Chapter One: Voyeur Invitation

The night pressed against the windows of Sherry’s third-floor apartment like a held breath, thick and suffocating. She had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the glow of her phone casting long, shifting shadows across the walls as she scrolled through articles on emotional detachment—ironic, really—before finally giving up. The sheets tangled around her legs, damp with the kind of restless heat that came from too much thinking and not enough sleep. With a sigh, she kicked them off and sat up, running a hand through her hair. The waves had long since escaped the loose ponytail she’d tied before bed, strands clinging to the nape of her neck.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that made the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen sound like a roar. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet pressing into the cool hardwood as she stood. The air conditioning had clicked off sometime after midnight, leaving the apartment stale and warm, the kind of warmth that made her skin prickle. She padded down the hallway, the floorboards creaking softly beneath her weight, her steps automatic, guided by muscle memory more than thought. The hallway stretched long and narrow, lined with framed prints of abstract landscapes—gifts from her mother, who insisted that empty walls were a sign of an empty mind.

She passed the guest bathroom, the door ajar, the scent of lavender and lemon from her evening shower still lingering. Then the spare room, now more of a storage space for boxes of books and half-finished research notes, the desk buried under stacks of journals and highlighted articles. She didn’t let herself glance inside. That room was a monument to all the things she should be doing, and right now, she couldn’t bear the weight of it.

The dining room opened up before her, a vast space dominated by a long, rectangular table she’d found at a thrift store and refinished herself. It was solid oak, scarred in places from years of use, the kind of table that demanded to be surrounded by people, by laughter and clinking glasses and the kind of conversations that stretched into the early hours. But tonight, it stood empty, the chairs tucked in neatly, as if waiting for a gathering that would never come. The windows took up nearly the entire far wall, floor-to-ceiling panes that offered a view of the city’s skyline during the day and, at night, the darkened facades of the buildings across the street.

Sherry paused mid-step, her body tensing.

Because across the way, in the apartment directly opposite hers, the lights were on.

Not the harsh overhead fluorescents, but the warm, golden glow of lamps—one on a side table, another on the floor, casting long shadows that moved in ways that weren’t quite random. And then she saw them. Or rather, she saw him first, his back to the window, broad shoulders flexing as he moved. His skin was pale in the lamplight, the muscles of his arms defined as he braced himself against the glass. And then the woman—her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his hair as he kissed her, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that made Sherry’s throat go dry.

She should have looked away. She knew she should have looked away. But something rooted her to the spot, her fingers curling into the hem of her sleep shirt—a faded, oversized tee from an old college track meet, the fabric soft from too many washes. The woman’s head tipped back, her mouth open in a silent gasp as the man’s hands slid down her thighs, his touch deliberate, possessive. Sherry could see the way his fingers flexed against the woman’s skin, the way his body moved in a rhythm that was somehow both urgent and unhurried.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a steady, insistent beat that matched the slow roll of the man’s hips. She should have been embarrassed. She should have been anything but what she was—fascinated. Transfixed. The heat that had been restless in her skin now pooled low in her stomach, heavy and aching. She hadn’t been touched like that in months. Not since him. Not since the last time Daniel had kissed her like he meant it, before the excuses started, before the distance grew into something neither of them could cross.

Sherry exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the glass just enough to blur the scene for a second before it cleared again. The woman’s fingers dug into the man’s shoulders, her nails leaving faint red marks that would probably be gone by morning. But for now, they were there—proof, evidence, something tangible in a world that had felt increasingly intangible lately. Sherry’s own fingers twitched, as if she could reach out and trace those marks herself.

She shouldn’t be watching this. It was invasive. Voyeuristic. Wrong.

And yet.

She didn’t move.

Instead, she stepped closer to the window, her bare toes curling against the cool wood of the floor. The couple across the way were too absorbed in each other to notice her—of that, she was sure. The man’s mouth trailed down the woman’s neck, his lips parting as he tasted her skin, and the woman arched into him, her back bowing off the couch. Sherry could almost hear the sounds they were making—the wet slide of tongues, the hitch of breath, the low, guttural noises that came from a place beyond words.

Her own body responded without permission, her nipples tightening against the thin fabric of her shirt, the ache between her thighs growing sharper. She pressed her palms against the glass, as if that could somehow anchor her, keep her from doing something reckless. The cold seeped into her skin, a stark contrast to the heat coiling inside her.

She needed a distraction. Something to break the spell.

The kitchen was just beyond the dining room, separated by a half-wall with a countertop she’d meant to turn into a breakfast bar but never got around to finishing. She moved toward it, her steps quiet, deliberate. The freezer hummed as she pulled it open, the sudden rush of cold air making her shiver. Inside, nestled between a bag of frozen peas and a half-empty carton of veggie burgers, was the pint of salted caramel ice cream she’d bought after her last therapy session—self-care, her therapist had called it. Sherry called it avoidance, but tonight, she didn’t care.

She grabbed the pint and a spoon from the drawer, then hesitated. The lights were still off. If she turned them on, she’d be visible. Exposed. And something about that thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her, the kind that made her skin feel too tight.

No. She’d stay in the dark.

Sherry leaned against the counter, the cold edge biting into her hip as she peeled back the lid of the ice cream. The first bite was too sweet, the salt not quite enough to cut through it, but she didn’t stop. She ate mechanically, her gaze drifting back to the window, to the couple who were now tangled together on the couch, limbs intertwined, mouths fused. The man had the woman beneath him, his hands pinning her wrists above her head as he kissed her, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world.

Sherry’s spoon stilled halfway to her mouth.

Because the man had turned his head. Just slightly. Just enough that his profile was visible in the lamplight, the sharp line of his jaw, the dark stubble that shadowed it. And then—

His eyes met hers.

Not a glance. Not a flicker of movement in her periphery. A direct, unmistakable look.

Sherry’s breath caught.

He didn’t startle. Didn’t pull away from the woman beneath him. Instead, his lips curved into a smile—slow, knowing, the kind of smile that made her stomach drop. And then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted one hand and waved.

Just once.

A single, deliberate motion.

Sherry’s grip on the spoon tightened, the metal biting into her palm. She should have looked away. Should have pretended she hadn’t seen him. Should have run. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because then he did something worse.

He crooked his finger.

Come here.

It wasn’t a question. It was a command. An invitation. A dare.

Sherry’s pulse spiked, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she was sure he could see it, even from across the street. The ice cream forgotten, she set the pint down on the counter, her fingers leaving smudges on the cardboard. She should say no. She should go back to bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend this never happened.

But the thing about Sherry was that she’d spent her entire life doing what she should do. And look where that had gotten her.

Alone. At 2 a.m. Watching strangers fuck because it was the closest thing she’d had to intimacy in months.

The man across the way was still looking at her, his gaze dark and heavy, his smile turning predatory when she didn’t move. The woman beneath him stirred, her lips parting as she whispered something against his ear, but he didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

Sherry’s throat went dry.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

Her fingers brushed against the windowpane, the glass cool beneath her touch. The man’s smile widened, just slightly, as if he already knew she’d come. As if he’d known all along.

Sherry exhaled sharply, her breath fogging the glass again. She should have been terrified. Should have been anything but what she was—thrilled. Alive in a way she hadn’t been in months.

She turned away from the window and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. The metal was cold in her palm, grounding. Real.

She didn’t let herself think as she slipped out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her. The hallway was dim, the overhead lights buzzing softly, casting long shadows that stretched and warped as she moved. The elevator was at the end of the hall, its doors closed, the digital display above them dark. She pressed the call button, the chime echoing too loudly in the quiet.

While she waited, she glanced down at herself—bare legs, the oversized tee clinging to her in places where the fabric had grown thin. She should have changed. Should have at least put on pants.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open with a whisper.

Sherry stepped inside.

The ride down to the lobby was too fast, the mirrored walls reflecting a woman she barely recognized—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lips parted as if she’d just run a mile. She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to still the fluttering there, the nervous, anticipatory energy that made her feel like she might vibrate out of her own skin.

The lobby was empty, the front desk unattended at this hour, the only sound the quiet hum of the vending machine in the corner. She pushed through the glass doors and stepped out into the night.

The air was cooler than she expected, the late-summer heat giving way to the first hints of autumn. It raised goosebumps on her arms, her nipples tightening beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how exposed she was—how vulnerable.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Sherry crossed the street, her sneakers silent against the pavement. The building across the way was nearly identical to hers—same brick facade, same floor-to-ceiling windows, same pretentious doorman who nodded at her as she passed, his expression carefully neutral. She didn’t know what she’d say if he asked where she was going. Just visiting a friend. Just about to do something reckless. Just trying to feel something, anything, again.

The elevator ride up was slower this time, or maybe it just felt slower, the seconds stretching out like taffy. She pressed her palms against the cool metal of the walls, her reflection staring back at her—wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, the pulse in her throat fluttering like a trapped bird.

The third floor.

Her floor.

The doors slid open, and there he was.

Leaning against the doorframe of his apartment, one shoulder propped against the wood, his arms crossed over his chest. He was taller than she’d realized, broader, his body filling the space in a way that made the hallway feel smaller. The lamplight from inside his apartment spilled out around him, casting him in gold and shadow, the planes of his face sharp—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that were still slightly swollen from kissing.

And his eyes.

Dark. Knowing.

Hungry.

Sherry’s steps faltered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched her as she approached, his gaze tracking her like a predator sizing up prey. She stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

His voice was deeper than she expected, rough around the edges, the kind of voice that would rumble against her skin if he spoke with his mouth pressed to her throat. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Sherry lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze even as her pulse hammered in her ears. “I wasn’t sure I was coming.”

A slow smile curled his lips. “Liar.”

She should have denied it. Should have turned around and walked away, back to her empty apartment, her empty bed, her empty life. But the word died on her lips because he reached out, his fingers brushing against the silver pendant at her throat—the one she never took off, the one that had been her grandmother’s.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

Sherry swallowed. “So are you.”

His hand stilled. And then, to her surprise, he laughed—a low, rich sound that seemed to vibrate through her. “Fair enough.”

He stepped back, gesturing for her to enter.

Sherry hesitated for only a second before stepping over the threshold.

The apartment was warm, the air thick with the scent of sandalwood and something sweeter—vanilla, maybe, or caramel. The layout mirrored hers, but where her space was cluttered with books and half-finished projects, this one was sleek, minimalist. The furniture was dark wood and leather, the walls adorned with abstract art that looked expensive. The couch where the woman had been—where they had been—was empty now, the throw pillows askew, one of them half-fallen to the floor.

Sherry’s stomach twisted.

Where was the woman?

The man closed the door behind her, the click of the lock echoing too loudly in the quiet. She turned to face him, her back pressing against the cool glass of the window.

“Where’s—” She stopped, her throat suddenly tight.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “She left.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Did you want her to stay?”

Sherry’s face flushed. “No. I—”

“Good.” He took a step closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his irises. “Because I didn’t either.”

Her breath hitched.

His hand came up, his knuckles grazing her cheekbone, his touch feather-light. “What’s your name?”

“Sherry.”

“Sherry,” he repeated, as if testing the weight of it. “I’m Ethan.”

She should have asked his last name. Should have asked something. But then his thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and all the questions dissolved into static.

“You were watching us,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation. Just a fact.

Sherry’s lips parted, her breath ghosting over his skin. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you liked it.”

It wasn’t a question.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Ethan’s smile turned sharp, triumphant. “I knew it.”

His mouth crashed into hers before she could protest, before she could think. His lips were hot, demanding, his tongue sliding against hers with a confidence that made her knees weak. Sherry gasped, her hands flying up to his chest, not to push him away but to anchor herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He tasted like whiskey and something darker, something addictive, and when he bit down gently on her bottom lip, she made a sound she didn’t recognize—something between a moan and a whimper.

Ethan groaned, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel how hard he was, the rigid length of him pressing against her stomach, and the knowledge that she’d done that—that she had made him this way—sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth, his voice rough. “You’re even better than I imagined.”

Sherry’s nails dug into his shoulders. “You imagined me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with desire. “Every night since you moved in.”

Her breath caught.

And then his mouth was on hers again, his hands sliding under her shirt, his touch searing against her skin. Sherry arched into him, her body moving on instinct, her mind too fogged with need to protest. This was reckless. Insane. Perfect.

Ethan’s lips trailed down her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

Sherry’s fingers tangled in his hair, her body trembling. “Don’t you dare.”

Chapter Two: Echoes of Heat

The elevator doors slid shut behind Sherry, sealing her in the dim, mirrored box as it descended. Her reflection stared back—lips swollen from Ethan’s mouth, hair tousled from his fingers, cheeks flushed with a heat that hadn’t faded. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thump of her heart beneath her thin sweater, the fabric still carrying the faint, musky scent of him. What the hell did I just do? The question hummed in her skull, but it didn’t feel like panic. Not entirely. There was something else beneath it, something warmer, heavier—a pulse of anticipation, of want.

The doors opened with a quiet chime, and she stepped into the lobby, the cool air of the building’s entrance raising goosebumps along her arms. The night doorman, an older man with a perpetually bored expression, barely glanced up from his phone as she passed. Sherry kept her gaze straight ahead, her pace steady, as if she weren’t carrying the weight of a stranger’s hands on her skin, his voice rough in her ear—You want this. Say it. She had said it. She had meant it.

Outside, the city breathed around her, the hum of traffic and distant laughter from a bar down the block filling the air. The sidewalk was slick with the remnants of an earlier rain, the streetlights casting long, wavering shadows. She turned toward her apartment building, her sneakers silent against the pavement. Each step felt deliberate, like she was moving through water, the world slightly slower, slightly thicker than it had been an hour ago.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, remembering the way Ethan had gripped her hip, the way his thumb had pressed into the soft flesh above her jeans, just hard enough to leave a mark. She could still taste him—the sharp tang of whiskey, the darker, earthier taste of his skin when she’d bitten his lower lip. A shiver ran through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could contain the heat pooling low in her belly.

The front door of her building groaned as she pulled it open, the hinge needing oil. The stairwell smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old wood, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. She climbed the steps, her mind flickering between the present—the scuffed paint on the rail, the way her thighs ached from standing too long in those damn heels—and the past hour, pressed against Ethan’s door, his body a wall of heat against hers.

By the time she reached her floor, her breath was uneven, her skin too sensitive, like every nerve ending had been lit and left smoldering. She fumbled with her keys, the metal cold against her overheated fingers, and let herself into her apartment. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it, eyes closed, inhaling the familiar scent of her space—lavender detergent, the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle she’d blown out earlier, the underlying mustiness of old books and well-loved furniture.

It should have been comforting. It should have grounded her.

Instead, it made the contrast sharper. Because her apartment smelled like her—safe, controlled, predictable—and she still tasted like him.

Sherry pushed off the door and kicked off her sneakers, leaving them haphazardly by the entryway. She padded into the kitchen, the hardwood floors cool beneath her socks, and pulled a glass from the cabinet. The faucet hissed as she filled it with water, her hands trembling just enough that the rim clinked against the sink. She drank deeply, the cold liquid doing little to douse the fire in her chest.

She set the glass down with a sharp clink and gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening. What now? The question echoed in the quiet, mocking her. She wasn’t some reckless girl who hooked up with strangers in elevator hallways. She was Sherry—responsible Sherry, thoughtful Sherry, the one who planned and analyzed and never let herself get carried away by something as fleeting as lust.

And yet.

She turned, pressing her back against the counter, and let her gaze drift to the window. The blinds were still open, the street below bathed in the glow of lamplight. Somewhere out there, Ethan was probably still awake, his lips still swollen from hers, his skin marked by her nails. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her nipples tightening against the thin fabric of her bra, her thighs pressing together.

Stop it.

She pushed off the counter and strode into her bedroom, stripping off her sweater as she went. The air hit her bare arms, raising gooseflesh, but she barely noticed. Her mind was too busy replaying the way Ethan’s hands had spanned her waist, the way his fingers had dug into her flesh when she’d arched against him, the way his breath had hitched when she’d finally—finally—let herself kiss him back with everything she had.

Her bra followed the sweater, tossed carelessly onto the chair in the corner. She stood in the middle of her room, clad only in her jeans and a pair of black lace panties, her skin flushed, her breath coming too fast. The mirror on her dresser caught her reflection, and she barely recognized herself—the dark, hungry look in her eyes, the part of her lips, the way her chest rose and fell like she’d just run a mile.

She reached up, tracing her lower lip with her thumb, remembering the way Ethan’s tongue had swept into her mouth, hot and demanding. A whimper escaped her, low and needy, and she dropped her hand, curling her fingers into a fist. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t some horny teenager; she was a grown woman who could control her own damn impulses.

But then why did her body feel like it was on fire?

Sherry exhaled sharply and unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying them down her hips. The cool air hit her damp panties, and she bit her lip, her thighs trembling. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. But the ache between her legs was insistent, throbbing in time with her pulse, and the memory of Ethan’s voice—You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re like this—was too fresh, too vivid.

She slid her hand into her panties, her fingers finding her already slick, her clit swollen and sensitive. A gasp tore from her throat as she circled it, her hips jerking forward. God, she was soaked. The realization sent another jolt of heat through her, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. She imagined it was Ethan’s hand, his fingers rough and sure, his thumb pressing just hard enough to make her whimper.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her free hand gripping her breast, her nipple pebbling beneath her palm. She pinched it, a sharp twinge of pain that only made the pleasure more intense. Her hips rocked against her fingers, her movements growing more frantic, more desperate. She could almost hear him—That’s it, baby, take what you need—his voice a dark, velvety murmur in her ear.

She came with a broken cry, her body shuddering, her release crashing over her in waves. She sagged against the dresser, her breath ragged, her skin slick with sweat. The high lasted only a moment before the crash came—the hollow, gnawing realization that it wasn’t him. That she was alone. That whatever had happened between her and Ethan was just a fleeting, reckless moment, and now it was over.

Sherry straightened slowly, her legs unsteady. She pulled her hand from her panties, her fingers glistening, and wiped them on the sheets before crawling into bed. The cool fabric against her overheated skin should have been a relief, but it only made her feel more exposed. More vulnerable.

She pulled the blankets up to her chin and stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She should feel guilty. She should. But all she could think about was the way Ethan had looked at her—not like she was some girl he’d picked up for the night, but like she was something rare. Something worth savoring.

And that terrified her more than the recklessness ever could.

---

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the gaps in her blinds, painting stripes across her face. Sherry groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. Her body ached in the best way—her muscles loose, her skin still humming with the ghost of last night’s pleasure. But her mind was already churning, already dissecting, already overthinking.

She sat up with a sigh, running a hand through her tangled hair. The digital clock on her nightstand read 8:17 AM. Too early for a Sunday, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Not with the memory of Ethan’s hands on her skin, his mouth on hers, his voice rough with desire.

Sherry swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching her arms above her head. The movement pulled at the muscles in her back, a pleasant soreness that reminded her of how long it had been since she’d let herself feel anything like that. She padded into the bathroom, the tiles cold beneath her feet, and turned on the shower.

The water hit her skin, scalding at first, then easing into a comfortable heat. She tilted her head back, letting it stream over her face, her hair, her shoulders. The steam filled the small space, fogging the mirror, and she closed her eyes, letting her mind drift.

It was a mistake.

Because the second she did, she was back in that hallway, Ethan’s body pinning hers against the wall, his thigh between her legs, his mouth hot and demanding. She could almost feel his hands in her hair, his teeth grazing her neck, his breath against her ear—You’re mine tonight.

A shiver ran through her, and she pressed a hand to her stomach, as if that could quiet the fluttering there. This was insane. She didn’t even know him. He was a stranger. A gorgeous, infuriating, intoxicating stranger who had somehow slipped under her skin in the span of an hour.

Sherry turned off the water and grabbed a towel, rubbing it roughly over her hair, her skin. She avoided her reflection as she stepped out, but she could feel the flush creeping up her neck, the way her pulse jumped when she thought about the way he’d looked at her—like he could see straight through her, like he knew her in a way no one else did.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, her hair still damp against her shoulders. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic from the street below. She made herself coffee, the ritual familiar and grounding, but even the rich, bitter scent couldn’t distract her from the way her body still thrummed with residual energy.

Sherry carried her mug to the window and pulled the blinds apart just enough to peer outside. The street was alive with movement—people walking dogs, joggers in bright athletic wear, a couple holding hands as they ducked into the café on the corner. It all looked so normal. So mundane.

And yet, somewhere in this building, Ethan was waking up. Maybe he was thinking about her. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe last night had been nothing more than a fleeting diversion for him, a way to pass the time.

The thought should have stung. But instead, it only made her wonder what it would take to make him remember her.

She sipped her coffee, the liquid burning her tongue. She needed to stop this. Needed to focus on her thesis, on her life, on anything but the way her body still ached for his touch.

But as she turned away from the window, her gaze snagged on the building across the street—the one where Ethan lived. His apartment was on the fourth floor, the blinds still drawn. She wondered if he was still asleep. Wondered if he’d dreamt about her.

Wondered if he’d want to see her again.

Sherry set her coffee down with a sharp clink, the sound cutting through the quiet. She wasn’t this person. She didn’t obsess over men she barely knew. She didn’t let one night of passion derail her entire sense of self.

And yet.

She grabbed her phone from the charger and unlocked the screen before she could second-guess herself. Her fingers hovered over the keypad, her thumb tracing the edge of the case.

What was she doing?

She pulled up her contacts, her heart pounding. She didn’t even have his number. She didn’t know his last name. All she had was the memory of his hands on her body, his voice in her ear, the way he’d made her feel like the only woman in the world.

Sherry exhaled sharply and tossed her phone onto the couch. This was ridiculous. She had work to do. A life to live. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by some fling with a stranger, no matter how good it had felt.

But as she turned back to her desk, her gaze snagged on the window again.

And she knew, with a sinking, exhilarating certainty, that she wasn’t done with Ethan.

Chapter Three: Whiskey and Bad Decisions

She hesitated at the door, pressing her palm against the cool wood, then exhaled and turned the deadbolt. The moment the door swung open, the scent of leather and something darkly spiced—Ethan’s cologne—rushed in, wrapping around her before she even registered his presence. There he stood, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, a bottle of deep red wine dangling from his fingers. His smile was slow, knowing, the kind that made her skin prickle with the memory of his teeth against her lip. “Miss me?” he murmured, his voice rough enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Sherry’s breath hitched. She should’ve been annoyed—at the presumption, at the timing, at the way her body betrayed her with a rush of heat between her thighs. But all she managed was a dry, “You don’t even know my last name.” Her fingers twitched at her sides, resisting the urge to reach for him.

Ethan chuckled, low and dark, stepping closer until the heat of him seeped into her space. “I know enough.” His free hand lifted, knuckles grazing her jawline just lightly enough to make her lean into the touch before she caught herself. “I know you taste like whiskey and bad decisions.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip, and she swallowed hard, the ghost of last night’s kiss burning between them. “And I know I haven’t been able to think about anything else since you walked away.”

The honesty in his voice—raw, unfiltered—stole her retort. Sherry exhaled sharply, her nails digging crescents into her palms. She should’ve shut the door. Should’ve told him to leave. But the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing in the world worth hunger, made her step back instead, her body moving before her mind could protest. “Fine,” she said, voice tighter than she intended. “But if you’re staying, you’re opening that wine.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Deal.”

She led him inside, hyperaware of the way his gaze tracked the sway of her hips, the way the air between them thickened with every step. The apartment felt smaller with him in it, the usual quiet now charged with something electric. Sherry grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, her fingers trembling just enough to make the crystal chime. Ethan uncorked the bottle with practiced ease, the pop of the cork too loud in the tense silence. He poured, the deep ruby liquid swirling into the glasses, and when he handed her one, his fingers lingered against hers a second too long.

They sat at the dining table—too small, too intimate—their knees brushing under the wood. Sherry took a sip, the wine bold and rich, but it did nothing to dull the ache low in her belly. Ethan watched her over the rim of his glass, his gaze dark with something that wasn’t just desire. It was a challenge. A dare. “You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured, setting his glass down with a deliberate click. “I can practically hear the gears grinding.”

Sherry shot him a look, but the wine had loosened her tongue. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re here.”

“Because I wanted to see if you’d run again.” His foot slid forward, pressing against the inside of her ankle, and she didn’t pull away. “Or if you’d finally admit you want this as much as I do.”

The words hung between them, heavy and undeniable. Sherry’s chest tightened. She did want it. Wanted him. The way he made her feel—alive, reckless, like she could burn the world down and laugh while it crumbled. But admitting it meant surrendering to something she couldn’t control. And control was all she had left.

Ethan leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Prove to me you’re not afraid to let go, Sherry.”

The sound of her name on his lips was a spark to kindling. Her pulse roared in her ears, her skin too tight, too sensitive. She should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve laughed it off. But the way he looked at her—like he already knew the answer—snapped something inside her. Sherry stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. Ethan’s eyes darkened as she rounded the table, her fingers curling around his wrist. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The pull of her hand was answer enough.

The bedroom was bathed in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, the sheets still rumpled from her restless night. Sherry released him just long enough to turn, her back to him as she gripped the hem of her sweater. She pulled it over her head slowly, deliberately, the fabric whispering against her skin. The cool air hit her bare shoulders, her breasts straining against the thin lace of her bralette. She heard Ethan’s breath catch, felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the word rough, almost pained.

Sherry glanced over her shoulder, catching the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her. Power thrummed through her veins, heady and intoxicating. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings, shimmying them down her hips with excruciating slowness, bending just enough to give him a glimpse of the lace thong clinging to her. The sound Ethan made—a guttural, needy noise—sent a fresh wave of wetness between her thighs.

When she straightened, she was naked except for the scrap of lace and the silver necklace glinting against her collarbone. She turned fully, letting him see all of her—the flush on her skin, the way her nipples peaked under the thin fabric, the hunger in her eyes. “Your turn,” she said, her voice husky.

Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. He stripped with none of her teasing slowness, his shirt hitting the floor first, then his pants, until he stood before her in just his boxer briefs, the outline of his cock thick and straining against the fabric. Sherry’s mouth watered. She closed the distance between them, her fingers tracing the defined lines of his chest, the dusting of dark hair that arrowed down past his navel. “On the bed,” she ordered, pressing her palm against his sternum. “Now.”

Ethan obeyed, falling back onto the mattress with a groan, his cock tenting the fabric obscenely. Sherry crawled over him, her hair cascading around them like a curtain, the strands brushing against his chest. She straddled his hips, the heat of him searing through the thin barrier between them, and leaned down, her lips a breath from his. “You want me to let go?” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his abdomen, teasing the waistband of his briefs. “Then you’d better be ready to catch me.”

And then she kissed him—deep, hungry, her teeth nipping at his lower lip before her tongue swept in, claiming him. Ethan groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Sherry arched into the touch, her body alive with need, her mind blessedly, gloriously silent for the first time in months. There was only this—the heat of him beneath her, the taste of wine and desire on his tongue, the way his cock twitched against her thigh, begging for more.

She broke the kiss with a gasp, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs. “Off,” she demanded, her voice rough. “I want to see all of you.”

Ethan lifted his hips, letting her strip the last barrier away. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the tip already glistening. Sherry’s breath hitched. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly, savoring the way his breath stuttered, the way his abs tensed under her touch. “Sherry—” he growled, his voice a warning.

She smiled, wicked and slow, and shifted back just enough to press the head of his cock against her soaked thong. “Patience,” she murmured, rolling her hips in a slow, teasing circle. The friction made them both gasp, Ethan’s hands flying to her hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Or do you want to prove something too?”

Ethan’s answer was a snarl, his mouth crashing against hers as he flipped them in one swift motion, pinning her beneath him. Sherry laughed breathlessly against his lips, her nails raking down his back. She’d pushed him too far. And god, she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

Chapter Four: Bruised Lips, Bruised Walls

The second Ethan’s hands locked around Sherry’s waist, the last thread of her control snapped. His grip was bruising, possessive—fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hips as he yanked her up against him. She gasped, her back slamming against the cool plaster of the wall, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. Before she could even process the shift, his mouth crashed onto hers, swallowing her startled moan. His tongue plunged between her lips, hot and demanding, tasting of wine and something darker, something that made her head spin. Sherry’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into the firm muscle of his ass, pulling him flush against her. The thin lace of her thong was no barrier at all; she could feel the thick ridge of his cock straining against his boxer briefs, pressing right where she ached for him.

Ethan groaned into the kiss, a guttural sound that vibrated through her chest. His hands slid under her thighs, spreading her wider, and she whimpered as the movement ground her against him. The friction was maddening—just the right pressure, but not enough. Never enough. She tore her mouth from his, panting. “Fuck, Ethan—”

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice rough with need. His lips found her throat, teeth scraping over her pulse point before he sucked hard, marking her. Sherry’s head fell back against the wall with a dull thud, her fingers tangling in his hair. She could feel his breath, hot and ragged, against her skin as he trailed kisses down to her collarbone, his tongue flicking over the silver heart pendant of her necklace. “You talk too goddamn much.”

She should’ve been pissed. Should’ve shoved him back, reclaimed the upper hand. But the way his hands gripped her, the way his body pinned hers—it was like he’d flipped a switch inside her, short-circuiting every rational thought. All that was left was the raw, electric need coiling low in her belly. “Then fuck me,” she snapped, her voice trembling with the force of her own desire. “Stop teasing and fuck me already.”

Ethan’s breath hitched. For a second, he went still, his body tensing against hers. Then, with a low, feral sound, he hooked his fingers into the flimsy lace of her thong and ripped. The sound of fabric tearing was obscenely loud in the quiet room, followed by Sherry’s sharp inhale as cool air hit her exposed pussy. She didn’t even have time to process the embarrassment—if there was any—before his fingers were there, rough and demanding, sliding through her folds. “Christ, you’re dripping,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe. Two fingers plunged inside her without warning, curling upward, and Sherry’s entire body jerked, her nails raking down his shoulders.

“Oh—fuck—” The word broke into a moan as he crooked his fingers, hitting that spot inside her that made her vision white out. Her hips bucked helplessly against his hand, her thighs trembling. She could feel his cock, thick and heavy, trapped between their bodies, twitching every time she clenched around his fingers. “Ethan, please—”

“Please what?” His breath was hot against her ear, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. “Use your words, Sherry. Tell me exactly what you want.”

She wanted to scream. Wanted to bite him, scratch him, beg. But the way he was looking at her—dark eyes burning with challenge, his jaw clenched tight—it was like he was daring her to break. And god, she wanted to. “I want your cock,” she gasped, her voice raw. “I want you to fuck me against this wall until I can’t walk straight. Now stop playing games and—”

He didn’t let her finish. His fingers withdrew with a wet sound, and then he was shoving his boxer briefs down just enough to free his cock. Sherry barely had time to register the sight of him—thick, veined, the tip already glistening—before he was lifting her higher, aligning himself with her entrance. For one suspended second, there was nothing but the press of his crown against her slick heat, the stretch of her body resisting just enough to make her whimper. Then he slammed home.

Sherry’s cry was half pleasure, half shock, her back arching off the wall as he filled her in one brutal thrust. He was big—thicker than she remembered, stretching her to the point of pain, but the burn only made it better. Her inner walls clenched around him, desperate to adjust, and Ethan groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. “Fuck, fuck—” His voice was strained, like he was fighting for control. “You feel—Jesus—”

She didn’t let him finish that either. Her heels dug into his ass, urging him on, and when he didn’t move fast enough, she rolled her hips, grinding down on him. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, her clit dragging against the base of his cock. “Move, damn you—” she panted, her fingers clawing at his back. “I didn’t ask for a fucking speech.”

Ethan laughed, a dark, breathless sound, before he pulled back and slammed into her again. Sherry’s breath left her in a rush, her body jolting with the force. He set a punishing rhythm—hard, deep strokes that had her seeing stars, her tits bouncing with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixed with their ragged breathing and the wet, obscene noises her body made every time he bottomed out. She could feel him everywhere—his cock pounding into her, his chest crushing her breasts, his breath hot against her neck. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“You like that?” Ethan’s voice was a growl in her ear, his hands gripping her ass to tilt her just right, driving deeper. “You like being fucked like a good little slut against the wall?”

Sherry’s entire body flushed at the words, her pussy clenching around him. She should’ve been offended. Should’ve told him to go to hell. But the way he said it—like he was proud of her for it, like he loved how greedy she was—it sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through her. “Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Yes, I fucking love it—”

His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose her throat. His lips crashed onto hers again, his kiss bruising, possessive. She could taste herself on his tongue, could feel the way his cock swelled inside her as she moaned into his mouth. His hips snapped harder, his thrusts losing what little rhythm they’d had, turning desperate. Sherry could feel his control unraveling, could hear it in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers dug into her skin like he was afraid she’d disappear.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered suddenly, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

Sherry didn’t hesitate. Her hand flew between their bodies, her fingers finding her clit already swollen and throbbing. The first touch sent a spark through her, her back arching. “Oh god—”

“That’s it,” Ethan groaned, his thrusts turning shallow, grinding against her in a way that made her whimper. “Rub that pretty little clit. Let me hear you.”

She was already close—so close it hurt. Every drag of her fingers, every deep thrust of his cock, sent her spiraling higher. Her free hand clung to his shoulder, her nails digging in as her breath came in short, sharp gasps. “I’m—I’m—”

“Now, Sherry,” Ethan growled, his teeth grazing her earlobe. “Come on my cock now.”

That was all it took. Pleasure detonated through her, her body locking up as her orgasm crashed over her. She cried out, her pussy clamping down around him, her fingers still frantically circling her clit as wave after wave of ecstasy wrung her out. Ethan groaned, his hips stuttering as he fucked her through it, his cock twitching inside her. “Fuck— Sherry, fuck—”

She could feel him swelling, could feel the way his entire body tensed, and then he was coming with a guttural shout, his release pulsing deep inside her. Sherry whimpered as she felt it, the hot rush of him filling her, her over-sensitive walls fluttering around his cock. He buried his face in her neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body trembling against hers.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their combined breathing, the occasional aftershock making Sherry twitch. Ethan’s arms were still locked around her, holding her up, his cock still buried inside her. She could feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic, against her chest. Slowly, reality seeped back in—the cool press of the wall against her back, the ache in her thighs, the sticky heat between her legs.

Ethan finally lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. There was something raw in his expression, something she couldn’t quite name. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, swollen from his kisses. “You okay?”

Sherry swallowed, her throat dry. She should’ve had a witty comeback. Should’ve pushed him away, reasserted her control. But all she could manage was a shaky exhale, her body still humming from the aftershocks. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I’m… yeah.”

He studied her for another beat, then slowly, carefully, lowered her to her feet. Sherry’s legs nearly gave out, her knees wobbling, and Ethan’s hands shot out to steady her. She leaned into his touch, her body still thrumming, her mind a haze of endorphins. His cock slipped free as she stood, and she bit her lip at the sudden emptiness, the wet trickle of his cum down her thigh.

Ethan’s gaze darkened as he watched, his fingers tracing the path of it. “Fuck, you’re a mess,” he murmured, but there was no judgment in his voice. Only awe.

Sherry should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve grabbed a towel, covered herself. But the way he was looking at her—like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—it made her bold. She reached out, her fingers brushing over the damp head of his cock, still half-hard. “Your fault,” she said, her voice husky.

Ethan caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He brought her fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Worth it.”

The words sent a strange flutter through her chest. She pulled her hand free, suddenly needing space. Needing to breathe. She turned toward the bed, grabbing the discarded sheet and wrapping it around herself. The fabric was cool against her overheated skin. “I need a shower,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Ethan didn’t push. He just watched her, his expression unreadable, as she made her way to the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her, and only then did she let herself sag against it, her heart still pounding.

The mirror over the sink showed a stranger. Her hair was a tangled mess, her lips swollen, her neck marked with the dark imprint of Ethan’s mouth. She looked ruined. And god help her, she loved it.

She turned on the shower, the spray hissing to life. As she stepped under the water, she could still feel him—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d filled her so completely. She pressed her thighs together, a fresh wave of arousal pulsing through her at the memory.

This was supposed to be a one-time thing. A way to scratch an itch, to prove to herself she could let go.

But as she tilted her head back, letting the water cascade over her, she knew—one time wouldn’t be enough. Not with him.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Chapter Five: Cabin Fever

The bathroom was still thick with steam, the mirror fogged from the scalding shower Sherry had taken—partly to wash away the stickiness between her thighs, partly to burn away the lingering ache of Ethan’s touch. She pressed the towel against her skin, the terrycloth rough against her oversensitive flesh, and winced as it grazed the darkening bruises on her neck. His marks. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers digging into her hips, the way his breath had hitched when he came inside her, his forehead pressed to hers like he was memorizing the shape of her.

The sheet she’d wrapped around herself earlier lay discarded on the floor, damp and rumpled. She hadn’t bothered to pick it up. What was the point? The evidence of what they’d done was already written across her body—her swollen lips, the faint redness where his stubble had scraped her inner thighs, the throb between her legs that flared every time she shifted her weight.

She was toweling off her hair, fingers working through the tangled waves, when the bathroom door creaked open.

Ethan didn’t knock. Of course he didn’t.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his boxer briefs still riding low on his hips. His cock, soft now but still heavy, rested against his thigh, the head glistening faintly in the dim light. Sherry’s stomach twisted. She should’ve been embarrassed—standing there half-naked, her skin flushed from the heat, her body still humming from him. But the look in his eyes didn’t let her feel anything but seen. Like he was cataloging every inch of her, committing it to memory.

“You’re still here,” she said, her voice rougher than she intended.

One corner of his mouth quirked. “Did you think I’d just fuck you against the wall and disappear?”

She exhaled through her nose, dragging the towel down her arms. “I don’t know what I thought.”

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, close enough that she could smell herself on him—musky, salt, the faint metallic tang of her arousal. Her pulse jumped. “You’re overthinking.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” His fingers brushed the towel where it clung to her collarbone, then traced the edge downward, following the curve of her breast. Sherry’s breath hitched. “I can practically hear the gears grinding.”

She swallowed. “It’s a bad habit.”

“Mmm.” His thumb grazed her nipple through the terrycloth, and she jerked, a spark of pleasure-pain shooting straight to her clit. “Or maybe it’s just how you distract yourself from what you actually want.”

Sherry’s fingers tightened around the towel. “And what do you think I want?”

Ethan’s gaze darkened. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his hand slid to the back of her neck, his grip firm but not bruising, and he pulled her against him. The towel was the only thing between them, and it might as well have been nothing. She could feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. His other hand found her hip, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She should. She should. But the word died in her throat, choked out by the way her body leaned into his, the way her nipples hardened under his touch.

He made a low, approving sound. “That’s what I thought.”

Then his mouth was on hers, not as desperate as before but no less claiming. Sherry melted into it, her hands finding his shoulders, nails digging into the corded muscle there. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world—slow, deep strokes of his tongue, nipping at her lower lip until she whimpered. When he finally pulled back, her lips were swollen all over again, her head spinning.

“Come away with me,” he said, his voice rough.

Sherry blinked. “What?”

“This weekend.” His thumb traced her jawline, his touch maddeningly gentle after the way he’d just manhandled her. “There’s a cabin a couple hours from here. No one else. Just us.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. A cabin. Days. Alone. With him. No distractions, no excuses, no way to hide from whatever this was between them. The idea sent a thrill through her, sharp and electric, but beneath it was something darker. Fear. Because if she went with him, if she let this happen, there’d be no going back. She’d be admitting—to herself, if not to him—that one time wasn’t enough. That she was already in too deep.

She wet her lips. “That’s… a lot.”

“Is it?” His hand slid to her waist, his fingers splaying over her bare skin. “Or is it exactly what you need?”

Sherry wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was being presumptuous, that she had work to do, that she wasn’t some girl who could just drop everything for a weekend of—of whatever this was. But the words stuck in her throat, because the truth was, she did need it. Needed the escape, the focus, the way he made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in months. Needed to stop thinking and just feel for once.

She exhaled shakily. “When?”

Ethan’s smile was slow, triumphant. “Now.”

---

Twenty minutes later, Sherry was shoving a handful of underwear and a toothbrush into an overnight bag, her movements jerky with adrenaline. Ethan lounged against her bedroom doorway, watching her with an infuriating smirk, like he knew exactly how unravelled she was.

“You’re packing that?” he asked, nodding at the stack of sensible cotton panties she’d grabbed.

Sherry glared at him. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and crossing the room in two strides. He plucked the panties from her hands and tossed them back into the drawer. “But you won’t be needing them.”

Her breath caught. “Ethan—”

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “I’m going to have you naked the whole time, Sherry. Or in my clothes, if I feel like it.” His voice dropped, dark and promising. “You think I’m letting you hide behind cotton when I can have you wet and bare whenever I want?”

A shiver ran through her. She should’ve been offended. Should’ve told him to go to hell. But the way he said it—like it was a given, like her body was already his to do with as he pleased—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her thighs.

“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing a sleep shirt instead. “But I’m bringing something.”

His chuckle was low, knowing. “Whatever makes you feel better, sweetheart.”

She zipped the bag with more force than necessary, then turned to face him. “We’re taking separate cars.”

Ethan’s eyebrow arched. “Scared?”

“Realistic.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t want to be stranded if this is a mistake.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something almost like hurt—but it was gone before she could be sure. He stepped back, giving her space. “Suit yourself.”

The drive was worse than she’d imagined.

Sherry had insisted on following him in her own car, some misguided attempt to maintain control, but the moment she pulled out of the parking lot behind his sleek black sedan, she regretted it. The highway stretched ahead, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the asphalt, and with every mile, the weight of what she was doing pressed down on her harder.

This was insane. She barely knew him. She was supposed to be focusing on her thesis, not driving two hours into the woods to—what? Fuck him senseless? Pretend this was anything more than a fling?

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

Ethan’s car was always just ahead, taillights flashing red every time he braked. She could turn around. She could. No one was forcing her to keep driving. No one but the ache between her legs, the memory of his hands on her, the way he’d looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

She groaned, pressing her forehead against the wheel at a stoplight. Pathetic.

Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. A text from Ethan.

You good back there?

Sherry scowled at the screen. I’m fine.

Liar.

She didn’t reply.

Five minutes later, another message.

Pull over at the next rest stop.

Why?

Because I said so.

Her stomach flipped. She should ignore him. Should keep driving, prove she wasn’t some obedient little plaything. But her exit was coming up, and before she could second-guess herself, she signaled and took the ramp.

The rest stop was nearly empty, just a handful of cars scattered across the lot. She parked beside Ethan’s sedan and barely had the engine off before her door was yanked open.

Ethan stood there, his expression unreadable. “Get out.”

Sherry’s pulse spiked. “What are you—”

He didn’t let her finish. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the car, spinning her around and pressing her against the cool metal of the driver’s side door. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, and before she could recover, his mouth was on hers, his kiss bruising, possessive. She gasped against his lips, her hands flying to his shoulders, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, his body caging hers in.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he growled against her mouth. “Overthinking. Second-guessing. Trying to talk yourself out of this.” His hips rolled against hers, the hard ridge of his cock pressing into her stomach. “But you’re mine this weekend, Sherry. No running. No hiding. You wanted this. You want this.”

She did. God, she did. The admission burned through her, and she whimpered, arching into him. “Ethan—”

“Say it.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin. “Say you’re mine.”

Her mind screamed at her to resist, to hold onto some shred of control. But her body was already surrendering, melting against him, her hips tilting up to meet the grind of his. “I’m yours,” she breathed.

Ethan groaned, his mouth crashing back onto hers. This time, the kiss was deeper, slower, his tongue stroking against hers like he was savoring her. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breathing ragged.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Sherry’s knees nearly buckled.

---

The cabin was nestled deep in the woods, a small, rustic thing with a sloping roof and a wrap-around porch. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the wooden planks. There was no one else around. No neighbors. No distractions. Just the two of them, the quiet hum of the forest, and the weight of what was about to happen.

Ethan carried their bags inside while Sherry lingered on the porch, her fingers gripping the railing. The air smelled like pine and damp earth, the kind of scent that made her lungs feel too big for her chest. She could still taste him on her tongue.

The screen door creaked open behind her. “You coming?”

She turned. Ethan stood in the doorway, his shirt already discarded, the muscles of his chest and arms defined in the golden light. His jeans hung low on his hips, the waistband dipping just enough to tease the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath.

Sherry swallowed. “Yeah.”

The inside of the cabin was warm, the space heated by a crackling fire in the stone fireplace. A single rug covered the wooden floor in front of it, and a worn couch sat against the far wall. The kitchen was small but functional, and through an open door, she could see a bedroom dominated by a massive four-poster bed.

Ethan dropped their bags by the couch. “Hungry?”

Sherry shook her head. Food was the last thing on her mind.

He smirked, like he could read her thoughts. “Thirsty, then?”

She wet her lips. “For what?”

Ethan’s gaze darkened. He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room in three long strides, his hands finding her waist and lifting her onto the kitchen counter. Sherry gasped as her ass hit the cool surface, her legs instinctively parting to make room for him. He stepped between them, his thighs brushing hers, his fingers sliding up to tangle in her hair.

“You’re going to learn something about me this weekend, Sherry,” he murmured, his mouth hovering just above hers. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

Then his lips were on hers, and any chance she had of replying was swallowed by the heat of his kiss.

---

The first time he took her that night was on the rug in front of the fire.

Ethan had stripped her slowly, peeling her clothes off like he was unwrapping something precious. Sherry had tried to reciprocate, her fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, but he’d caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, shaking his head.

“Not yet,” he’d said, his voice rough. “This is about you.”

And then his mouth had been on her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple before he sucked it between his lips, hard enough to make her back arch off the rug. Sherry cried out, her fingers curling into the fabric beneath her, her hips lifting helplessly. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, his free hand sliding down to cup her between her legs.

“So wet,” he murmured against her skin, his fingers parting her folds, teasing her entrance. “Always so fucking wet for me.”

She was. She was. The proof of it was slick on his fingers as he slid one inside her, then another, curling them just right to make her gasp. “Ethan, please—”

“Please what?” His teeth grazed her nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to her clit. “Use your words, Sherry. Tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me,” she whimpered, her hips rocking against his hand. “I need your cock, now—”

He groaned, his mouth crashing onto hers as he worked his jeans open. Sherry reached for him, her hand wrapping around his thick length, stroking him once, twice, before he knocked her grip away and lined himself up.

The first thrust was brutal, exactly what she’d begged for. Sherry screamed into his mouth, her nails raking down his back as he bottomed out inside her. He didn’t give her time to adjust. Didn’t ease into it. He fucked her like he was starving for her, his hips snapping against hers, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside her with every drive.

“You feel that?” he growled, his breath hot against her ear. “You feel how good you take me? How perfect your cunt is?”

Sherry could only moan, her body tightening around him, her orgasm building with terrifying speed. “Yes—yes—”

“Come for me,” he commanded, his hand sliding between them to circle her clit. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”

The words sent her over the edge. Her back bowed off the rug as pleasure crashed over her, her walls clenching around him, milking his cock as he groaned and followed her into release. She felt him pulse inside her, hot and thick, and the sensation sent another wave of aftershocks rippling through her.

Ethan collapsed on top of her, his forehead pressing to hers, his breathing ragged. “Fuck, Sherry.”

She could only whimper in response, her body still trembling, her mind blank with satisfaction.

This was only the beginning. And for the first time, she wasn’t scared.

She was ready.

Chapter Six: Morning’s Command

The morning light spilled through the cabin’s windows, painting the kitchen in soft gold. Sherry stood barefoot near the counter, the cool wood floor beneath her toes grounding her as she clutched the hem of Ethan’s oversized shirt—the only thing she wore. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint musk of sex still clinging to her skin, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d taken her the night before. Her thighs ached, her lips still swollen from his kisses, and the ghost of his fingers lingered between her legs. She should’ve been embarrassed, standing there half-naked in the daylight, but the way Ethan watched her—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her—made her pulse quicken instead.

He sat at the table, one ankle crossed over his knee, a mug of black coffee cradled in his hand. The dark jeans and fitted t-shirt he wore did little to hide the power in his frame, the way his shoulders filled the space, the quiet authority in the tilt of his chin. His gaze never wavered from her, dark and knowing, as if he could see straight through the thin fabric of his shirt to the flush creeping up her chest. The breakfast spread—toast, fruit, a bowl of scrambled eggs—sat untouched between them, the steam from the coffee curling into the air like an unspoken challenge.

Sherry wet her lips, her fingers tightening around the fabric. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Ethan took a slow sip, his throat working as he swallowed. The sound was obscene in the quiet kitchen. “I will,” he murmured, setting the mug down with a deliberate clink. “But first, you’re going to earn it.”

A shiver ran down her spine, her nipples tightening beneath the shirt. She should’ve known. After last night—the way he’d stripped her, the way he’d used her—this was just another game to him. One she wasn’t sure she could resist. “Earn it?” Her voice came out breathier than she intended.

His lips curved, just slightly. “You heard me.” He leaned back in the chair, spreading his thighs just enough to draw her eyes to the growing bulge in his jeans. “Take off the shirt. Slowly.”

Sherry’s breath hitched. The command settled in her chest like a weight, heavy and thrilling. She should’ve argued. Should’ve told him to fuck off, that she wasn’t some toy he could play with on demand. But the heat in his gaze, the promise of what would come if she obeyed, had her fingers trembling as they found the first button. The shirt was his, after all. She’d stolen it from his bag last night when the chill of the cabin had seeped into her bones, when the thought of wearing something that smelled like him had been too tempting to ignore.

The fabric parted under her touch, revealing the swell of her breasts, the faint bruises his mouth had left on her collarbone. Ethan’s eyes darkened, his knuckles whitening around the mug. She let the shirt slip from one shoulder, then the other, the cool air raising goosebumps along her skin. The material pooled at her elbows, caught there for a heartbeat before she let it fall completely, leaving her naked in the morning light.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Now turn around. Let me see that ass.”

Sherry obeyed, her pulse roaring in her ears as she presented her back to him. She could feel his gaze like a physical touch, tracing the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips, the way her thighs still glistened from last night. She arched her back just slightly, unable to stop herself, and heard the sharp inhale of his breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, low and approving. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The truth was too embarrassing, too raw—the way her body reacted to him without permission, the way her pussy clenched at the sound of his voice. But Ethan didn’t need her to speak. He already knew.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Show me how much you want this.”

Sherry’s fingers twitched at her sides. She hesitated for only a second before sliding her hand between her thighs, her breath stuttering as she found herself slick, swollen. A whimper escaped her as she circled her clit, her hips rocking instinctively. Behind her, Ethan’s chair scraped against the floor, the sound making her jump.

“Don’t stop,” he growled, closer now. She could feel the heat of him at her back, the way his breath stirred the hair at her nape. “But don’t you dare come.”

Sherry moaned, her fingers moving in slow, torturous circles. She was already so close, her body still sensitive from last night, her nerves alight with the memory of his cock filling her, stretching her. “Ethan—”

“Shh.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his hand coming down to cover hers, guiding her fingers faster, harder. “Just like that. But remember—no coming.” He nipped her earlobe, his other hand sliding up to palm her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple until she gasped. “You come when I say you come. Understood?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her knees trembling.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

His chuckle was dark, satisfied. “Good girl.” He released her abruptly, stepping back, and Sherry nearly whimpered at the loss. “Now turn around. On your knees.”

The command sent a jolt through her, her pussy clenching around nothing. She turned slowly, her legs unsteady, and sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. The position was obscene, degrading—she was naked, spread before him like an offering, while he remained fully clothed, his cock straining against his jeans. But the way he looked at her, like she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen, made her chest ache.

“Hands behind your back,” he said, his voice thick. “And open that pretty mouth.”

Sherry obeyed, her pulse hammering as she parted her lips, her tongue darting out to wet them. Ethan’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his jaw tightening. For a long moment, he just watched her, his chest rising and falling faster now, his control fraying at the edges. Then, with a rough exhale, he stood, his chair scraping back, and unzipped his jeans.

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the head already glistening with pre-cum. Sherry’s breath caught. She’d had him in her mouth before, but never like this—never with the weight of his dominance pressing her down, never with the understanding that she was his to use however he pleased. He stroked himself once, twice, his thumb spreading the wetness over the crown, and her mouth watered.

“You want this, don’t you?” he murmured, guiding the tip of his cock to her lips. “Want to taste me again.”

She nodded, her eyes flicking up to his. “Please.”

Ethan groaned, his free hand tangling in her hair, gripping tight. “Then take it. Show me how badly.”

Sherry didn’t need to be told twice. She leaned forward, her lips parting around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling over the salty pre-cum. Ethan hissed, his fingers tightening in her hair, and she took more of him, her throat opening as she swallowed him down. The taste of him—musky, male, hers—sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, her pussy throbbing with need. She hollowed her cheeks, her lips sealing around the base as she pulled back, then took him deep again, her nose brushing the crisp hair at the root.

“Fuck, just like that,” Ethan groaned, his hips rocking forward, feeding her more. “Take it all, baby. Show me what a good little cocksucker you are.”

Sherry moaned around him, the vibration making his cock jerk. She loved the way he talked to her, the filthy praise, the way it made her feel both cherished and used. Her fingers dug into her thighs, her nails biting into her skin as she fought the urge to touch herself. She wanted to be good for him. Wanted to prove she could take everything he gave her.

Ethan’s breath came faster, his grip on her hair bordering on painful as he guided her movements, his hips snapping shallowly. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough. “I want to see those pretty eyes while you choke on my cock.”

Sherry obeyed, her gaze locking with his as she took him to the back of her throat, her eyes watering. The obscenity of it—the way her lips stretched around him, the way her throat fluttered as she swallowed—had her dripping, her thighs slick with arousal. Ethan’s nostrils flared, his free hand coming down to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

“You look so fucking perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice strained. “My good girl, taking my cock like she was made for it.” His thumb pressed against her lips, smearing her spit over her skin. “You’re going to make me come, aren’t you? Going to drink every last drop like the greedy little slut you are.”

Sherry whimpered, the words sending a spike of heat straight to her core. She wanted that. Wanted to feel him pulse down her throat, wanted to taste him on her tongue, wanted to know she’d done this to him. She hollowed her cheeks, her tongue working the underside of his cock, and Ethan cursed, his hips stuttering.

“Fuck—just like that—” His voice broke, his cock swelling against her tongue. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna fill that pretty mouth up.”

Sherry moaned, her pussy clenching around nothing, her body aching with the need to be filled. She wanted him to come. Wanted to feel him lose control because of her. She took him deeper, her throat opening, and Ethan groaned, his hand tightening in her hair as his cock jerked.

“Swallow it,” he grunted, his voice raw. “Every. Last. Drop.”

The first spurt hit the back of her throat, thick and hot, and Sherry swallowed instinctively, her eyes watering as he pulsed again, again, his cum flooding her mouth. She took it all, her lips sealed around him, her tongue lapping at the tip as he softened, milking him dry. Ethan’s breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers gentling in her hair as he pulled her off with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “You’re incredible.”

Sherry licked her lips, her chest heaving, her body thrumming with unspent need. She could still taste him, still feel the weight of his gaze on her like a promise. “Ethan—” she started, her voice hoarse.

“Shh.” He cupped her face, his thumb pressing against her mouth. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.” His eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a growl. “But you didn’t think I’d let you come that easily, did you?”

Sherry’s breath hitched, her pussy clenching at the denial. She should’ve known. Ethan wasn’t done with her yet.

He smirked, reading the frustration in her eyes. “Stand up.”

She obeyed, her legs unsteady as she rose. Ethan’s hands found her waist, his touch possessive as he turned her, pressing her back against the table. The wood was cool against her bare ass, the breakfast spread digging into her skin. He stepped between her thighs, his cock already hardening again, and Sherry whimpered, her hands flying to his shoulders.

“Please,” she breathed, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “I need—”

“I know what you need,” he murmured, his lips finding the pulse point beneath her ear. “And you’re going to get it.” His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers parting her folds, finding her soaked. “But not yet.”

Sherry cried out as he circled her clit, her hips jerking against his hand. “Ethan—please—”

“Patience, baby.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, his fingers teasing her entrance but never pushing inside. “You’ve been such a good girl. I want to make sure you’re desperate for it.”

She was already there. Her body was on fire, her skin too tight, her need a living thing inside her. “I am,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I’m desperate. Please, fuck me.”

Ethan groaned, his cock twitching against her stomach. “Since you asked so nicely.” His fingers finally pushed inside her, two thick digits stretching her, curling against her inner walls. Sherry cried out, her back arching, her nails raking down his chest.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her throat. “Take what you need, baby.” His thumb found her clit, pressing in tight circles, and Sherry’s vision whited out, her orgasm crashing over her with a scream.

Ethan caught her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her sounds as her pussy clenched around his fingers, her body trembling. He didn’t stop, didn’t let her come down, his fingers working her through the aftershocks until she was boneless, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Only then did he pull his hand free, bringing his fingers to his mouth. His eyes never left hers as he licked her arousal from his skin, slow and deliberate. “Delicious,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. “Now, how about that breakfast?”

Chapter Seven: Edge of Surrender

The moment Ethan’s fingers curled around Sherry’s wrist, she knew resistance was futile—not that she truly wanted to resist. His grip was firm but not cruel, pulling her forward until her bare thighs pressed against the hard edge of the chair. Before she could steady herself, his other hand hooked around her waist, yanking her down onto his lap with a force that stole her breath. The rough denim of his jeans scraped against the tender skin of her ass, the contrast between his fully clothed body and her nakedness sending a fresh wave of heat through her. She gasped as her back arched instinctively, her palms flattening against his chest for balance. The muscles beneath his shirt were solid, unyielding, and the scent of him—woodsmoke and something darker, muskier—filled her lungs as she exhaled shakily.

“Comfortable?” His voice rumbled against her ear, low and amused, his breath hot on her neck. His fingers traced idle circles on her hip, just above where the denim abraded her skin, and she squirmed, already hyperaware of every point of contact. The ridge of his cock, half-hard beneath her, pressed against her thigh, a silent promise of what was to come.

Sherry swallowed, her pulse hammering in her throat. “No,” she admitted, because honesty was all she had left. The truth was, she was anything but comfortable—she was aching, her clit still throbbing from the orgasm he’d wrung out of her minutes before, her body already craving more. The wooden table dug into her spine as she leaned back slightly, but Ethan’s arm banded around her waist, holding her flush against him.

“Good.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, a sharp nip that made her jerk, her nails digging into his chest through the fabric. “You shouldn’t be.”

Before she could retort, his hand left her hip, reaching for the plate of breakfast he’d prepared. A strawberry, ripe and glistening, was pinched between his fingers, the juice beading at the tip. He brought it to her lips, the fruit cool against her heated skin. “Open,” he commanded, and she obeyed without thinking, her mouth parting. The sweetness burst against her tongue as he fed it to her, his thumb brushing her lower lip to catch a stray drop of juice. Then his mouth was on hers, stealing the flavor, his kiss deep and possessive. She moaned into it, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, but he caught her wrists, pulling them down to her sides.

“Hands to yourself,” he murmured against her lips, his free hand returning to the plate. This time, it was a bite of buttery toast, the crust crunching between her teeth as he fed it to her. His other hand never stopped moving—skimming up her ribs, thumb flicking over her nipple until it pebbled, then dipping lower to tease the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. She whimpered, her hips twitching, but his grip on her waist tightened, holding her still.

“You’re so fucking greedy,” he observed, his voice rough with satisfaction. Another kiss, this one slower, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips before delving inside. She tasted coffee and salt, the remnants of their earlier encounter, and her mind short-circuited. His fingers finally—finally—brushed against her clit, a featherlight touch that made her entire body jolt. But just as quickly, he pulled away, leaving her gasping.

“Ethan—” His name broke from her in a plea, her voice raw.

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “You’ll get what I give you, when I give it to you.” His tone brooked no argument, but the dark promise in his eyes sent a fresh wave of wetness between her thighs. She bit her lip to stifle a whine, her body trembling with the effort of holding still.

The next bite was a spoonful of scrambled eggs, the fluffy texture melting on her tongue. He fed her slowly, deliberately, his fingers lingering against her lips each time, as if savoring the way she parted for him. Between bites, his mouth found hers again, his kisses growing hungrier, more demanding. His free hand roamed her body with maddening precision—palming her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers until she was panting, then sliding down to circle her entrance without penetrating. She was soaked, her arousal slick on his fingers, and when he finally dipped one inside her, just to the first knuckle, she cried out, her back arching off his lap.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned, his voice strained. He withdrew his finger, bringing it to his mouth to suck it clean, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight of his tongue swirling around his own digit, tasting her, nearly sent her over the edge. “And you haven’t even earned it yet.”

Sherry’s vision blurred at the edges, her body coiled so tight she thought she might shatter. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I need—”

“I know what you need.” His hands were on her waist again, lifting her effortlessly before setting her down on the table. The wood was cool against her overheated skin, the contrast making her gasp. Ethan stood, his broad frame looming over her as he nudged her thighs apart. The air hit her exposed pussy, the wetness there embarrassing and intoxicating all at once. She reached for him, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand.

“Keep them there,” he ordered, his voice a dark velvet promise. “Or I stop.”

She whimpered but obeyed, her fingers curling into fists against the tabletop. Ethan’s gaze raked over her, lingering on the flush of her chest, the way her nipples hardened under his scrutiny, the glistening proof of her arousal between her thighs. Then he was kneeling, his breath hot against her inner thigh as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin there. She shuddered, her legs trembling, but his hands gripped her hips, holding her open for him.

His tongue was a brand against her, slow and deliberate as he licked a stripe up her slit, avoiding her clit entirely. Sherry cried out, her back arching off the table, but his grip was iron. “Ethan, please—”

“Patience,” he murmured against her flesh, the vibration of his voice making her whine. His lips wrapped around her inner labia, sucking gently, then harder, until she was writhing beneath him. Every time she got close to the edge, he pulled back, his breath cool against her heated skin, denying her the release she so desperately craved. His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her open, exposing her completely to his mouth, his gaze, his control.

“You taste like sin,” he growled, his tongue delving inside her, fucking her with slow, deep strokes. Her hips jerked, trying to chase the pressure, but he held her still, his free hand splaying across her stomach to pin her down. “And you’re going to come when I say you can, not a second sooner.”

Sherry sobbed, her body strung so tight she could barely breathe. “I can’t—I can’t take it—”

“You can.” His mouth sealed over her clit, his tongue flicking in tight, relentless circles. She screamed, her thighs shaking, her entire body locking up as the orgasm crashed over her. But just as she teetered on the precipice, he pulled away, his lips glistening with her arousal. “Not yet.”

“You bastard,” she snarled, her voice raw with need, her hips bucking helplessly. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her thigh as he pressed another kiss to her skin.

“Beg me,” he demanded, his breath hot against her.

She was beyond pride, beyond anything but the desperate, clawing need coiling inside her. “Please,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Please, please let me come. I’ll do anything—”

His mouth was on her again before the last word left her lips, his tongue flat and broad against her clit, the pressure unrelenting. Two fingers plunged inside her, curling against her G-spot, and the world exploded. She screamed his name, her back bowing off the table as the orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Ethan didn’t let up, his fingers fucking her through it, his mouth sealed over her clit until she was sobbing, overstimulated and trembling.

Only then did he pull back, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his cock straining against his jeans. Sherry lay boneless on the table, her chest heaving, her body still throbbing with aftershocks.

“Now,” he murmured, leaning over her, his hands braced on either side of her head. “About that breakfast.”

Chapter Eight: Shattered Under the Spray

The steam from the shower already curled into the bathroom, thick and warm, by the time Ethan carried Sherry across the threshold. Her body was still humming from the orgasm he’d finally allowed her, her muscles loose and pliant against his grip. The tiles beneath his boots were cool, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off her skin. She exhaled against his shoulder, her breath shaky, her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt. The scent of soap and sex clung to them both, mingling with the earthy musk of his cologne.

He didn’t set her down immediately. Instead, he adjusted his hold, one arm cradling her back while the other supported her thighs, spreading them just enough to let the first spray of water hit the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Sherry gasped, her body arching instinctively, her nails digging into his shoulder. The water was hot—borderline scalding—but not unbearable, the kind of heat that seeped into bones and melted tension. Ethan stepped fully under the stream, letting it soak through his clothes, the denim of his jeans darkening as the water saturated the fabric. The weight of the wet fabric pulled at his hips, the rough texture abrading his skin, but he didn’t care. His focus was on the way Sherry’s breath hitched as the water sluiced over her breasts, her nipples tightening under the assault.

“You’re still so sensitive,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His free hand slid up her ribs, his thumb circling the peak of one breast before pinching just hard enough to make her whimper. “Every little thing sets you off, doesn’t it?”

Sherry didn’t answer with words. Instead, she turned her head, catching his mouth in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. Her tongue pushed past his lips, greedy and demanding, her teeth nipping at his lower lip before soothing the sting with a slow lick. Ethan groaned into her mouth, his grip on her thigh tightening, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh just below her ass. The kiss deepened, their tongues tangling, wet and filthy, as the water pounded down around them. Sherry could taste herself on him—salty, musky, the flavor of her own arousal still lingering from when he’d had his mouth between her legs. It made her bold. She rocked her hips, grinding against the hard ridge of his cock trapped behind his jeans, the friction maddening through the layers of fabric.

Ethan broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, his chest rising as he dragged in air. His eyes were dark, nearly black, his pupils blown with desire. “Greedy little thing,” he growled, his voice thick with approval. “You want more already?”

Sherry didn’t bother denying it. She reached between them, her fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, but he caught her wrist before she could undo them. “Not yet,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He shifted her in his arms, turning her so her back pressed against the cool tile wall. The contrast of the chilled surface against her heated skin made her gasp, her body jerking. Ethan held her there, one hand splayed across her collarbone, pinning her in place as the water cascaded over her front, rivulets tracing the curves of her breasts, the dip of her navel, the dark, trimmed hair between her legs.

His other hand found the soap, a thick, sandalwood-scented bar that lathered richly under his palms. He worked it between his hands, building a froth of suds before smoothing them over her shoulders, down her arms, his touch firm and possessive. Sherry watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as his hands mapped her body. He took his time, his thumbs swirling over her nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks before sliding lower, his fingers tracing the lines of her abs, the flare of her hips. When his hand dipped between her thighs, she spread them wider without hesitation, a needy sound escaping her throat.

Ethan chuckled, low and dark, his fingers gliding through her folds with deliberate slowness. “Already wet again,” he observed, his voice a rough purr. “Or did you never stop?”

Sherry moaned, her head falling back against the tile with a dull thud. “Fuck you,” she breathed, but there was no heat in it, only desperation.

“That’s the idea,” he murmured, his fingers circling her clit with maddening precision. He didn’t apply enough pressure to send her over, just enough to keep her teetering, her hips rolling in small, helpless circles, chasing the friction. “But first, I’m going to wash every inch of you. And you’re going to stand still and take it.”

She whined, her fingers clawing at his forearm, but she didn’t fight him. Couldn’t. The pleasure was too sharp, the denial too cruel. Ethan soaped her thoroughly, his touch lingering on the most sensitive parts of her—her inner thighs, the undersides of her breasts, the hollow of her throat. He even washed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp with a tenderness that belied the steel in his voice when he commanded her to rinse. Sherry obeyed, tilting her head back under the spray, the water sluicing the suds from her skin, leaving her clean and glistening and aching.

Ethan didn’t let her stay still for long. He spun her around, pressing her front against the wall now, her palms flat against the tile, her ass pushed back against him. The denim of his jeans was rough against her bare skin, the zipper biting into the soft flesh of her cheeks. She could feel the heat of him through the fabric, the thick outline of his cock pressed against her, and she arched, trying to grind back against him.

“Patience,” he warned, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp crack.

Sherry yelped, the sting radiating through her, but it only made her wetter, her thighs slick with arousal. Ethan didn’t give her time to recover. His hand slid between her legs from behind, two fingers plunging into her without warning. She cried out, her body clenching around him, her knees nearly buckling.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his fingers curling inside her, finding that rough patch of texture that made her see stars. “You like that, don’t you? Being told what to do. Being used.”

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Yes, please—”

He added a third finger, stretching her, his thumb pressing against her clit in tight, relentless circles. The water drummed down on them, the steam rising in thick clouds, the air heavy with the scent of soap and sex. Sherry’s moans echoed off the tiles, her body trembling, her orgasm coiling tight and unbearable in her belly.

Ethan’s free hand gripped her hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Come for me,” he ordered, his voice a dark command. “Now.”

Sherry shattered.

Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and all-consuming, her body convulsing around his fingers, her cries raw and unfiltered. Ethan didn’t let up, fucking her through it, his fingers pistoning in and out of her as she rode the waves of pleasure, her legs shaking, her breath coming in ragged sobs.

Only when she sagged against the wall, spent and boneless, did he withdraw his hand. He turned her again, pressing her back against the tiles, his mouth crashing onto hers in a bruising kiss. Sherry could taste herself on his tongue, could feel the desperate edge in the way he kissed her—like he was barely holding onto control.

“My turn,” he growled against her lips.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hands went to his jeans, undoing them with rough, impatient movements. Sherry’s fingers joined his, helping shove the denim down his hips, freeing his cock. It sprang out, thick and flushed, the head already slick with pre-cum. Sherry wrapped her hand around him, stroking once, twice, before Ethan groaned and pushed her hand away.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

Sherry sank to the shower floor without hesitation, the tiles cool and slick beneath her knees. The water pounded down on her back, her hair plastered to her skin, as she took him in her mouth. Ethan hissed, his hands tangling in her hair, guiding her movements. She hollowed her cheeks, taking him deep, her tongue swirling around the ridge of his crown before pulling back to lick the thick vein running along the underside.

“Fuck, just like that—” Ethan’s voice was a guttural rasp, his hips rocking forward, feeding her more of his cock. Sherry relaxed her throat, taking him to the root, her nose pressing against the damp curls at the base. She swallowed around him, her fingers digging into his thighs, and Ethan cursed, his grip on her hair tightening.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he warned, but she didn’t stop. She wanted it. Wanted to taste him, to feel him lose control the way he’d made her.

Ethan’s breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, his body tensing. “Sherry—fuck—” His cock twitched, and then he was coming, his release hitting the back of her throat in thick, salty spurts. She swallowed every drop, her lips sealed around him, her tongue lapping at the last of it as he pulled free with a shuddering exhale.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The water continued to pour down, the steam swirling around them, their breaths slowly steadying. Ethan reached down, hauling Sherry to her feet, his hands gentle now, cradling her face as he kissed her—slow, deep, like he was memorizing the shape of her.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his voice rough but softer than before. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Chapter Nine: Melted Chocolate

The warm steam from the shower still clung to Sherry’s skin as Ethan wrapped the plush towel around her shoulders, his movements deliberate but soft. The rough texture of the fabric contrasted with the gentle way he pulled it closed over her chest, his fingers brushing against her collarbone before lingering there. His touch had shifted—no longer the demanding grip of a man asserting control, but something quieter, almost worshipful. Sherry exhaled slowly, her body still humming from the aftershocks of her last orgasm, her thighs trembling faintly as she leaned into him.

Ethan didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. The silence between them was thick with the weight of what had just happened—the way he’d pinned her against the tiles, the way she’d taken him so eagerly, the way he’d called her *perfect* afterward, his voice rough with something that sounded almost like awe. Now, his hands moved over her with a different kind of intent, drying her arms, her back, the curve of her waist, as if memorizing the shape of her. When he knelt in front of her, the towel draped over his shoulder, Sherry’s breath hitched. His thumbs traced the inside of her thighs, slow and methodical, pressing just hard enough to make her muscles flutter. The towel absorbed the last droplets of water clinging to her skin, but his touch left her damp in other ways, her pulse quickening beneath his fingers.

“You’re still so sensitive,” he murmured, his breath warm against her stomach. His lips brushed the faintest bruise on her hip—his mark from earlier—and Sherry’s fingers tangled in his damp hair before she could stop herself. She should’ve felt exposed, standing there naked while he knelt before her, but the way he looked up at her, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied, made her feel like the most powerful thing in the room.

“Ethan—” Her voice came out unsteady, and she swallowed, trying again. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” His hands slid up to her ribs, thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts, and Sherry’s nipples tightened instantly. “But I want to.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. There was no command in his tone, no teasing edge of dominance—just a quiet certainty that made her chest ache. She let her head fall back as his palms cupped her breasts, squeezing lightly, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were hard peaks. A soft sound escaped her, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Ethan’s mouth curved against her skin.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the space between her breasts. “Just like that.”

Sherry’s fingers tightened in his hair, her hips shifting restlessly. She was still throbbing from the last orgasm, her clit swollen and oversensitive, but the way he touched her now wasn’t about pushing her to another peak. It was slower. Deeper. His lips trailed up her sternum, her throat, until he was standing again, his body flush against hers. The towel slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, but she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the heat of him, the way his cock—still half-hard—pressed against her stomach through the damp denim of his jeans.

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough as he took her hand. “Before you catch a chill.”

Sherry let him lead her out of the bathroom, her bare feet silent against the wooden floors. The cabin was warm, the fireplace already crackling, casting long shadows across the rug where a blanket was spread out. A plate of chocolate-covered strawberries sat on the low table beside it, the rich scent of dark chocolate mixing with the smoky aroma of burning cedar. Ethan guided her down onto the blanket, his hands on her waist, and Sherry sank into the softness, her skin prickling with the shift from the bathroom’s humidity to the dry heat of the fire.

Ethan knelt beside her, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip before he reached for a strawberry. The chocolate had started to melt slightly, glistening under the firelight. He held it up to her lips, his other hand cupping the back of her neck, tilting her head just so.

“Open,” he said, and the word was a command again, but a gentle one.

Sherry obeyed, her lips parting as he fed her the strawberry. The moment the fruit touched her tongue, the flavors exploded—sweet, tart, the bitterness of the dark chocolate clinging to her palate. Juice dripped down her chin, and Ethan’s thumb caught it, smearing it across her bottom lip before he leaned in and kissed her. His mouth tasted like chocolate and something darker, something uniquely *him*, and Sherry moaned into the kiss, her hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He broke away with a smirk, his thumb brushing her lip again. “Good?”

Sherry licked her lips, her eyes locked on his. “Better than good.”

Ethan hummed, plucking another strawberry from the plate. This time, he didn’t feed it to her. Instead, he dragged the tip of the fruit along her collarbone, leaving a trail of chocolate in its wake. Sherry’s breath hitched as he followed the path with his mouth, his tongue warm and wet against her skin. The contrast between the cool chocolate and the heat of his lips made her arch into him, her fingers digging into the blanket beneath her.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” he groaned against her skin, his teeth grazing her nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. Sherry gasped, her back bowing off the blanket as pleasure arced through her. He didn’t let up, his free hand sliding between her thighs, his fingers parting her folds with ease. She was already wet again, her body reacting to him without hesitation, and Ethan groaned around her nipple, the vibration sending another jolt of desire straight to her core.

“Ethan, please—” She didn’t even know what she was begging for. More of his mouth? His fingers? The thick length of his cock filling her again? She just knew she needed *something*, and the way he was touching her—slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world—was driving her mad.

He released her nipple with a wet *pop*, his lips glistening with chocolate and her own arousal. “Please what, Sherry?” His fingers circled her clit, barely there, just enough to make her hips jerk. “Use your words.”

Sherry whimpered, her thighs trembling. “I need—fuck, I need *you*.”

Ethan’s eyes darkened, his fingers stilling. “You have me.”

The words hung between them, heavy and honest, and for a moment, Sherry forgot how to breathe. This wasn’t just sex anymore. It wasn’t just dominance and submission, control and surrender. It was something else, something she wasn’t ready to name. Ethan must’ve seen the panic flicker in her eyes because his expression softened, his hand cupping her cheek.

“Hey.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Just let go, okay? No thinking. No overanalyzing. Just *feel*.”

Sherry swallowed hard, her heart pounding. But then his mouth was on hers again, his kiss deep and slow, and she melted into it, her hands sliding up his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his skin. Ethan groaned into the kiss, his cock hardening fully against her thigh, and Sherry rolled her hips, grinding against him instinctively.

“Fuck, you’re greedy,” he murmured against her lips, but there was no reproach in his tone, only admiration. His hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her entrance, teasing the slick heat there. “Already so wet for me again.”

Sherry moaned, her head falling back as he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them just right. “Yes—just like that—”

Ethan worked her slowly, his fingers dragging in and out, his thumb pressing lazy circles over her clit. The firelight flickered across his skin, highlighting the tense muscles of his arms, the way his jaw clenched as he watched his hand move between her legs. Sherry’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body tightening around his fingers, her hips lifting to meet every thrust.

“You’re close,” he observed, his voice rough. “Aren’t you?”

Sherry nodded frantically, her fingers clawing at the blanket. “Yes—yes, I’m—”

“Not yet.” Ethan withdrew his fingers, and Sherry whined in protest, her body aching with the loss. But before she could complain, he was shifting, his jeans finally discarded, his cock thick and flushed as he settled between her thighs. He didn’t push inside her, though. Instead, he guided the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her wetness, the friction making them both groan.

“Ethan, *please*—” Sherry’s voice was desperate, her hips trying to lift, to take him in, but he held her down with a hand on her stomach.

“Patience,” he murmured, his cock dragging against her clit, the sensation almost too much. “I want to savor you.”

Sherry whimpered, her body trembling with the effort of holding still. Every nerve ending was alight, her skin hypersensitive, her clit throbbing with the need for release. Ethan’s cock slid against her again, the ridge of his crown catching on her entrance, and Sherry’s breath hitched.

“You’re killing me,” she gasped.

Ethan chuckled darkly, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate grind. “No, baby. I’m making you *feel*.”

And then, finally, he pushed inside her.

Sherry cried out, her back arching as he filled her in one long, smooth stroke. He was thick, stretching her deliciously, and the way he bottomed out made her see stars. Ethan groaned, his forehead dropping to hers, his breath hot against her lips.

“Fuck, you’re *perfect*,” he growled, his hips pulling back before sliding home again. “So tight. So wet. Made for me.”

Sherry couldn’t form words. She could only cling to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he set a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust dragging against every sensitive inch inside her. The firelight painted their bodies in gold and shadow, the crackling of the flames mixing with the wet sounds of their bodies moving together, the slick slide of his cock, the soft slap of skin.

Ethan’s mouth found hers again, his kiss hungry, his tongue tangling with hers as his hips rolled, grinding against her clit with every thrust. Sherry’s moans were swallowed by his mouth, her body coiling tighter, her orgasm building with a relentless, inevitable pressure.

“Come for me,” Ethan commanded against her lips, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you come on my cock, Sherry. *Now*.”

The order sent her over the edge. Sherry shattered with a broken cry, her body clamping down around him, her nails raking down his back as pleasure crashed over her in wave after wave. Ethan groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic, his cock swelling inside her as he chased his own release.

“Fuck—Sherry—” His voice was a guttural growl, and then he was coming, his cock pulsing deep inside her, his cum filling her as his body shuddered with the force of his orgasm.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Ethan stayed buried inside her, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to hers. Sherry’s body still twitched with aftershocks, her skin slick with sweat, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

Ethan finally lifted his head, his dark eyes searching hers. There was something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that made Sherry’s chest tighten. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, and for the first time, she saw something like vulnerability in him.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

Sherry swallowed, her throat tight. She wanted to say something—*anything*—but the words stuck in her chest, too heavy, too complicated. So instead, she pulled him down for another kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body still cradling his.

The fire crackled between them, the chocolate strawberries forgotten, the world outside the cabin ceasing to exist. For now, there was only this—the warmth, the quiet, the way Ethan’s hands traced patterns on her skin like he was memorizing her.

And for the first time in a long time, Sherry didn’t want to overthink it.

She just wanted to *stay*.

Chapter Ten: Cabin Fever

The warmth of the cabin wrapped around them like a second skin, but Ethan’s body had gone rigid, his muscles tensed as if bracing against something unseen. His fingers, which had just moments ago traced Sherry’s skin with reverence, now curled into loose fists at his sides. The firelight flickered across his sharp jawline, casting shadows that deepened the distance in his gaze. Sherry watched as he turned away, his broad shoulders rolling forward slightly, like a man retreating into himself. She could almost taste the shift in the air—the way the intimacy between them had been replaced by something brittle, something fragile.

She didn’t overthink it. Not this time.

Sherry followed him into the kitchen, her bare feet silent against the cool tiles. The scent of cedar and melted chocolate still clung to the air, thick and intoxicating, but beneath it was something else—something raw and unspoken. Ethan leaned against the counter, his jeans still unbuttoned, the waistband slung low enough to reveal the sharp V of his hips. His chest rose and fell in a slow, controlled rhythm, as if he were forcing himself to stay calm. Sherry stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to see the way his pulse jumped in his throat.

She didn’t touch him. Not yet.

Instead, she reached for the wine bottle on the table, her fingers brushing the smooth glass. The condensation had long since dried, leaving it warm to the touch. She poured two glasses, the deep red liquid swirling as it hit the crystal, then set one down beside him. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, but there was a tension in the way she held herself—like a coil wound tight, ready to spring.

“You’re thinking too hard,” she murmured, her voice low, almost a purr.

Ethan exhaled through his nose, a rough sound. “I don’t do this,” he admitted, his voice gravelly. “The after part.”

Sherry didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She knew what he meant—the vulnerability, the quiet, the way emotions seeped in when the body was still humming from pleasure. She set her own glass down untouched and stepped into him, her body pressing against his side. The oversized shirt she wore—his shirt—brushed against his bare skin, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the ridge of his scars beneath her palms. He stiffened, but she didn’t pull away.

“Then don’t,” she whispered, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Just feel.”

Her hands found his wrists, her fingers sliding beneath his to uncurl his fists. She guided his arms around her, until his hands rested at the small of her back, the heat of his palms seeping through the fabric. For a heartbeat, he resisted. Then, with a rough exhale, he gave in, his grip tightening just enough to pull her flush against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against her stomach, already stirring back to life, and Sherry arched into it, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips.

Ethan groaned, the sound torn from him. “Sherry—”

“Shh.” She cut him off with a kiss, her mouth sealing over his before he could protest. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry, demanding, her tongue sweeping past his lips to claim him. He tasted like wine and sin, and she couldn’t get enough. Her fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight, holding him to her as she deepened the kiss. His hands slid lower, cupping her ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and she moaned into his mouth.

She broke away just long enough to breathe, her chest heaving. “You don’t get to run,” she panted, her voice thick with desire. “Not after what you just did to me. Not after the way you looked at me.”

His eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Sherry smirked, slow and dangerous. “I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

She turned in his arms, pressing her back against his chest, her ass cradling the thick length of his cock. The counter dug into her hips, but she didn’t care. She rolled against him, a slow, teasing grind, the friction of his jeans against the thin cotton of his shirt making her whimper. Ethan’s breath hitched, his hands sliding up to grip her waist, his thumbs pressing into the dip just above her hip bones.

“Fuck, Sherry,” he growled, his voice rough. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good,” she gasped, arching back against him. “Burn me.”

His hands moved higher, palming her breasts through the fabric, his thumbs finding her nipples and rolling them between his fingers. She cried out, her head falling back against his shoulder, her body moving in desperate, needy circles. The shirt rode up, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach, and Ethan didn’t hesitate. One hand slid beneath the fabric, his calloused fingers trailing down, down, until they found the slick heat between her thighs.

“So wet,” he groaned, his fingers parting her folds, teasing her entrance. “Always so fucking ready for me.”

Sherry moaned, her hips bucking against his hand. “Because it’s you,” she admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “It’s always been you.”

Ethan stilled. For a heartbeat, the only sound in the kitchen was their ragged breathing, the crackle of the fire, the wet slide of his fingers as they circled her clit. Then, with a rough curse, he spun her around, his mouth crashing onto hers. His hands were everywhere—gripping her thighs, lifting her onto the counter, shoving the shirt up to expose her. The cool air hit her bare skin, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him—the hard press of his body between her legs, the desperate slide of his tongue against hers, the way his cock throbbed against her core.

“Off,” he growled, tearing his mouth away just long enough to yank the shirt over her head. It joined his on the floor, leaving her completely bare beneath him. His gaze raked over her, hungry and possessive, before he dropped to his knees. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wide, and then his mouth was on her, his tongue delving deep.

Sherry cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips lifting off the counter. He didn’t let up, his tongue fucking her in long, slow strokes, his lips sealing around her clit to suck hard. Pleasure coiled tight in her belly, her thighs trembling, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps.

“Ethan—please—” she begged, her voice breaking.

He pulled back just enough to growl against her skin, “You want my cock, baby? Or do you want to come on my tongue first?”

Sherry whimpered, her body aching, her mind fracturing. “Both. God, both.”

Ethan chuckled darkly, the vibration making her shudder. “Greedy girl.” But he didn’t deny her. His fingers joined his mouth, two thick digits sinking into her as his tongue lashed her clit. Sherry came with a broken cry, her back arching, her nails scoring his shoulders. Before she could even catch her breath, Ethan was standing, his jeans shoved down just enough to free his cock. He gripped her hips, yanking her to the edge of the counter, and then he was inside her in one rough thrust.

“Fuck—” Sherry sobbed, her body stretching to take him, her walls clenching around his thickness. Ethan groaned, his forehead pressing to hers, his breath hot against her lips.

“You feel that?” he rasped, his voice raw. “You feel how good we are?”

Sherry could only nod, her body already winding tight again, her nails digging into his back. He moved like a man possessed, each thrust deep and punishing, the counter creaking beneath them. The kitchen blurred around her, the only thing in focus the way he filled her, the way his body claimed hers, the way his mouth crashed onto hers like he was trying to crawl inside her skin.

“Come for me,” he demanded, his hand sliding between them to circle her clit. “Come on my cock, Sherry. Now.”

She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with a violence that left her trembling, her vision whiting out. Ethan followed with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing deep inside her as he came, his release filling her in hot, thick spurts. He collapsed against her, his body heavy, his breath ragged.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was their heartbeat, the fire, the slow drip of cum leaking from her body. Then Ethan lifted his head, his gaze locking onto hers. There was no guard left in his expression. No retreat. Just raw, open need.

Sherry cupped his face, her thumb brushing his lower lip. “Stay,” she whispered.

Ethan didn’t answer with words. He kissed her instead—slow, deep, like a promise. And for the first time, Sherry let herself believe it.