all—you tell me. Understood?"
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
"I need to hear you say it, Carrie."
"Yes," I whisper. "I understand."
His expression softens, and he cups my face in his large hands. "You're sure about this? About me?"
In answer, I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips to his, a gentle invitation. Hugh responds immediately, gathering me against him, his kiss deepening from tender to consuming in the space of a heartbeat.
His hands slide down my sides, hiking up the hem of the flannel shirt, his rough palms skimming over the bare skin of my thighs. I shiver at the contact, goosebumps rising wherever he touches.
"Cold?" he murmurs against my lips.
"No," I breathe. "Just... sensitive."
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, the sound so unexpected it makes me smile against his mouth.
"Good to know," he says, deliberately tracing his fingers higher along my inner thigh.
My breath hitches as his touch nears the edge of my underwear. No one has ever touched me there, and the anticipation makes me tremble.
Hugh senses my nervousness and pulls back slightly, studying my face. "We can go slow," he says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it.
"I don't want slow," I admit, surprising myself with my boldness. "I want you."
Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes. He steps back, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of his bare chest—broad, muscular, dusted with dark hair that narrows to a tantalizing trail disappearing beneath his jeans. Scars mark his skin here and there, telling stories of a hard life lived outdoors.
"Your turn," he says, his voice rough with desire.
With shaking fingers, I unbutton the flannel shirt, letting it slip from my shoulders to pool at my feet. I stand before him in nothing but my underwear, fighting the urge to cover myself.
I've never been confident about my body—my full breasts, soft stomach, the curve of my hips—but the way Hugh looks at me makes me feel beautiful.
"Christ, Carrie," he breathes, his eyes darkening as they travel over me. "You're gorgeous."
Before I can respond, he's pulling me against him, the feel of his bare chest against mine drawing a gasp from my lips. His skin is hot, almost feverish, and I can feel the rapid pounding of his heart matching my own.
Hugh walks me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed. He lowers me gently onto the mattress, following me down, his weight supported on his forearms as he hovers above me. His mouth finds mine again, then trails along my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear.
"Tell me what you like," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.
"I don't... I don't know," I admit. "I've never..."
He pulls back to look at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Never? Not even...?"
I shake my head, feeling inexperienced and young under his gaze.
Something shifts in his expression—tenderness replacing some of the raw hunger. "Then we'll figure it out together," he says, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
His hands become more deliberate, more careful as they explore my body. He cups my breast through my bra, his thumb brushing over the hardened peak, drawing a soft moan from my throat. Encouraged by my response, he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, sliding it down my arms and tossing it aside.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, lowering his head to take my nipple into his mouth.
The sensation is electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him to me. His beard tickles the sensitive skin of my breast, adding another layer of sensation that makes me gasp.
Hugh takes his time, learning my body with his hands and mouth, discovering places I never knew could bring such pleasure. By the time his fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear, I'm breathing hard, my skin flushed and hyper-sensitive.
"Okay?" he asks, waiting for my nod before sliding the fabric down my legs.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but all I feel is wanted. The way Hugh looks at me—like I'm precious and desirable all at once—chases away any lingering insecurity.
He stands to remove his jeans and boxers, and I can't help but stare. He's magnificent—all hard planes and lean muscle, his arousal evident and intimidating. A flicker of anxiety passes through me, but it's quickly overshadowed by desire.
Hugh moves back to the bed, positioning himself between my thighs. Instead of covering my body with his, though, he slides down, pressing kisses to my stomach, my hip bone, the inside of my thigh.
"What are you—" My question ends in a gasp as his mouth finds my center.
The sensation is overwhelming—hot, wet, intimate in a way I never imagined. His tongue sweeps along my most sensitive flesh, exploring with deliberate pressure that makes my thighs tremble.
My hips buck involuntarily, but Hugh's large hands grip my thighs firmly, holding me open and steady as he works against me.