Page 8 of Curvy Cabin Fever

MORGAN

T he storm has settled when the first streaks of dawn filter through the cabin’s massive windows.

The sky is a pale lavender, still dotted with lingering clouds but clearing fast. Thick snow blankets the outside world and piles against the porch railing, softening everything.

It is peaceful and beautiful in a way that feels almost unreal.

Inside, the air is warm and thick with the lingering scent of last night’s firewood and the remnants of my cooking. The place still smells like garlic, wine, and something sweet—maybe cinnamon from the tea I made before heading to bed.

I stand barefoot in the open-plan kitchen, stretching my arms above my head as I stare at the coffee machine, waiting for the first drop to hit the carafe.

Lord knows Rhett won’t be a happy bunny if there isn’t any coffee, and he’s grumpy enough as it is.

My muscles ache, not from exhaustion, but from tension, the kind that settles deep in the bones when the air in the room is charged with something unsaid.

Because it wasn’t just the storm that kept me up last night .

My lips twitch as I stir sugar into Rhett’s coffee, leaning against the counter.

“Like you ain’t sweet enough, Rhett.” I sigh, reaching for a bottle of mineral water from the fridge.

“You say something?”

I stiffen when Rhett strolls downstairs, his hair ruffled and his tone tense. Even though Damien’s room was on the bottom floor, those moans traveled through the cabin with ease.

The cabin might be quiet now, but a few hours ago, it wasn’t. Aria’s moans had cut through the walls, soft and breathy at first, then downright sinful.

I’d heard every damn sound.

“Here’s your coffee, Grumpy.” I push it forward, and he snatches it greedily, grunting his appreciation. “How did you sleep?”

Rhett swallows his coffee before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his blue eyes narrowing at me.

Most people are scared of Rhett Callahan, but not me. I’d ride him like a bucking bull.

“Is that a joke, Morgan?”

I chuckle and snap the lid off my water, eyes locking onto his as I lift it to my lips. Like he always does, he watches, his eyes on my mouth as I swallow slowly. It’s moments like these that I savor the most. Where Rhett openly looks at me like I’m someone he’d take to bed. Like he wants me.

“Nope,” I say, popping the P.

Rhett looks away, and my spirits fall, as always, when he stops checking me out.

“You heard them, right?”

Rhett says nothing as he sips his coffee, staring dead ahead.

“Come on, Rhett, tell me you didn’t think that was hot.” I push his buttons, knowing that the last thing Rhett wants to do is talk about Damien and Aria. “She’s so hot, man. Those curves… Lucky Damien. Just saying.”

Rhett remains silent, and I can’t help but throw something else into the mix because why not?

“You know, you could’ve come to my room if you couldn’t sleep. We could’ve made our own noises.” I grin at him, but he simply lifts his gaze to mine and sighs.

“Morgan.”

“Yes, Rhett?”

“Knock it off,” Rhett snaps, irritation lacing his tone.

“You remind me of Ryan.” I drain the water bottle, letting my petty remark hang. “He was always grumpy as fuck in the mornings, but it was nothing a blow job couldn’t sort out.”

Rhett stiffens.

I wait, wondering why I insist on poking the beast. It’s only going to end in heartbreak; we’ve been friends all these years, and nothing has ever happened.

“Ryan?” he grits out, tightening his grip on his coffee mug.

“I forgot—you didn’t like him.” I pause and let my words sink in. “But then, you don’t like any guy I fuck.”

Mic drop.

Rhett shifts in his seat, his jaw tightens, and hope blossoms in my chest when he says, “You always pick the wrong guys.”

There it is again. He’s irritated because we’re discussing me and other men. He doesn’t get like this about women.

Just then, a door clicks quietly down the hall, and Rhett and I exchange a look that says this conversation is over.

I sigh and toss my empty bottle in the recycling can, wondering if I’ll be alone with Rhett again today. Not that it matters—he is a hard nut to crack, and I really should let him go.

I just can’t.

“Morning,” a soft, feminine voice greets, commanding my attention away from the hulk of a grump before me.

“Aria,” I say with a wink. “How did you sleep? If you did?” I can’t help but tease her, and the poor girl flushes.

Her swollen lips and that ‘just fucked’ glow are enough to make me jealous.

“Not gonna lie…hearing you last night? Kinda got me going.”

Aria turns bright red, and Rhett slams his coffee cup down.

Oh, this is fun.

“I…” Aria looks awkward as fuck, so I chuckle and take my time looking her up and down.

She looks good.

She’s wearing Damien’s shirt, and damn, it clings to her breasts in ways my lips want to. Her thighs are so creamy I want to bite them.

Fuck, I haven’t felt like this about a woman in a long time.

“I wish I’d have told you to sleep in my bed now,” I add, winking once more as Aria lets out a nervous giggle.

“For fuck’s sake,” Rhett mutters, and I make a face at Aria like I’ve been naughty. She giggles again, and I offer her a coffee.

“Yes, please; I don’t feel human until I’ve had a coffee,” Aria admits, sliding onto the stool beside Rhett, who tenses.

“Rhett loves coffee. He’s addicted, and nothing I say or do can make him reduce even a cup a day,” I state as I pour her a cup.

“You don’t drink too much of it, do you?

” I eye her with concern as she takes the coffee from me, closing her eyes as she inhales the scent.

She lets out a satisfied sigh before taking her first sip.

“Thank you, Morgan.”

My name on her lips sounds god-like.

Okay, I will make her coffee all day fucking long.

“Jesus, don’t start on her, too. Seventy-three percent of Americans drink coffee every day. You’re in the minority.” Rhett shoves his chair back and reaches for the carafe, scowling.

But I’m watching Aria, or rather, Aria’s lips as she smacks them together, her body relaxing as the coffee slides down her throat in ways I want to.

“What?” she asks, looking down self-consciously.

What’s wrong with her? Don’t tell me she’s insecure.

“I bet you’re starving, aren’t you?” I comment, trying not to stare at her. She’s alone in a cabin with three strange men, one of whom took her to bed and fucked her.

The lucky bastard.

Aria flushes, and Rhett stares at me wordlessly.

“You know, next time you want to have some delicious orgasms, pop up to my room,” I suggest, not reacting when Rhett leaves the room, stomping away.

“We can even invite him.” I wiggle my brows at his departing back, and Aria gasps before giggling once more.

“Told you. Grumpy. He really needs to get laid.”

Aria laughs, and I smirk.

“Maybe you should help him out with that, sugar. Or we could wear him down together.”

“Morgan!” she admonishes as I reach for a frying pan and some eggs. “You’re so bad!”

I sigh and crack the eggs into the pan, reaching for some mushrooms. “You haven’t been to bed with me yet, darling. You wait.”

“And yet I thought you were the gentleman, Morgan.”

I laugh and catch her looking at my body as I cross my arms over my chest. “I can be that too, darling.” I love making her blush, but something is niggling at me. I stir the eggs and mushrooms, adding some seasoning as I slide some bread into the toaster.

Aria watches me, probably waiting for me to say something wildly inappropriate again.

“Why did you think me looking at you earlier was bad?” I ask, resting my hands on the counter and gazing at her.

Aria blinks rapidly as she finishes her coffee. “It was just intense—your gaze, I mean.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not wearing much, and I thought you might find that offensive or gross…”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“Hold up,” I blurt, turning the eggs down so they don’t burn. “You thought what ?”

Aria swallows and plays with the empty mug instead of looking at me. “Well, I’m not tiny by any stretch of the imagination, and I’m sure you’re used to beautiful women…”

“Aria,” my voice is dangerously low as I lean forward, my finger tipping her chin so she has no option but to look at me, “have you fucking seen yourself?”

Aria closes her eyes, and a small laugh leaves her lips. I move back and shake my head.

“You just spent the night with one of the most eligible bachelors in America. That man doesn’t have girlfriends.

He doesn’t date. Most people think he’s gay, but I can assure you, as a bisexual man, he is not.

” I huff and turn back to the eggs as the toast pops up in the toaster.

“Gross. I don’t want to ever hear you talking about yourself like that again, do you understand me?

” I butter the two slices of toast and slide another two in as her eyes widen.

“Two slices is fine!” she protests, but I shake my head as I tip the cooked eggs onto them.

“After what I heard last night, that was a four-slice orgasm, girl. You need some carbs.”