Snowed in with the man she loves, $name1 begs him to fill her bare and keep her full until morning.
The cabin had one bed, a wood stove, and a window that looked out on nothing but white.
$name1’s boyfriend had driven them up for the weekend — champagne in the boot, board games, the promise of quiet away from the city. By Saturday afternoon the snow had buried the hire car to the wheel arches and the road behind them was a rumour. She did not mind. She stood barefoot on the thick rug in one of his flannel shirts and watched him build the fire with his sleeves rolled up, and felt her cunt throb with a soft, stupid tenderness that made her smile.
“We’re stuck,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.
“Good,” $name1 answered, and pulled the shirt off over her head in one motion.
She wore nothing underneath. Firelight painted her nipples gold and threw soft shadows under her breasts. He stared like he was seeing her for the first time in months of hurried weekday sex, crossed the room in three strides, and kissed her slow and deep, hands spanning her waist, then lower, cupping her arse, fingers dipping between her cheeks to find her already slick and ready.
“Christ, $name1. You’re soaked.”
“I’ve been thinking about you fucking me bare all the way up the mountain,” she whispered against his mouth. “No condom. I want to feel you cum in me. I want to walk around this cabin dripping you and knowing it’s yours.”
His groan was almost a prayer. He lifted her easily, carried her to the bed, laid her down on cool sheets that smelled of pine and laundry powder. He kissed her throat, her breasts, the soft slope of her belly, then settled between her thighs and licked her open with filthy patience — flat of his tongue, then pointed tip on her clit, two fingers curling until she arched. $name1 tangled her fingers in his hair and rocked against his mouth, moaning his name, thighs trembling, until she came in a sweet, shaking rush that left her wetter than before and begging.
He shucked his jeans. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking at the tip. She reached for him, stroked the length, guided the hot head to her entrance and held his gaze.
“Look at me,” she said. “I love you. Fill me.”
He pushed in bare.
The heat of him — skin on skin, nothing between them — made her gasp aloud. He filled her in a long slide until his hips met hers and they both went still, breathing hard, feeling every inch. Then he began to move. Slow at first, deep, grinding against her clit on every stroke. $name1 wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, kissing his mouth, whispering filthy sweetness against his lips between kisses.
“Harder. Fuck me like you mean forever. I want your cum so deep I taste it tomorrow.”
He gave her harder. The bedframe knocked the log wall. Snow hissed against the glass. She came again with her nails in his back, cunt clenching rhythmically, and he held on, gritted his teeth, kept thrusting through her orgasm until she was sobbing with oversensitivity and still begging for more, still rocking up to meet him.
He pulled out only long enough to flip her onto her hands and knees, then entered her from behind in one thrust that punched a moan out of her. One hand on her hip, one reaching under to rub her swollen clit, he fucked her with the wet slap of skin and the creak of old wood. $name1 pushed back to meet him, tits swaying, hair in her face, lost to the stretch and the love of it equally.
“Inside,” she gasped. “Please — don’t pull out — fill my cunt — breed me for the weekend—”
He buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken sound, pulsing hot and thick into her. She felt every spurt. She clenched around him to keep it, moaning, grinding back, milking him until he shuddered and slumped over her back, kissing her shoulder, murmuring her name like a vow.
They stayed joined until he softened. When he slipped free, cum followed in a slow drip down her inner thigh. $name1 laughed softly, scooped some onto her fingers, and licked it clean while he watched, eyes dark with renewed hunger.
“Again,” she said. “When you can. I want to sleep with you leaking out of me all night.”
He hardened sooner than either expected. The second time he took her in the armchair by the fire, her straddling him, riding slow while snow sealed the world away outside. She came on his cock with her forehead pressed to his, whispering that she loved him, that she wanted his cum, that she never wanted latex between them again. He flooded her a second time and held her there, still inside, while the fire popped and her aftershocks fluttered around him.
That night she slept naked against him, thighs sticky, cunt soft and used and full. Once before dawn she woke to find him hard against the cleft of her arse; she reached back, guided him into her messy cunt, and they fucked half-asleep and tender until he filled her a third time and she drifted off smiling with his arm around her waist.
Morning light through snow-glare found $name1 in the tiny kitchen making coffee barefoot, his shirt on again, his cum still a slick secret between her legs when she moved.
She had never felt more romantic — or more thoroughly claimed — in her life.
