Cabin Fever

by Roe Horvat

  The next evening, I exited the bathroom in only my tight tan briefs and sauntered to the kitchen corner, deliberately not looking at Vincent, who sat in the armchair, reading something on his iPad.

  I stretched my arms above my head, rolled my shoulders, and sighed, then opened the fridge. Cocking my hip, I scanned the contents. It was an exercise in futility. I knew exactly what the fridge held. I picked one light beer from the dwindling supply and closed the fridge. At least, those beers were mine. Vincent never drank alcohol. I guessed that as he was working twenty-four seven, he probably couldn’t. Well, more for me.

  With my left hand, I reached back and adjusted the hem of my briefs, slowly running my index finger across my ass cheek.

  A thud behind me, then a quiet curse. I turned. Vincent was picking up his iPad from the carpet. I suppressed my grin.

  “I can cook tonight,” I said, opening my beer.

  Leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter, I played with the bottleneck and pushed my ass out. I still looked casual enough, no over-the-top display. Just a boy drinking a beer in the kitchen, his junk half-hard in his tight underwear. I wanted Vincent to know that if he wanted the ass he’d been eying for the past few days, thinking he was so damn discreet… he could have it. Anytime, in any way.

  “Do whatever you want,” he grumbled. “Just put a T-shirt on.”

  I gulped some more beer. His anger only made me hungrier for him.

  “Why, Vincent?”

  His eyes flitted to my pierced nipples, and I smiled.

  “Michael, I’ve had enough. This is not a game. Put on some fucking clothes, now.” Damn, the command in his voice! I was fully hard. And he noticed. He swallowed, and his eyes darkened, zeroing in on my cotton-covered erection.

  “Yes, Daddy.” I strolled past him to my room, swaying my hips as I went.

  “Little fucker,” Vincent muttered.

  I laughed.

  Every time Vincent went running by himself, he was gone longer and longer. Was he avoiding me, burning off the sexual tension, or both? I liked to watch him as he ran. I caught glimpses of his glorious body between trees as he did the circle around the lake, his muscles pumping in sync like a well-oiled machine. I looked forward to the moment he came back, smelling of sweat, heat radiating from him.

  During the past few days, I’d done countless sketches of him running, trying to capture the power, the speed. He was breathtaking.

  And he was changing me into a sex-crazed monster. Last night, I’d dreamed about him fucking me in the forest, up against a tree. He was hot and drenched with sweat from his run, and I licked the salt from his skin…

  Cabin fever, all right. I was going mad with lust. Better than nightmares, to be sure.

  So, when Vincent came back at ten in the morning, I had a water glass ready for him. Leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter, I handed it to him. He took it wordlessly, confused, lifted it to his lips, and drank.

  His wet T-shirt clung to his chest, and the heavy scent of his sweat made my head spin. Without thinking, I raised my hand and ran my finger through the wetness on the side of his throat. He stilled, water glass in the air, and stared at me with his gray, dangerous eyes. His jaw tightened. Oh, yes. He wanted me, just as much as I wanted him.

  Spellbound, I leaned closer and licked the base of his throat, tasting the salt. I moaned softly.

  Suddenly, he was gone. The bathroom door banged shut somewhere behind my back.

  I wanted him badly—it made me ache with a constant need I’d never experienced before. I felt alive with it, though. Maybe I’d never manage to seduce him. However, even the feeling of wanting him felt like a gift—the only bright spot in my existence for months.

  4

  His mouth

  Vincent

  The setup for Michael’s protection was top notch. I had my best people watching the wide perimeter, reporting to me without any of them having a clue who was here. The cabin itself with the panic room and the improvements to the security system was safe yet inconspicuous, the remote location perfect for this particular case.

  The only weak link was me. For the first time in my career, I was failing, fully aware of all my mistakes, yet unable to crawl back up the slippery slope—because of Michael Bourgeon.

  He wasn’t what I’d expected him to be. I could’ve handled the cocky brat and the obvious attempts to get into my pants. That would’ve been easy.

  However, the things that got to me weren’t the ones he did intentionally. He liked to cook and put his headphones in his ears when he did. I stared at him as he flitted around the kitchen, his head subtly jerking to the rhythm, a soft smile on his lips. He created miracles from the boring supply of tins, frozen meat, and vegetables we had with us. The other day, when we’d come back from our run, he’d lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe at his forehead and then puffed out his cheeks, laughing self-deprecatingly and shaking his head. He’d complained I was a slave driver. The expression on his face right then had stuck with me. His features had shown joy, honest joy from simply running in the woods and bantering with old moody me.

  Underneath the bratty armor, Michael was kind and brave. He struggled every day. I could see the fear and anxiety building, but instead of throwing a tantrum—which was what I would’ve expected from someone with his upbringing and reputation—Michael did the dishes or yoga or laundry, trying to keep himself occupied… I doubted he realized how brave he was. And that sketchbook! I was obsessed with that damned sketchbook. Michael could sit and draw for hours on end, unaware of me looking at him from time to time. The focused frown between his brows, his pursed lips, the way his tongue darted out… What the hell did he draw in that sketchbook?

  Finally… the way he looked at me when I raised my voice at him—that hit me into my weakest spot. Whenever I told Michael what to do, I noticed the heat in his eyes as clearly as the sun in the sky. His obvious craving to be ordered around, to submit, had my libido raging.

  I was such a fucking fool.

  It had been only night six of this gig, and I’d already jerked off to the fantasy of Michael naked on his knees in front of me, violating himself with a big black dildo. No idea why I imagined it black. Maybe because it looked so wrong in my mind, fat and aggressive, such a stark contrast to his soft milky skin. The sounds he’d made when he’d pleasured himself, perfectly audible through his bedroom door… Fuck. Did he do it on purpose to make me mad, or was he always this vocal?

  It had become my calming ritual—a fantasy of Michael’s ass, sometimes his mouth, like a good-night story. Now, after more than ten days in a confined space with him, I imagined him riding me. I came so hard I had to bite the pillow so he wouldn’t hear me. Sated, I didn’t have the energy to be annoyed with myself anymore. I drifted on a cloud of sexual fantasies, letting myself enjoy them. In my dreams, Michael surrendered to me, pliant and meek, on his knees, eager for my touch, asking nicely to be allowed to just lick my dick…

  A cry tore me out of my sleep, and I shot up, awake and alert. It had come from Michael’s room. Gun in hand, I stalked through the cabin. I double-checked my phone, just to be sure. There couldn’t have been an intruder, or the security system would have alerted me.

  I opened the door to his room. Michael lay on his bed, asleep, naked, completely. The sheets were bunched up around his legs. Brilliant moonlight flooded through the window, illuminating the barbells in his nipples, his hairless groin, his soft cock… Fucking hell.

  His body spasmed, and he cried out again, a painful wail that made my hair stand on end. I put the gun on the nightstand and shook his shoulder.

  “Michael.” He shuddered and convulsed, his mouth falling open. A nightmare. Well, someone had been trying to kill this boy. No wonder he had nightmares.

  His pouty lips looked as if they strained toward me.

  “Michael, you’re dreaming. C’mon. Wake up.”

  His big green eyes popped open wide.

  “Vincent?” he mumbled.
>
  “You were having a nightmare. I heard you yelling.”

  “Oh.” He sat up and looked around, confused. “Sorry.”

  Then he seemed to wake up more properly. His eyes flickering from me to his naked body. I expected him to reach down to cover himself, but he didn’t. I let go of his shoulder immediately.

  Leave, Nowak. Do it. Leave now.

  Slowly, Michael turned his head to me and looked into my eyes. He seemed dangerously awake and very well aware of what his nakedness was doing to me. One of his hands slid down his torso, over one glinting barbell, and down to his crotch. He cupped his balls and wetted his lips, his gaze scanning my face with intensity.

  Leave, Nowak. Now!

  But I got stuck on his mouth again. My mind was empty except for the image of his sensual lips. They glistened with saliva, full, pink, and soft. Erotic. I felt as if he’d sucked me into him, stealing my sense, my self-control.

  He moaned softly, and my eyes darted to his groin, where his hand was slowly stroking his now hard cock. Bare, completely hairless, his toned young body writhing in pleasure, torso arching off the bed, hips rolling… he was so beautiful it hurt me in my core. The tattoos on his arms seemed to morph in front of my eyes, swirling in hypnotizing patterns. He lay back down on the bed, never taking his eyes off me, and I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t.

  He spread his legs wider, squeezing his shaft, the pink head peeking out, precum gathering at the tip. I wanted to taste it. With his other hand, he pulled on the barbells in his nipples, first one, then the other, and then he pumped his hips up, fucking into his own fist. He came, the cum splattering onto his belly in a fountain-like arch.

  I stared at his mouth again, swollen and parted, harsh breaths puffing out.

  He lifted one finger, covered with cum, and smeared it over his upper lip, looking at me with wicked, deep-green eyes. The tip of his tongue darted out, and he lapped at the cum, eyes closing, eyelashes fluttering.

  “Please, Daddy, will you fuck my mouth?” he whispered.

  His question was like a slap to my face.

  I turned and ran out of his room as if my ass was on fire.

  I closed myself in my bedroom and fell onto the bed, face down. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh, my fucking god.

  Immediately, I had both hands in my pajama bottoms, squeezing and stroking, picturing Michael’s mouth on me, those lips wrapped around my girth. I came in less than a minute. Sated, I breathed deeply, holding on to the fantasy for a few seconds longer, Michael’s fingers tracing the line of my back…

  Suddenly, a vague feeling of wrongness made me tense. Where did I…?

  Fuck, I’d left my gun on the nightstand in his room.

  I’d left my fucking gun.

  On his nightstand.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell!

  It was, no contest, the greatest, stupidest, most amateur mistake of my entire career. I’d forgotten my gun. What was I? Austin Powers? I was an idiot.

  Michael fucking Bourgeon.

  I waited for a half hour, then went back to his room. He was asleep, wrapped in his blanket like a burrito. I took the fucking gun and left.

  I should never have taken this job.

  5

  Please, Daddy, I need your cock

  Michael

  Twelve days. It took only twelve days, but damn, it felt like forever. And when it finally happened, it wasn’t even because of something I planned or did intentionally. I was just doing the dishes to kill some time, humming a catchy tune I couldn’t get out of my head but couldn’t remember the lyrics of either.

  With the dish towel in hand, I turned and bumped into Vincent, who just stood there, staring at me. The tension around his mouth had me immediately on alert. I put the dish towel on the counter, never taking my eyes off his face. He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The frustration in his features and the frail restraint were painfully obvious. After last night, I was past caring if I overstepped some line.

  “Did you jerk off after you watched me come?” I ran my knuckles up and down over the tantalizing bulge in his dark jeans.

  He pinned his gaze on my lips, his nostrils flaring. Damn. He was gorgeous. Dangerous and powerful. And he seemed to like my mouth. I licked my lips slowly, watching his reaction. His irises dilated. Fuck.

  I saw it in his eyes. I won. The air changed between us, and Vincent’s look turned predatory. His face held a distinct threat when he scanned me up and down.

  “You think you can get anything you want?” He was growling, his chest rumbling, and it made my erection weep in my sweats.

  “Please, Daddy, I need your cock.”

  It was true. I needed him. After twelve days of living in one tiny cabin on top of each other, my want eclipsed anything I was able to handle. His scent permeated the space. He loomed over me wherever I went, and I couldn’t stand not touching him anymore.

  I took my chance. My heart thrashed in my chest as I sank onto my knees in front of him. I leaned closer and pushed my face into his groin.

  “Please,” I repeated. Please, help me. Do something. Touch me…

  He was hard. And hell to the yeah, he was so fucking big. I rubbed against him like a cat, dragging my cheek across his denim-covered hardness. A moan escaped my mouth.

  A fist grabbed my hair and tightened, making my scalp prickle. He rocked his hips and pressed his cock against my face, the denim chafing my lips. I was groaning with pleasure from just that.

  “Up.” He yanked me up by my hair.

  I stood, trembling, my cock hard and my ass clenching in anticipation.

  Vincent scanned my face for the longest time. He looked into my eyes like he could read my life story in there. I was so helpless with desire I could only stare back and tremble, repeating the same mantra in my head.

  Please, fuck me. Use me and hurt me. Please!

  Vincent must’ve seen the plea in my eyes because he clenched his jaw and nodded softly. Then his face hardened again like it was a game, and he had decided to play along.

  “Turn around,” he said, the anger back in his voice.

  God, yes! Game on.

  I braced myself against the counter, pushing my ass out a little.

  He moved fast. His left hand clasped my throat, and with his right hand, he ripped my sweats down to my knees. Before I could even yelp, his index finger was pressing on my pucker, dry. Oh fuck!

  “Do you think I’m stupid, boy?” he whispered. He bit my earlobe, teeth snagging on the gauge, and pressed harder against my pucker. The sound I made let him know exactly how much I liked that. He had me. I wanted him to own me. To fucking tear me apart. I wanted him to turn the tables on me. And now, when he finally did, I could come just from his voice in my ear. “You think I don’t know what you’re after?”

  “I just want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

  His hand on my throat squeezed. Then he forced the dry finger into my ass.

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  Fireworks. My hole fluttered, an electric charge running through my body. It stung, but I wanted it. I needed it. Rough and angry. Fuck, I wanted him so much it hurt.

  “Please, Daddy.” I clenched on his finger and released, letting him know I loved it.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He pushed in and out, fucking my hole with his thick finger. I cried out from the burn. Finally!

  “Since the day I first saw you, flouncing that perky ass of yours, I knew what you were.” Vincent spoke directly into my ear. His evil tone sent shivers down my spine. “You need a thorough spanking. Someone to keep you in line. Someone to fuck you hard enough, so you finally shut the fuck up and be grateful, but boy, I’m so much more than you think you can handle.”

  He pressed down, circling my gland with his finger, making me whine.

  “I won’t fuck you nice and slow and call you a good boy for simply spreading your legs,” he growled. “You think you want me? I can tan your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week. Then I’
d rip your hole apart.”

  And I was afraid. I was. I’ve always been afraid of Vincent, but I knew he’d never hurt me. The irrational fear only made me want him more.

  “Please, Daddy. Hurt me and make me take your cock,” I begged. I’d never been so horny in my entire life.

  “Where’s your lube?”

  “In my room.”

  He pulled his finger out and slapped my ass, so hard I yelped. Then he clasped my neck and shoved me forward.

  “Go.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I moved lightning fast. Losing my sweats on the way, I ran to my room, my erection bouncing between my legs. He didn’t ask about condoms. I didn’t have any and doubted he did, but it didn’t matter. For the past three months, I’d lived like a fucking monk and had tested clean just before that. And I trusted Vincent implicitly. He would never put me at risk. He’d swear at me, threaten me, he could break me like a twig, but he would never endanger me.

  Lube bottle in hand, I spun around. Vincent stood by my bedroom window, staring out on the lake, his huge body unmoving. I hadn’t even noticed him come in.

  He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “Get on the bed. Ass up, facedown.”

  I set the lube bottle on the pillow, slipped my T-shirt off, and crawled onto the bed. I settled in the middle, on my knees, spreading my legs and laying my head on my folded arms.

  “I’m ready for you, Daddy,” I whispered.

  Vincent turned, and his gaze traveled along my body.

  Silently, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out. Holy hell. He was huge. Porn-star huge. Uncut and fat, with visible veins running along the shaft, and a thick round head. He stroked himself slowly as he approached the bed. And I stared, mouth open. I’d never wanted anything more, never wanted anyone more. I needed Vincent to stuff me full with that monster and soak my hole with his cum. Oh god, please. Please! I need it. I rocked my hips, writhing with want, quiet whimpering noises coming out of my throat. My cock drooled.