Page 56 of Curvy Cabin Fever

I’ve never felt this, never been wanted like this. It’s just me and him.

His lips warm against mine, patient when I fumble.

God.

He tastes like sex and peanut butter and everything I shouldn’t want but do.

My heart pounds against my ribs like it wants out.

When I pull back, it’s not because I want to. It’s because I have to. Because if I keep doing this with him, I’ll die.

I don’t move far. Our foreheads rest together, breaths mixing in the kitchen’s cool air.

I close my eyes.

“It’s so fucking hard,” I whisper, the words a confession I never meant to make.

Morgan stays still, but his thumb traces my jaw. “What is?” he asks, barely audible.

My hands tighten. “This,” I admit, voice breaking.

For a long moment, there’s nothing. Then I feel it—the shift between us. It’s not possession or jealousy. It’s need.

Maybe he’s known all along.

When I look up, his smile is soft, his eyes kind.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rhett,” he assures me.

For him, it’s that simple. It never has been for me.

But standing here with him, raw and exposed, I wonder if maybe, for the first time, I want to believe him.

I should step back. I should walk away while I still have whatever scraps of pride I’ve managed to hold on to tonight.

But I don’t move.

I stay pressed against him, my hands curled in his shirt, like if I let go, I might lose my footing entirely.

I’ve never stayed before, not like this. My whole life has been about walking away first, keeping my distance, building walls, pretending I didn’t care when I cared too much.

But Morgan doesn’t pull away—he lets me stay. His hand rests against my waist, thumb brushing small circles into my side. Nothing rushed or demanding. Just him and me at this moment.

It’s quiet—so quiet I hear the faint hiss of the fire, the occasional groan of the cabin settling into night.

His breath warms my temple, grounding me more than I want to admit.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Morgan murmurs, his voice rough at the edges like it’s hard for him to keep calm, like he’s fighting every instinct to push for more but won’t do that with me, especially when I’m this vulnerable.

I exhale, feeling the sharp edges of tension ease beneath his touch—not gone, not erased—but dulled for now.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

Morgan hums, a low sound in his chest that I feel before I hear. “Nobody ever is.”

That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does. Because it means I’m not broken. I’m just me, and maybe that’s okay.

Eventually, I loosen my grip on him—not because I want to, but because I have to. If I stay here any longer, if I let this go any deeper tonight, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull myself back together.