Page 30 of Curvy Cabin Fever

DAMIEN

I hear them.

Every fucking sound.

The creak of the floorboards. The rustle of clothes being peeled off. Her first breathless moan.

I try not to listen.

I sit out on the front porch, a mug of coffee in my hand and a war in my chest. Snow still blankets the trees, sunlight hitting the top layer and throwing blinding flashes across the clearing. The air’s cold enough to burn, but I don’t go back inside.

I can’t.

Because the second I do, I’ll hear her again.

And that sound—Aria’s moan—is branded into my goddamn bones.

I told her she could have them. I said it with a straight face. I even meant it, in some part of me that was trying to be decent and accepting. Like it wouldn’t rip me in half to know she was being touched by someone else— someone not me.

But I felt it.

When she moaned for Rhett, when they made her come—I fucking felt it like it was my own skin being touched.

I’ve never wanted to storm into a room and drag someone away so badly in my life.

Not out of jealousy, but out of fucking need .

Because I love her.

And I want her every goddamn way a man can have a woman.

I tip the mug back, ignoring how the coffee’s gone lukewarm. My other hand clenches against the armrest, knuckles tight. I’m not angry—not really. Just…weird, man.

Inside, Aria laughs.

There’s a reason I haven’t slept. I sat out here while it all happened—every kiss, every groan, every goddamn gasp—and didn’t move.

Not because I didn’t care.

Because I didn’t trust myself if I went back in.

I’m not gentle, not like Morgan. I don’t smirk and flirt and ease my way in. I don’t burn slow like Rhett either. I’m a fucking wildfire. I consume. And she deserves to breathe before I do that to her.

The door creaks open behind me.

It’s her. I’d know her footsteps anywhere.

“Hey,” she says softly, like she’s approaching an animal that might bite.

Smart girl.

“I didn’t think you’d still be out here,” she tries again.

“I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep with all the noise.”

Her breath catches.

Good .

“I’m sorry?—”

“Don’t,” I snap. Then I exhale, my jaw tight. “Don’t fucking apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

She walks closer. “You told me I could...”

I nod once, curt. “And I meant it.”

“But you didn’t want me to do it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what do you want, Damien?” she asks, standing in front of me now, arms crossed, hair still messy from their hands.

I finally look up at her.

And fuck, she’s beautiful.

Eyes blown, lips swollen. Skin flushed and glowing like she’s been worshipped.

I want to rip that glow off her skin and replace it with my own.

“I want you,” I say simply. “Every fucking inch of you. Not just your body, but your mind, too. Your heart. Your stupid fucking smart-ass mouth.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Then why did you let me do that with them?”

I set the mug down on the porch rail and stand, towering over her. “Because you looked at them like you couldn’t breathe without them. And I’d rather you be happy and fucked senseless than be mine and miserable.”

She stares up at me, chest rising fast.

“You think I’d be miserable with you?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t think that. I know I’d wreck her differently than they would. Not rougher—though maybe that too—but deeper. More permanent.

More…forever.

She takes a step forward until her chest is pressed to mine.

“I looked at them like that,” she whispers, “but you weren’t watching when I looked at you.”

I freeze.

She tilts her head. “You think I don’t feel the way you hold back? Like you’re saving yourself for some other time?”

I clench my jaw. “You had enough going on.”

“I still do,” she replies, stepping closer, until her hands are on my chest. “And I still want you.” Her fingers tighten into my shirt. “But you don’t get to be the only one who gets to choose when. You told me I could have them. I did. And now I’m telling you—I still want you too.”

Something inside me snaps.

It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for three days and can finally let it out.

I cup her face and kiss her forehead, long and quiet.

She melts into it, just a little.

And it’s the softest I’ve touched her yet.

“You know I’m not gonna be gentle forever, right?” I murmur.

Her smile is slow and wicked. “You don’t have to be.”

God help me, this woman is going to ruin me.

And I’ll let her.

Gladly.

She presses her forehead to mine. “Come inside. We’re having coffee.”

I groan. “As long as there are no eggs. If I eat another fucking egg, I’m gonna start laying them.”

She laughs and takes my hand.

And I let her lead me back in.

Because I trust her now, more than ever.

And because the only thing more dangerous than loving Aria…

Is trying not to.

The cabin smells like strong coffee.

Rhett’s at the table, hair still wet from the shower, shirt sticking to his back as he scrolls through the generator manual again like it’s personally offended him. Morgan’s behind the stove in just boxers and a thermal shirt, barefoot and humming off-key.

And then there’s Aria.

Wearing one of my flannels again, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair piled into a messy knot on top of her head. She’s leaning on the counter, sipping from a mug that says Grumpy But Cute.

Goddamn.

Morgan glances over his shoulder when we step inside and grins like he already knows what happened on the porch.

“Look who decided to come back to civilization.”

Rhett lifts his gaze briefly, gives me a nod. It’s not warm exactly, but it’s not distant either. He’s not looking at me like I’m a threat anymore. And that’s something new.

Aria squeezes my hand once more before letting go and moving to refill her mug.

“I thought you were gonna sit out there and freeze your balls off,” Morgan adds.

I grunt. “Frostbite builds character.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Aria murmurs, handing me a fresh cup of coffee. “He used three forks trying to flip an omelet yesterday.”

Morgan gasps, clutching his chest like she shot him. “Betrayal. After everything I’ve done for this family.”

“You are not calling us a family,” Rhett mutters.

“Too late. I already ordered us matching pajamas.”

Aria giggles, and I swear it hits me harder than anything I felt outside.

I take a seat next to Rhett, who nudges a coffee toward me without looking up.

The silence is companionable now. We sip coffee and tea like this is normal. It’s not normal, but it’s ours.

And I’ll be damned if I’m not starting to want this more than I ever thought possible.

Morgan finally slides into the seat on the other side of Aria and kisses her cheek.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Hardly,” Aria mumbles, and we all shoot her a look. “Oops.”

“None of that shit on our watch,” I state. “Or I’ll put you over my knee.”

Rhett snorts softly, and I feel it—how far we’ve come from the first few days. The tension is still there, sure, but it’s different now. It’s tied to something deeper than ego or jealousy.

Aria leans back in her chair and stretches with a satisfied sigh. “I need sleep now. Maybe I’ll read some smut before I nod off.”

“What if we’re the smut?” Morgan teases.

She glances at him over the rim of her mug. “Then I expect good dialogue and multiple orgasms.”

My coffee nearly chokes me.

Morgan grins like it’s the best compliment he’s ever received.

Rhett mutters, “Jesus Christ,” but I catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

Aria disappears into my bedroom with a book and a blanket. Rhett yawns, and Morgan starts clearing plates.

I linger, my hand on the back of her empty chair.

Morgan glances up, eyebrow raised. “You good?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He studies me for a second, then shrugs. “She loves you, you know.”

I stiffen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms simply, rinsing a plate. “She looks at you like you’re her favorite place to land.”

I nod once, then turn away.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, I don’t feel like I’m on the outside.

I feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.