Cabin Affairs

Step 6. You've Reached Your Destination, Again

Step 6. You've Reached Your Destination, Again

Playlist: “Body Like a Back Road” by Sam Hunt

Only when our breathing has gone from entirely erratic to merely laborious, do I tell him he can set me down to rest.

This is the first time he has looked at me since we crossed the finish line. Pulling his head out of my neck, he laughs. "Rest? But we are only just getting started."

I can’t help but to eye him suspiciously. He is still pressing me against a wall, still inside me, still gripping the back of my head. His strength, his closeness, his protective instincts are all sides of him I have not fully understood until this moment - and I have known him my whole life. My memories are gaining a sharp freshness as if they have just been mowed along with the overgrown grass outside.

My legs are aching, still wrapped tightly around his waist, and my ankles locked together are losing blood flow. The devilish voice on my shoulder was indeed wrong. Eric is so very, very, and intensely not bad at this.

“Right, J?” he asks with an eyebrow raised in my direction. I just felt the tension leave his body, yet his words produce a challenge. A dare; continue down this rabbit hole or die trying. Eric knows that I never back down from a dare. Besides, I am through the looking glass now. I may as well explore this wonderland a bit longer while I’m here, right? I can even feel Matthew prickling in the back of my mind, edging me onwards.

“Right, E.” I congratulate myself for managing to make the two words sound like a statement rather than a question. Though, my celebration is short-lived.

“In that case, let me show you to your bed chambers, my lady,” Eric jokes. It's ironic to hear his chivalrous choice of words while his hands are still grasping my naked body mid-air.

I barely even have time to smile back at him before he pulls us away from the wall. We’re moving. To bed chambers, presumably.

I have not had much chance to explore this cabin yet, so I don’t know at first where he is heading. So far, all I have seen is the front room living area, which is an open concept to a small kitchen. It has barstools standing at the ready in front of the peninsula, which serves as the only dining table. There are four doors that can be seen from this main room. One of them is the front entrance I came in at, while the other three are all closed. Eric takes his hand off the back of my head to turn the knob on the middle door.

Before I know it, I am airbourne. Damn, this man moves fast. A girl could get whiplash! Of course, he is EMT certified, I remind myself. With a shake of my head at that useless thought, I look around me.

Eric has thrown me onto a queen-sized bed that mercifully has the clean scent of laundry and not the smell of dusty-men’s-hunting-lodge. The country style quilt is a faded blue floral pattern and soft from what I can assume is the result of many, many washes over the years. I crab walk up to the pillows against the headboard of the bed. There are no throw pillows, as men have little use for such decorative things. Yet, there are more plush pillows for sleeping than one girl needs. I can tell by their shape that these pillows are the only new thing in this room.

Eric clambors onto the bed next to me, and my throat goes dry at having him so near me again. And so naked. He cups my face, enveloping my head in both of his large, rough hands, and kisses me.

The kiss deepens quickly, with my head turning constantly to get more of him and still remain breathing. The scruff of his light beard tickles my nose in a way that helps remind me to inhale and exhale. Thank God for little miracles.

My arms move to wrap around his shoulders, matching my chest’s direction to push toward him, but he stops me. He brings my wrists back in front of me and leans himself back enough to look at me.

“Don’t move, J,” Eric requests as he climbs off the bed. I can't help the shiver from his withdrawal. This room is much cooler than the main living area, and Eric is taking my new favorite source of heat with him.

Before he even reaches the door, I slide over to the side of the bed closest to the door, dangling my legs off the edge as if to stand up. I demand to know, “Where the hell are you going?”

“Ah! You moved,” he laments, shaking a finger at me, but he walks back to where I’m sitting on the bed. He bends and kisses me lightly on the lips between each word, “Do. Not. Move.”

Then, he disappears out the bedroom door. I try to remain seated, but it's difficult amid the commotion. There are several bangs, a shuffling of items, and one abrupt, loud thud before he re-enters the bedroom.

“What in the devil's name are you doing, E?”

He shrugs sheepishly and produces a cell phone in his hand. As I giggle, he waves it around like a trophy while explaining, “I had to get something.”

“Sounds like you had a little trouble finding it there.” I can’t help laughing more at his boyish charm.

“Yeah, well, there were a lot of clothes thrown on top, and I was in a hurry." Eric cuts a side eye at me while walking around the bedframe before deciding to add, "I may or may not have tripped over the leg of the coffee table.”

I am cracking up so hard now my sides begin to ache at the thought of this well-built man losing a fight to a coffee table while stark naked. I am laughing so much, in fact, that I momentarily forget I am also completely naked next to him in bed. The nerves that dried my throat minutes ago are a distant memory. He’s just Eric again. My friend, my E.

“Oh, shut up!” he says, also chuckling, yet wearing his fake puppy dog pout. Yep, that's Eric. My pokey little puppy.

“I can’t help it. You have the grace of a newborn foal on ice," I spurt out.

Big mistake, Jenny Lynn, I bedamn myself. I see Eric’s eyes and mouth grow wide in a display of false offense, and I know my punishment is incoming. That’s when he starts tickling me. I hate being tickled!

My immediate response is to lash out, kicking and punching until I am released from my attacker. Even though I am out of breath from a fit of laughter, I still manage to shriek out my cries that he stops. Except, Eric knows this is my typical reaction, and he is too strong to escape. He grabs both my wrists in one hand and firmly places them above my head. With his other, he manages to roll me onto my stomach so I cannot kick him without suddenly teaching my knees to bend the opposite direction. Suddenly, that same hand he used to roll me over now spanks my ass with one loud slap.

I freeze, stunned. Of course, Matthew and I have played games like these before, but this is… striking. Everything with Eric is new.

"Are you going to try to hit me anymore?" Eric asks me cautiously.

I try to tell him no, but my voice is muffled by the pillow. “What was that?”

I turn my head to the side facing Eric. With a deep breath, I grumble, "No."

"Good girl. If I let go of your hands, are you going to move?"

"No?" The upward inflection in my voice relays my hesitation, yet I feel a small smile forming in my cheeks.

Eric sighs. "Last time I told you not to move and you did, so this is your last chance to earn my trust. Don't move your hands from above your head."

"Or what?" my defiant little voice rings out. Did I really just ask him that? Me, the timid driver of the mom-mobile? I'm not sure I want to know his answer, as I’m too embarrassed by my brazen retort. Who is this sassy woman that showed up to the cabin, and where has she been all my life?

This time Eric’s chuckle is darker, rumbling from deeper in his chest. The gravel in his voice is so incredibly sexy. "Well, you either keep your hands holding onto this headboard, or I'll be forced to tie them there to make sure you keep your word."

"Eric Patrick Reily!" I shout in mock disapproval. Of course, my body's true reaction to his suggestion is anything but disapproving.

"Jenny Lynn Mayfield!" He mimics playfully back at me.

Without realizing it, he used my maiden name. I take a sharp inhale to chastise him, but the words stick in my throat as he brushes my hair to the side and begins kissing my neck and shoulder leisurely. Tingles follow each kiss, and goosebumps follow the tingles. The room is beginning to pulse and throb again. Or maybe that’s just me. His hand, now warmer from use, is still on my ass, rubbing the cheek he slapped.

In between kisses, he whispers against my skin, "Does he ever spank you, beautiful?”

“Y-ye-yes,” I stammer. I worry about his opinion of that fact, of Matthew and of me, but I shouldn't. It’s clear Eric enjoys it too. The corners of his mouth tick into a brief grin as he regards my backside.

“That settles it,” he determines with finality.

“Settles what?”

“It settles what pictures we’re sending next.”

Eric’s hand comes down harder on my ass, stinging the skin just a bit. His hand is hot as it returns to kneading and rubbing the sensitive area. But just as the pain ebbs and my breathing once again flows, he lifts his hand and comes down even harder. I yelp into the pillow at the surprise of the force. Yes, the skin is biting, but not so much so as to make it unpleasant. That last strike most definitely left its mark.

“That’s perfect, beautiful. I think that’s the best picture we can send him. My handprint on that gorgeous pink ass of yours. Remember, don’t move.”

I feel him sit up in the bed and snap a few pictures on his cell. Between the spanking and his words, I am a river whose dam has just burst, streaming with renewed vigor. Eric seems to read my mind.

“Seeing you face down on this bed right now, I’m thinking there’s probably more proof of life he’d like to see.” With that, Eric reaches in between my legs and enters my p***y with two fingers, thrusting upwards against my current. It’s too much for me not to moan at their sudden intrusion.

“f**k, beautiful. Your body does exactly what I want it to,” Eric growls in response. I cannot see him from my face-in-pillow obscured viewpoint, but I know Eric is taking a few pictures of his fingers f*****g the inside me. I wonder if they glisten with my juices. For Matthew’s sake, I hope so.

While thinking of my husband’s response, and wondering if he would be m**********g to pictures of me tonight, I don’t even realize I am moaning in rhythm to Eric’s ministrations on my s*x. I protest against his hand leaving me with a very unladylike whine.

“Don’t worry, J. I’ll take care of you,” Eric croons in my ear. It doesn’t sound placating or condescending to my current submissive position on this bed, but rather caretaking. Eric’s words and tone are ones of worship.

He wraps one hand around my upper body, just under my breasts, slightly lifting me enough to escape the pillow threatening my oxygen supply. The other is gripping the headboard railing next to my own, giving him leverage to keep his upper body weight from crushing me. Then, he enters my warm opening from behind, gliding in with ease and familiarity gained from moments before in the living room. It’s only been a series of minutes, but he is already hard and ready for me again. This is beyond my best case scenario. The man who can give me that turnaround time deserves a Nobel Prize. Peace, chemistry, or freaking culinary skills - I really don’t care which.

His thrusts are slow and long. Taking his time, as we neglected to in the other room. I feel every millimeter of his manhood filling me so completely with both him and pleasure. I cannot tell if I am cursing at the second of being too full with his inward thrust, or too empty with his outward withdrawal. Yet, curse I must, as I cannot keep these feelings inside. These feelings deserve respect. They must be recognized and each be given names. Such names that the church would rightfully condemn me for, as they are the divine made sinful.

We continue for what is either minutes or days, but the concept of time is not one I am currently familiar with. Yet, I notice the room is growing dark as little to no sunlight is illuminating us through the only window. And my arms are growing numb holding the headboard.

“I need you, J. I need to feel you come on me again. I need to feel your body shake underneath me,” he groans. Eric’s hand under my chest lowers down my stomach and between my legs. He finds my c**t with haste and rubs tight circles onto it with his middle finger. The circles quicken in pace to match the newfound fury of his thrusts into me. My breath stops as my whole body pulses, coming undone for him as he asked.

“Just like that, J,” he praises right before I feel his final plunge, shooting ropes of his own c*m somewhere far inside me.

He collapses to the side of my body, but the strong male arm around me, essentially propping me up, doesn’t leave. Instead, Eric helps to lower my arms and rubs blood flow back into them, kneading them with his strong fingers. Then, he pulls me close against his chest, wrapping me tight to him so we can both use our body heat to keep warm. I can barely keep my eyes open the longer we lie there in post-orgasmic bliss. The emotions and activities of the day have exhausted me.

I know he kicks a blanket over the two of us at some point, but I am so tired that I don’t bother to look around. In fact, I cannot quite tell if his next words are the effects of our new reality, or my happy dream state, but I think Erics whispers into my hair, “Damn it, Jenny Lynn. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

I guess I’ll worry about that tomorrow.