The Cabin Ch. 10

"Big bed," I muttered.

"I have my priorities." He lowered me onto the mattress.

There was a closed door beside a long dresser strewn with charcoal pencils and bits of paper. "I knew you were an artist." I yawned. "Should I sleep with this blanket, or—"

"Oh, no. Here."

Jonah opened the door next to the dresser which turned out to be a closet and retrieved a man's button-down flannel shirt. It was red and black and looked far too large for my frame. I let the blanket fall from my shoulders. Jonah blushed. I glanced down at my nakedness, amused that I hadn't given it a second thought.

He spun to face the wall, clearing his throat. "Sorry, I should've turned faster..."

"No, I should've warned you." The muscles in my hands and arms burned as I attempted to lift the shirt above my head. I winced at the tightness in my shoulders, a high-pitched whine escaping my throat.

"Do you, uh," he said, "need help?"

"Please." I wheezed, letting the garment crumple onto my lap.

Jonah turned to face me, aiming his eyes every direction except down. He picked up the shirt. "Can you lift your arms at all?"

"It really hurts."

He unbuttoned the shirt and stepped closer. I held my arm up as far as I could manage, which wasn't very high. Jonah scrunched one of the sleeves and eased it over my palm before unfurling it over my elbow and onto my shoulder. He draped the back panel around me, his gaze dropping to my chest and then darting to my face. I made no effort to hide the fact that I'd noticed.

"Other arm." He coughed.

Again, Jonah scrunched the sleeve and eased it over my hand and up my elbow. It was enormous on me, but soft and clean-smelling. He crouched between my knees and began buttoning it. I studied him, wishing I weren't so damn tired. A brown wool jacket hung on a peg along the closet door's interior. I recalled the feel of it against my face as he'd carried me through the woods to safety.

"Thank you, Jonah. You saved my life."

"You're welcome."

Jonah wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me so that he could draw back the covers. I filled my head with his scent, a coalescence of wood and smoke and a hint of something else—sage? He eased me onto the fitted sheet and drew the blankets over me, tucking them around my body like a cocoon.

I didn't want him to leave.

"Tell me a story," I said.

He laughed. "Like a bedtime story?"

"Sure." I thought fast. "Tell me about the cabin."

"The one you're staying in?"

"Yeah. What do you know about it?"

Jonah smoothed his facial hair as though he were mulling something over.

"Please," I whispered. The thought of being left alone again made my stomach lurch.

"All right." He rounded the bed and climbed up beside me. I turned to face him as he spread his long limbs across the vacant half of the enormous mattress. "Like I said, I've only lived here for six years, but the guy who owns that property told me about its history when I interviewed for the position. Supposedly, he bought it from the son of the guy who built it, who mysteriously disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

Jonah adjusted his pillow. "Apparently, he was a pretty prominent psychiatrist in the 70's; wrote a few books on Lacanian psychoanalytic theory, but nothing that stuck. He built the cabin as a writer's retreat and eventually moved out there full-time after his wife left him. According to the current owner, the guy went totally batshit, claiming that he was seeing things and people that didn't exist."

A shiver ran through me.

He continued, "One day his ex-wife shows up and finds him on the living room floor, catatonic. I mean, full-on vegetable. Ambulance rushes him to the hospital but the doctors can't figure out what happened. Eventually, they bring him home—"

"Back to the cabin?"

"Yeah. His son drops out of college to look after him and his ex-wife comes up on weekends to help, but they're all basically just waiting for him to die. Then, one night, his son goes upstairs to check on him and the bed is empty. Son searches the house and finds the back door open and footsteps leading out across the field. Like, one second the guy's in a coma and the next he's out taking a midnight stroll in the middle of January."

My blood ran cold. "So, they never found him?"

"Nope. Police searched the mountain for almost a week, but they never found his body. The house was left to the guy's son who sold it to the current owner, who renovated it a few years back, and now it's rental property."

"Huh." I swallowed hard.

"You okay?" He arched his brow. "Maybe I should've insisted on something less creepy."

"No, it's fine. I'm the one who asked about it."

Jonah reached out as though he intended to touch my face, but instead rolled onto his back. "Sorry."

"For what?"

He flashed a shy smile before rising to a seated position and dropping his feet to the floor. "I should let you get some rest."

I thought about protesting, but decided that sleep was probably for the best, even as my mind reeled with troubling thoughts. I felt my eyelids droop. Jonah sauntered around the bed and paused at the door. "I'll be right out here if you need anything."

He turned off the light and pulled the door most of the way closed. I gazed at the narrow strip of light emanating from the living area, my lids fluttering, my awareness drifting, my body aching, but, thanks to Jonah, recovering.

 

***

 

It was still dark when I opened my eyes, my head spinning from dreams of trudging through snow and nightmares of sprinting through vast post-and-beam houses, darting from room to room, searching.

Too many rooms. How could I possibly check them all? And would Adrian even be there?

I sat up and noticed that the pillow was damp, as was my hair. I'd been crying in my sleep. My legs ached, though the skin on my hands and torso had finally stopped tingling. Pulling the covers back, I squinted into the dim light at the gauze patches along my thighs. A few had come loose, though the scrapes beneath them were no longer bleeding.

The soles of my feet stung as they made contact with the hardwood. I tiptoed to the door and switched on the light. The room was so tightly packed with furniture that one would have to sit on the edge of the bed if they wanted to open any of the drawers. My gaze settled on the array of charcoal pencils and paper sprawled across the dresser. I made my way over to them. Among the clutter were drawings of trees, mountains, meadows, streams, and various wildlife. Towards the bottom of the stack, I found a few sketches that featured a woman, naked but for a thin sheet. She rested upon a large bed, not unlike the one I was sitting on. Another drawing featured her outside, lounging amongst tall grasses. I studied them for a few minutes just to be sure that, yes, it was the same woman in every picture.

My stomach gurgled and I recalled that I hadn't eaten since the party the previous night. I padded towards the door and slipped out into the living space. A delicious, savory aroma greeted my nostrils. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

"Good to see you standing." Jonah was lounging on the couch with a tattered book in his hands. He laid it on the end table and stretched his long, brawny arms above his head.

"My feet still hurt."

"Come, sit." He rose from the sofa and gestured for me to take his place. I'd forgotten just how tall he was.

"Thanks." I sat. "How long was I asleep?"

"Only a couple of hours. I warmed up some venison stew. Leftovers, but there should still be a few good-sized chunks. You hungry?"

"Famished."

Jonah ladled some stew into a bowl and grabbed a spoon. My stomach roared as he handed it to me, steam rising from the surface. Thankfully, my fingers had recovered sufficiently enough that I could feed myself.

"I might as well check your bandages while you eat," he said.

The stew was quintessential comfort food: hunks of meat, potato, and carrot immersed in a silken broth boasting subtle hints of garlic, thyme, and sage. I broke the venison into bite-sized pieces with the spoon, savoring the robust, gamey taste. Jonah knelt in front of me and grasped my ankle, lifting my calf to get a look at my dressings. He peeled the gauze and tape back in a few spots, replacing some and doing away with others.

"What's the prognosis?" I asked between bites.

"It's still a bit early to tell, but nothing looks infected." He smiled. "I think you'll live."

I raised the bowl to my lips and tipped some of the broth into my mouth. Jonah folded the hem of the flannel shirt above my thighs to check the upper bandages. I spread my legs just enough to grant him a glimpse of my inner labia. He swallowed hard, pulling at a piece of tape just a few inches from my cunt. I thought about what it might feel like to have those thick, calloused fingers inside me, penetrating me with the same care he'd exhibited when treating my wounds.

"I can wait to, um...check the other side once you're done eating," he said, averting his gaze.

Stifling a smirk, I lifted my foot and settled the heel onto his shoulder, providing access to the back of my thigh and the base of my rump. "How's that?"

He blinked. "That works."

I finished the last of the stew and set the bowl aside. Jonah's breathing hastened as he inspected my cuts, unable to keep his gaze from darting to my cunt. I wondered how he'd respond if I told him he could touch me if he wanted to. I placed my other heel on his opposite shoulder. He licked his lips, but remained focused.

Glancing behind me, I reexamined the charcoal drawings. They were simplistic, like the sort of timed sketches one might perform in art class. Both images featured the same woman, but in different poses, her soft belly and ample bust on full display.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"What?" He jumped.

"On the wall over there."

"No one. I mean, no one in particular."

"But you've sketched her more than once."

"Two sketches don't make a series.'"

"What about the ones in your bedroom?"

He cocked his head.

"Sorry. I'm not usually this nosy. I just like them."

Jonah squinted at the framed images. "She's just someone I made up."

"Your muse?"

"You could say that."

"And you draw her from memory?" I shifted my hips slightly.

"Yes."

A light layer of sweat cropped up along his brow. He swiped at it, smoothing it into his hair. I couldn't tell what was unsettling him more, my proximity or my questions. His flippant references to this woman didn't line up with the way he displayed her. It made me wonder if he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"How long has it been?" I asked.

"How long has what been?"

"Since you've had sex."

Jonah snorted. "You say you're not usually this nosy?"

"Almost dying can embolden a person to eschew social customs. Come on, tell me."

"A while."

"What's a while?"

He sighed heavily.

I licked my lips. "Was she your last partner?"

"She isn't real."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Positive." He guided my feet back to the floor.

I stifled my disappointment. "You know, you never answered my question."

"I think I've answered all your questions."

"No. I asked you if you've ever experienced anything strange since you moved out here."

He dragged his tongue across his top teeth. "Define strange."

I grinned. "Have you ever spent the night at my cabin?"

"Probably." His mouth twitched. "I don't remember."

"I think you do."

Jonah eyed me warily. I stared him down, friendly, yet insistent. He smoothed his moustache and tugged at the scruff along his chin. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh or call me crazy."

"I'm the one who ran out into the snow wearing little more than a bathrobe. My crazy already trumps your crazy."

"Yeah. We'll see." He folded his long legs beneath him.

I kept my knees spread and my cunt uncovered, conscious of every stray glance. He took a deep breath. "Two years ago we were hit real hard by a snowstorm. I had to drive out to all the properties to make sure the pipes didn't freeze. The post-and-beam house is always my last stop because it's the closest and the people who were supposed to be staying there that night ended up canceling because of the weather."

Jonah paused, pulling at a loose thread on his pants. I made the universal "please continue" signal.

"I set the back-up heat—"

"Wait," I said. "There's back-up heat?"

"Yeah. Natural gas."

"Good to know."

He smirked. "Anyway, the storm had gotten so bad that I decided to stay put. I built a fire and made myself comfortable on the couch."

"Not the bedroom?"

"Bed-making isn't my specialty. Anyway, I did have my sketchbook and a few pencils with me, so I pulled those out and started drawing. That one, actually." He nodded towards the first framed image on the wall behind me. "I'm guessing that's when I dozed off because shortly thereafter, I heard a knock at the back door."

"And?"

"And there she was, the woman from my sketch, wrapped in a sheet, shivering."

I smiled. "Keep going."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I let her in, of course—after gawking at her for five minutes. I brought her in front of the fire and we talked for a while. It was the longest, most lucid dream I've ever had."

"But, you didn't just talk." I raised an eyebrow.

"No." He snickered. "We didn't."

"So, what happened?"

"Things." He laughed, his face glowing.

"You fucked."

He bit his lips together. "Yes, we did."

"Did you fuck on the coffee table or the couches?"

"Both."

"Hmm." I simpered. "Did it live up to your fantasies?"

Jonah leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It surpassed them."

My cunt tightened. I let my gaze rove unabashedly over his form, pausing at the faint bulge between his legs. I licked my lips. "What happened to her?"

"I woke up."

I nodded. If his experience was anything like mine, then that meant the woman from his sketches had probably gained permanence by fucking him. However, he seemed genuinely convinced that what had occurred was nothing more than a vivid dream.

"What would you do if you thought she might be real?" I asked. "Like, if you knew she was out there somewhere?"

Jonah cupped his chin in his hand, lost in thought. Finally, he said, "I guess I'd have to wonder why she ran off in the first place."

"Would you go after her?"

"Probably not."

"But she's your dream girl."

"Yeah, but, if she wanted to be with me then she wouldn't have left."

Silence stretched between us. We regarded each other, him stealing glances at my cunt and me staring openly at his, well, everything.

"Did you eat her out?"

"Yes."

"Did she come?"

"As far as I know."

"You know."

He smirked. "She did."

I liked this man. I liked him very much. He was kind-eyed and rugged and had brought me back from the brink of death, which didn't necessarily earn him the right to touch me, but it certainly helped. More importantly, he'd managed to help me forget about Adrian's betrayal, if only for a short while. If masturbating in front of an imaginary audience was my final challenge, then seducing a flesh-and-blood stranger seemed like an appropriate next step. That I would find myself in this situation with this man at this point in time seemed rudely poetic. I had to wonder if this had been Adrian's plan from the very beginning.

I spread my knees further apart. "Take off your shirt."

Jonah's eyes widened.

"Please," I said.

He hesitated a moment before grasping the back of his sweater and pulling it over his head. A layer of fine blond hair coated his powerful chest. I unbuttoned my shirt, slowly, from top to bottom, his gaze following my fingers. I let the sides drape open, exposing half of each breast.

"Crawl to me."

Jonah shuffled forward on fists and knees like a big, savage beast. I prayed he possessed a thick cock and nimble tongue to match. He knelt before me, resting his palms on the edge of the couch between my legs. I hooked two fingers beneath his chin and guided his face toward mine. Our lips touched, soft and tentative, but not for long. Jonah took my face into his hands as our kiss became desperate. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and he opened to me, his facial hair tickling the skin around my lips.

I touched my cheek to his and nipped his earlobe. "I want you to make me come."

Jonah let out a gust of air. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

I touched his lips. "Take care of me, Jonah."

A low moan fell from Jonah's throat as he descended to my chest. He kissed the spot between my breasts and pulled the shirt open to expose my nipples. I moaned as he cradled the heavy globes and strummed the puckered peaks with his thumbs. He centered his mouth over my left nipple, drawing it out and blowing cool air onto it before latching back on.

I raked my fingernails along Jonah's shoulders. He growled, moving to suck hard on my right nipple before trailing kisses down my abdomen. I spread my legs impossibly wide and shivered when I felt his warm breath upon my cunt. He parted my folds, careful not to lean too heavily on my thighs. I kneaded my breasts and purred with expectation. Just as he was about to touch his tongue to my clitoris, he peered up at me, his breathing ragged.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes." I grinned. "I'm sure."

Jonah dipped his tongue between my folds. I squealed and tensed in an attempt to keep myself from bucking and displacing my bandages. He covered my clitoris with his mouth, licking and sucking as though he were starving, which made sense, considering it had been almost two years since he'd done anything like this. I squeezed my nipple as he wagged his tongue over me, causing acute jolts of pleasure to ripple throughout my lower body. I weaved my fingers into his hair, pulling it gently.

"I am so glad you found me." I panted.

He looked up, his beard glistening. "I didn't find you."

"What?"

"I mean, I found you passed out on my porch which seemed kind of weird because you practically broke my door down knocking."

I shook my head. "I don't remember that."

He ran a finger along my slit. "Like I said, hypothermia can fuck with brain function. You probably stumbled around for a while before you saw my porch light."

"But—" I whimpered. "I distinctly remember you carrying me through the woods."

"Wasn't me."

Jonah eased two thick fingers deep into my cunt. I cried out, too distracted to consider the implications of what he'd just told me. The combination of his slow, deliberate thrusts alongside the gentle sucking had me delirious. I ground myself against his face, not caring that the friction made my backside burn. He withdrew his fingers only to slip them into his own mouth, groaning and gazing up at me with a look of utter abandon. My clitoris ached at his obvious enjoyment. Jonah plunged his fingers back inside and resumed his agonizing pace. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the rising pressure comingled with the satisfaction of getting exactly what I wanted.

 

***

 

The ski resort could've passed for a small town. Framed by mountains on three sides, its bright lights illuminated the valley as though it aimed to exist in perpetual daylight all day, every day. Adrian crouched along a snowy ridge, his boots sinking into the ice-crusted fluff as he gazed down upon the clusters of buildings sporting luxury accommodations, indoor water parks, all-you-can-eat buffets and twenty-four hour bars. The glacial wind whipped his hair about his face. He tugged at his lapels, shielding his cheeks and ears from the onslaught.

He hadn't intended for Aubrey to see him leave or to follow him into the frigid woods. His plan was to slip away sometime in the early morning while she slept. But lying there beside her, caressing the soft curves that conformed so readily to his sharp edges, he couldn't bring himself to go, not until he'd memorized every inch of her, every dimple, scar, and beauty mark, all the parts that he would miss during their time apart. It was idiotic of him to have waited so long. She could've died out there. He'd never been so careless, at least, not when she was penning the narrative.