When a Highland blizzard traps curvy $name1 and her boyfriend in a remote stone cottage with no signal and one bed, a slow night of teasing by the fire turns into the filthiest, longest fuck of their relationship.
The snow started just after lunch, soft and pretty, the kind that makes you want to take photos.
By four o’clock it was coming sideways off the hill, and $name1 had stopped taking photos.
She stood at the little window of the stone cottage with her hands wrapped round a mug of tea and watched the track they had driven up that morning disappear under white. Somewhere down there was the car. She couldn’t see it anymore.
“Well,” said Tom from the doorway, stamping snow off his boots. “We’re not going anywhere tonight.”
He was thirty-one, broad in the shoulders, beard flecked with ice. He had been her boyfriend for eight months, and in all that time they had never had a whole night where nobody could reach them. No phones, no flatmates, no work emails. The cottage had no signal at all. The owner had said so on the booking page, like it was a feature.
“How much wood is there?” she asked.
“Enough for two days.” He set a basket of logs by the stove. “Food for three. And one bed.”
“One bed,” $name1 repeated, as if she hadn’t seen it already. As if she hadn’t spent the drive up imagining it.
She was twenty-nine, soft and round everywhere, with heavy hips and a big, full belly and thighs that rubbed together when she walked. For years she had dated men who touched her like they were apologising for it. Tom had never once done that. Tom grabbed handfuls of her like she was the best thing he had ever been given.
She turned back to the window so he wouldn’t see her smile.
He built the fire up while she made pasta on the two-ring stove. The cottage warmed slowly. The windows fogged. Outside the wind howled across the hill and threw snow against the glass in hard little bursts.
They ate on the rug in front of the stove with their backs against the sofa. Tom opened the bottle of red they had brought for the second night.
“Might as well,” he said. “Might be dead by the second night.”
She laughed and kicked him. He caught her ankle and kept hold of it.
His thumb started moving. Slow circles on the bone of her ankle, then up the back of her calf, through the thick wool of her leggings. She kept eating. She pretended not to notice. He kept going.
“You’re very warm,” he said.
“It’s the fire.”
“It’s not the fire.”
By the time the plates were pushed aside, his hand was resting on her knee and she had moved close enough that her shoulder pressed into his. The wine had gone to her cheeks. She could feel the heat of the stove on her face and the heat of him all down her side, and something else, lower, a slow throb that had been building since he said the words one bed.
“Take your jumper off,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because it’s warm. And because I want to look at you.”
She held his eyes for a long second. Then she pulled the big knitted jumper over her head and dropped it on the floor.
Underneath was a thin cream vest top and no bra. She had taken it off in the bathroom an hour ago and told herself it was for comfort. Her breasts were heavy and loose under the fabric, her nipples already tight and dark through it.
Tom didn’t touch her. That was the worst part. He just looked. Firelight on her skin, on the soft roll of her belly where the vest had ridden up, on the swell of her tits.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.”
“You’re just looking.”
“I’m taking my time,” he said. “We’ve got all night. We’ve got two nights.”
He leaned in and kissed her neck. Just under the ear, barely there. Then the side of her throat. Then the top of her shoulder, sliding the strap of the vest down with his teeth.
$name1 let her head fall back against the sofa. Her breathing had gone ragged.
His hand slid under the hem of the vest and rested flat on her belly. He squeezed, gently, a big warm handful of her softness, and she made a sound she didn’t recognise.
“I love this,” he murmured against her skin. “Every bit of it.”
“Tom.”
“Mm?”
“Stop teasing me.”
“No.”
He moved his hand up. Slowly. Over her ribs, under the curve of her breast, letting the weight of it rest on the back of his fingers. He stroked the underside with one knuckle. He did not touch her nipple. She arched toward him and he pulled back, just slightly, just enough.
“You bastard,” she whispered.
He laughed into her neck and finally, finally, cupped her whole breast in his hand and squeezed, rolling her nipple hard between his thumb and finger.
She gasped. It went straight to her cunt like a wire.
He pushed the vest up over her tits and bent his head and took one nipple in his mouth. He sucked it hard, flicking with his tongue, while his hand kneaded the other one, pulling and pinching until she was squirming on the rug.
“Oh God, that’s good. Harder.”
He sucked harder. He bit, just a little, and she cried out and grabbed the back of his head and held him there.
The wind screamed outside. Nobody could hear her. Nobody in the world. The thought made her dizzy.
She dragged the vest off completely. Tom sat back on his heels and pulled his own shirt off, and she put her hands on his chest and then on his belt, fumbling with it.
“Leggings first,” he said.
“Bossy.”
“Lie back.”
She lay back on the rug in front of the fire. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and peeled them down over her wide hips, over the thick soft spread of her thighs, inch by inch, kissing the skin as it appeared. Her knickers came with them. He threw both across the room.
Then he knelt between her legs and just stared at her pussy.
She was soaking. She knew she was. She could feel how wet she was, slick right down to her thighs, her lips swollen and open.
“Christ, $name1,” he said. “You’ve been like this all evening, haven’t you?”
“Since the car,” she admitted. “Since you said one bed.”
He pushed her thighs wide apart with both hands, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and lowered his face and licked her. One long, flat, slow stroke of his tongue, from the bottom of her slit right up over her clit.
She swore so loudly it almost made him laugh.
He did it again. And again. Long lazy licks, tasting her, groaning into her like she was the best thing he had ever put in his mouth. Then he pulled her lips open with his thumbs and sucked her clit between his lips and flicked it fast with the tip of his tongue.
“Fuck, fuck, Tom, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”
He slid two thick fingers into her. She was so wet they went in with a filthy wet sound. He curled them up and stroked that spot inside her while he sucked her clit, and her whole body started to shake.
She grabbed his hair with both hands and ground her pussy against his face. She didn’t care how she looked. She didn’t care about anything except his mouth and his fingers and the pressure building and building low in her belly.
“I’m going to come,” she gasped. “I’m going to come all over your face.”
He moaned against her and fucked his fingers in harder.
She came screaming. Her thighs clamped round his head and her back came right off the rug and she felt herself gush, wet and hot, over his chin and his fingers. He didn’t stop. He kept licking her through it, gentler, until she was twitching and begging and pushing him away.
He sat up, beard shining with her, grinning like an idiot.
“That’s one,” he said.
“Get your fucking jeans off,” she panted.
He stood and shoved them down. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and already dripping at the tip. $name1 rolled onto her knees on the rug and took hold of it before he could kneel back down.
“My turn to tease,” she said.
She licked the precum off the head, slowly, looking up at him. She swirled her tongue round the ridge. She kissed down the shaft to his balls and sucked one into her mouth and then the other, stroking him with her fist the whole time.
“Fuck, baby,” Tom groaned. His hand came down on the back of her head but he didn’t push. He let her play.
She took him in her mouth. Just the head at first, sucking softly. Then deeper. She let her lips stretch round him and slid down until he hit the back of her throat, held him there, and came up gasping with spit stringing from her lip to his cock.
“Again,” he said hoarsely.
She did it again. And again. She found a rhythm, bobbing her head, twisting her hand round the base, sucking hard on every upstroke. The wet sounds filled the little room. She cupped her own heavy breast with her free hand and pinched the nipple and moaned round his cock.
“Stop,” he said suddenly, pulling her off. “Stop or I’m going to come in your mouth, and I want to come in that pussy.”
“Then fuck me,” she said. “Right here. In front of the fire.”
He got her on her back again and pushed her knees up toward her chest. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down her soaking slit, slapping it against her clit, until she was lifting her hips trying to catch him.
“Please. Please, Tom, put it in me.”
He pushed in. Slow. All the way. She felt every inch of him stretch her open, filling her right up, until his balls pressed against her arse and his whole weight came down on her.
“Oh fuck,” she whimpered. “Oh, that’s deep.”
He started to move. Long, slow, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out and sliding all the way back in. He watched her face the whole time. He watched her tits bounce, and her soft belly shake, every time he bottomed out.
“You feel so good,” he said through his teeth. “So fucking soft and wet. I could fuck you all night.”
“Then do it.”
He sped up. The slow strokes turned to hard ones, his hips slapping against her thighs, the sound of it wet and loud and filthy. She wrapped her legs round his back and dug her nails into his shoulders.
“Harder. Fuck me harder.”
He grabbed her hips and pounded her. The rug slid on the stone floor. The fire spat and crackled. $name1 was shouting now, every thrust knocking another dirty word out of her, telling him how big he was, how good his cock felt, how she wanted him to use her.
He pulled out abruptly.
“Turn over,” he said. “Hands on the sofa.”
She scrambled up and knelt facing the sofa, her forearms on the cushions, her big round arse up in the air for him. He knelt behind her and grabbed two handfuls of it and squeezed, spreading her open, looking at her.
“God, this arse,” he groaned. He slapped it, not hard, just enough to make the flesh ripple, and she pushed back toward him.
“Fuck me from behind. Please.”
He slid back into her in one long thrust. At this angle he went even deeper, and she buried her face in the cushion and moaned into it. He held her by the hips and fucked her hard and steady, his thighs smacking against the backs of hers.
He reached round under her and found her clit with his fingers and rubbed it fast.
“Come on my cock,” he said in her ear. “Come on, baby. I want to feel you squeeze me.”
Her second orgasm hit even harder than the first. Her whole body locked up and her pussy clenched round him in long, hard pulses. She sobbed his name into the sofa.
“Fuck, I can feel it, I can feel you coming,” he groaned. His rhythm broke. He drove into her three, four more times, deep and hard, and then he held himself there, buried all the way inside her, and came with a long, rough groan, his cock throbbing as he pumped her full.
They stayed like that for a long time, his chest on her back, both of them shaking and slick with sweat.
Eventually he slid out and they collapsed sideways onto the rug. She could feel his cum trickling out of her and down her thigh. She didn’t move to clean it up. She didn’t want to.
The fire had burned low. The wind was still howling.
Tom pulled the blanket off the sofa and over both of them and wrapped himself round her from behind, one big hand spread on her belly.
“Two nights,” he murmured into her hair.
“Two nights,” $name1 agreed.
She reached back and found his cock, soft and sticky against her arse, and gave it a slow squeeze.
“Put another log on,” she said. “I’m not done with you yet.”