Page 86 of Cabin Fever
“I’m yours, Talon,” I cry, “I love you, I’m—oh, god, I’m coming, I’m?—”
He slams into me, so deep I swear I can feel him in my soul, and I come again, white-hot and endless. The mountain man follows, shuddering above me, head thrown back, bronzed body tensed and perfect. Then he collapses onto me, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, his breath warm on my ear.
We lie there, tangled and sweaty and still a little stunned, the ring cool and heavy on my finger, the fox’s eyes glinting in the firelight.
He strokes my hair, kisses my forehead, and whispers, “You really said yes?”
I laugh, snuggling closer. “I really did, Mr. McKnight. Get ready to be a husband.”
He squeezes me tight, then rolls us both to face the fire, spooning me with his body curved protectively around mine.
Outside, the snow falls harder, burying the cabin in white. Inside, I’m wrapped in the arms of the man I love, the ring a promise of everything to come.
For the first time, the future doesn’t scare me at all.
It’s well past midnight.The whole cabin is dark except for a single flickering candle on the nightstand, its wax dripping down like a slow, sticky climax. Talon’s sprawled across our bed, still half-naked from earlier—just boxers now, hair sticking up like he’s been static-shocked, his tanned torso striped with scratches I know I gave him. He’s reading my latest draft out loud, voice high with melodrama as he narrates the latest scene between my stepdad and stepdaughter characters. I’m on my belly, legs tangled in the covers, highlighter in hand and a red pencil jammed behind my ear, marking up his thriller pages in the glow.
“‘But Daddy,’” Talon recites in a falsetto so ridiculous I have to bite the pillow to keep from laughing. “‘If I call you that, won’tit make everything even more wrong?’” He puts down the pages, turns to look at me, eyebrow cocked so high it’s nearly in his hairline. “Kat. What the actual fuck.”
I giggle, rolling onto my side so my boobs squish together in a way I know distracts him. “It’s cheesy, yes, but the stepdad stuff sells. Check the charts.”
“Yeah, but… ‘her breath was sweet with the memory of forbidden desires?’” He reads the line again, deadpan. “Are you writing softcore, or is this something poetic?”
“Technically, it’s romance even it iffeelswrong,” I retort, flipping a page of his manuscript. “But that’s the point. Besides, you wrote two entire chapters of blood spatter and gunpowder in this draft. You want to talk about gory?”
He shrugs, but I catch the tiny up-tilt of his mouth. “That’s different. It’s murder, not a kink party.”
I throw a pillow at his face, which he catches and immediately uses to pull me into a embrace, rolling so we’re chest to chest. “Admit it,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “You like shocking people.”
I giggle, squirming in his hold. “And you love being shocked, Mr. McKnight. Otherwise you’d have dumped me for a nice, dutiful girl ages ago.”
He kisses my shoulder, then nips it. “Never,” he says. “You’re my muse. Even if you corrupt every genre you touch.”
I wiggle out of his grip and toss the redlined pages onto the nightstand. My hand glances over the ring on my finger, and for the hundredth time tonight, I get a sappy, swoony jolt in my chest.
“Are you going to beta my next draft, then?” I tease.
“Only if you promise to write me into the story. Maybe as a hot, misunderstood stepdad who turns out to be the best lay the heroine’s ever had.”
I put a hand on his chest and shove, laughing. “Modest. So, so modest. But maybe. I’ll think about it. Hmm, a woodsman cum billionaire author cum stepfather. I like it. There are possibilities.”
He lets his hand drift down my body, pausing at the curve of my hip. “Did you ever think you’d be here, Kat?” His voice is quiet, and he almost sounds nervous. “Living in the woods, writing dirty books, engaged to a man who can’t even tie his own tie?”
I turn so I can look him dead in the eye. “No,” I say. “Never. But I’m glad I am because I’m with you.”
He grins, slow and lazy. “Even with the insanity?”
“Especiallywith the insanity,” I say, then rake my nails across his washboard abs just to make him shiver.
We lie there, tangled and warm, for a long minute. The only sound is the crackle of cooling wood in the stove and the wind swirling outside, shaking the icicles off the eaves. I feel the ring on my hand, solid and real, and think for a second about calling Simone to tell her, but then remember she’s probably flirting with her “hot professor” right now.
Talon shifts, like he’s reading my mind. “Simone texted me at, like, three a.m. last night. Something about needing relationship advice.”
On the one hand, I’m gratified that my best friend and my boyfriend are friendly now. But still, I frown.
“Why didn’t she call me though?” I ask in a plaintive voice.
“Because she wanted a male perspective on the ethics of sleeping with a tenured faculty member, I think?” He smirks. “I told her if it was mutual, legal, and didn’t involve a sex tape, I didn’t see a problem.”
