The Cabin (The Cabin Novellas (Book One))

by Stark, Natalie

  The Cabin

  By

  Natalie Stark

  Copyright 2013 by Natalie StarkThis book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The first tale from

  The Cabin...

  Prologue

  She had slipped away from her eighteenth birthday party to be with him. They had both waited for this day for months. Sometimes, as she lay in bed at night, her body fever-hot in anticipation, it felt like this day would never come. But he had wanted to wait until she was eighteen. The present he had for her still broke all of the rules and everything they believed in, but somehow, if she were eighteen, it made their love for each other a little easier for them to justify.

  Even as she snuck away from the crowds gathered to celebrate her birthday, she knew he could never really be hers. He belonged to another and always would. But the burning sensation she carried in the pit of her stomach every time she was close to him needed to be sated. Tonight, the burning seemed to fan out from her very core, overwhelming her with an aching need for him. She felt an all-consuming desire for him to sink deep inside of her. These feelings made her seem heady, as if drunk. But she had avoided alcohol that night. She wanted to feel every last moment of him touching her, kissing her, and losing himself inside her. She didn’t want any of those sensations being numbed.

  She knocked on his door, and it was opened instantly, like he had been awaiting her arrival. He ushered her in, looking back just once to make sure the girl hadn’t been seen arriving at his door. No sooner was it shut; the both of them were pulling and tearing at each other’s clothes. It felt like they had been fasting, and now a banquet had been laid before them. But this wasn’t a banquet of food and fine wine; it was a banquet made of flesh. Clenching his fist, he grabbed her long blond hair and yanked her towards him, pressing his lips hard against her mouth. He pushed his tongue between her lips and she welcomed it greedily. Their tongues pushed and darted against each other’s as she pulled open the starched fabric of his black shirt. This wasn’t the first time she had seen or touched his bare chest, but now it felt like the first time. There was a heightened excitement as tonight she knew that their sex wouldn’t stop frustratingly with just foreplay. With both hands she fought to pull his shirt free. He shrugged his broad shoulders, letting it flutter to the cold stone floor. Pulling her mouth away from his, she covered his chest in kisses. She began to move rapidly down his body, her fingers twitching as they fumbled with his trouser belt.

  Desperate to be free, he helped her. She clawed at his trousers, frantic to release his cock, which she could feel long and stiff beneath his black trousers. Curling her fingers around it, she pulled him free, brushing the end of his cock teasingly over her lips. She had only ever taken it into her mouth before and now as she held it, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like buried deep inside of her. The thought made her wet. She looked up into his young, gorgeous face. His hungry green eyes looked down at her.

  Sinking his fingers into her hair, the need to just fuck her becoming too much, he yanked her to her feet. So desperate to be inside of her, he hitched up her party dress and tugged free her panties. They were black and made of silk, making his cock stiffen and ache. He frantically pulled them down over her creamy white thighs, calves, and then ankles. The sight of her dark pubic hair quickened his heart and he pushed her back across his study desk.

  Sinking her fingernails into his sculpted arse, she opened her legs and pulled him towards her.

  “Fuck me,” she almost seemed to beg, not wanting to wait another moment to feel him inside of her.

  “Oh, I’m going to fuck you, all right,” he almost seemed to snarl, pushing himself into her.

  “Oh, God!” she shuddered, feeling the tip of his cock momentarily brush over her clit, then sink inside her.

  “You feel so fucking wet,” he groaned.

  Pushing her dress up and over her stomach, he gripped her arse, dragging her closer so he could push himself deeper into her. She cried out and tightened her muscles. He felt her pussy squeeze gently around him. His cock throbbed at the sensation, the tip of it swelling bigger.

  “Fuck, that feels so good. You’re so fucking horny,” he shuddered.

  “Show me how fucking horny you are then,” she whispered, opening her legs wider as if inviting him in.

  Sensing her need to be fucked hard by him, he gripped hold of her hair in one hand, and placed the other in the small of her back. She pushed her hips up, grinding them forwards and around, keen to take as much of him inside of her as she could get. Books, paperwork, and a laptop were knocked from the desk as they fucked. They moved frantically against each other. For both of them, it felt as if they needed more, so their pace quickened.

  The girl cried out and shuddered as she grew closer and closer to coming. Each stroke of his cock making her wetter and hotter. She felt an agonizing pressure building inside of her, waiting to spill over.

  “I love you,” she gasped as that sexual tension throbbed deep within her. She didn’t know for how long she could stop herself from coming. The need to let go was becoming more and more unbearable and she was desperate to feel it.

  He pushed himself harder and harder inside of her, sensing she was close to coming by the quickening of her breath. This only heightened his own excitement, and although his balls ached and his cock felt like it was going to erupt, he wanted to hold back – to stave off that building pressure, so that they could come together.

  Going taut beneath him, she cried out, “Oh, my God, I’m going to come. I’m going to come!”

  She threw her head back, grabbing hold of the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles glowed white. Her whole body shuddered violently beneath him, crying out like the feeling was too much for her to bear.

  To hear her like this, to see her face masked in something close to ecstasy, was too much for him. Jerking suddenly, he came deep inside of her. He swung his powerful hips back and forth as his orgasm rippled through him, making his legs tremor with a sudden weakness.

  Although she had come, she locked her legs tight about his back, holding him inside of her, not wanting to release him just yet. As her orgasm slowed, she needed to have those last couple of seconds of gratification. She didn’t want it to end.

  Leaning over her, he took her in his arms and they gently kissed.

  “I want you to stay inside me forever,” she whispered, her hair damp with perspiration.

  Before he had a chance to tell her how much he wanted the same, the door to his room flew open. Both of them glanced up. They stared at the woman who stood in the open doorway, looking shocked and disgusted.

  One

  My head was spinning. Not through having too much to drink, although I should have been a little drunk on my wedding night, but because I was trying to figure out how I could get out of what was going to happen next. It was more than just first night nerves. I felt scared at what Nathan was hoping – expecting – to happen next. I knew I should have plucked up the courage to tell him my fears, but it was too lat
e now. In the back of my mind, I thought this night would somehow be different. For the last year since Nathan had asked me to marry him, I had been trying to bury those fears deep inside of me. I tried to put them in the basement and switch out the light. If they were in darkness, perhaps I would forget they were even there, like an old cardboard box full of junk in the attic. But even as we told our parents of the engagement, visited my parish priest, booked the church, planned the reception, wrote the guest list, sent out the invitations, and tried on my wedding dress, I knew this night – this moment would come.

  Nathan led me by the hand into the hotel room. I left the door open and he looked at me with his grey eyes. If the door stayed open, then I was putting off the inevitable; nothing would happen with the door open. It wouldn’t be private. With the door open, I had an escape. Nathan smiled down at me, his six-foot-two frame wedged into his smart grey wedding suit. The colour of it matched his eyes. He eased me onto the bed. I settled on the edge of it, so as not to lie down. With a smile playing on his full lips, Nathan headed back to the door, closed it, then turned the lock.

  The sound of it clicking into place made my stomach tighten and I felt sick. I hated myself for feeling like this. Nathan was my husband now and he was a good man. He deserved better and that was my problem. There was a part of me which felt I just wasn’t good enough. The thought of being naked in front of someone else terrified me. To have them look at my naked body – the body I found so difficult to look at myself – made me feel sick with anxiety. But I hadn’t always felt like this – hell no. There had been a time, up until the age of eighteen, when I’d felt confident in myself, but that confidence had been stripped back – laid bare. It was like they had slowly dismantled my confidence, like pulling the petals from a flower.

  Nathan came back across the room, an eager smile playing on his lips. I knew I would never be able to explain to him how I felt, because I didn’t really understand it myself. I understood I loved Nathan. I had ever since he stumbled out of the rain into the café where I was waitressing two years ago. His curly black hair had lay plastered to the sides of his face. He had stood in the open doorway, shaking rain from the collar and sleeves of his coat. I had watched from behind the counter, the coffee machine bubbling and spitting behind me, as he looked about the café as if expecting to find someone waiting for him. I remembered him looking kind of lost. He checked his watch, then went to a vacant table and sat down.

  I smoothed down the front of my white apron, pushed the pins further into my hair to keep the bun in place, and made my way over to serve him. He had taken a book from his pocket and was reading as drops of rain dripped from his unruly hair and down the front of his coat.

  “How can I help you?” I had asked him.

  “Huh?” he murmured, glancing up over the top of the book at me.

  “Tea? Coffee?” I smiled.

  He squinted, as if having difficulty focusing on me.

  “Have you forgotten your glasses or something?” I smiled, hoping he didn’t think I was being rude.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten them,” he whispered, glancing quickly back over his shoulder at the door, then back at me. “I’m just not wearing them.”

  “But you’re reading, right?” I frowned.

  “Not really, I’m pretending,” he whispered again.

  Okay, so I’ve got myself a weirdo at table six, I thought.

  “Pretending? Why?” I asked him.

  “Has a girl come in?” he asked, snatching another quick look back at the door.

  “What did she look like?” I said, my pen still hovering over my order pad.

  “Red hair, kind of pale with freckles,” he said, squinting at me again.

  “Nope,” I said. “I can’t say I’ve seen anyone looking like that.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  I couldn’t make up my mind if he sounded relieved or disappointed.

  “What time were you meant to be meeting this girl?” I asked.

  “About an hour ago,” he said, glancing at his watch again.

  “No wonder she isn’t here,” I smiled. “She probably got fed up with waiting.”

  “But you said you hadn’t seen her,” he said, screwing up his grey eyes, peering at me.

  “That’s what I said,” I told him.

  “Then it was she who stood me up,” he said, fishing a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and putting them on like it was safe to do so now.

  The glasses looked thick and were made of black plastic. Each lens was square shaped, like an old TV set.

  “That’s better,” he smiled. “I can see you now.”

  In his glasses and smiling, he looked boyish somehow. I guessed he must’ve been no older than twenty, putting him at the same age as me. Despite the old fashioned pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he was handsome in an offbeat kind of way. He was no Bradley Cooper – that was for sure – but still there was something nice about him. The first thing that struck me was now that he was wearing his glasses, I could see his eyes clearly for the first time. It was as if the lenses gave them clarity. At first glance his eyes looked a washed-out grey, the color of dirty dishwater. Now I could see flecks of bright hazel radiating out from behind each black pupil. Each of them looked like a mini solar eclipse.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me.

  “Huh?” I sighed softly, as if being brought back into the room.

  “You were staring at me,” he said with that boyish smile again.

  “No, I wasn’t,” I lied, my cheeks flushing warm and red. “I was thinking.”

  “About what?” He placed his book on the table and looked at me.

  “I was just wondering why you would sit and pretend to be reading,” I said. “Or perhaps you’re just very vain and didn’t want your date to see you wearing those glasses?”

  “Would you wear these things on a first date?” he smiled, pushing the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

  “Why don’t you get a new pair?” I asked.

  “I usually wear contacts,” he said.

  “But not today – not on your first date?” I smiled.

  “Not when you drop them down the plughole when you’re running late,” he smiled back at me.

  “We’ll if it’s any consolation,” I said, “it looks like the mystery girl with the red hair blew you out.”

  “Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” he groaned, looking back at the door one last time.

  “So what can I get you?” I asked again, pen poised over pad.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any point drinking tea on my own,” he said, turning back to face me.

  “You could always sit and read your book and drink tea,” I said.

  “I’ve already read it twice, and it wasn’t that great the first time,” he smiled again, combing his damp hair from his brow with his fingers.

  “So why bring it with you?” I frowned.

  “Because I couldn’t see what I’d taken from the bookshelf when I left home,” he sighed.

  “I see,” I smiled. Then realising what I had said, I quickly added, “I wasn’t trying to be funny or anything.”

  There was a short, uncomfortable silence. I waited for him to order or leave. I was a little unnerved that there was a part of me which would’ve quite liked him to stay a while longer. It wasn’t that I found him overly attractive or anything, but the majority of my usual customers weren’t a day younger than sixty-five. It wasn’t often someone my own age ventured into the café.

  “I don’t s’pose you would like to join me for some tea?” he suddenly asked, pushing a chair back from the table.

  “I can’t,” I gasped, a little taken aback by his invitation.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, getting up.

  “It’s just that I’m working – that’s all. If the manager came back and caught me sitting and drinking tea with a customer, he would fire me,” I explained. “I need this job. I’m saving
up so I can leave this place one day.”

  “What, the café?” he asked, glancing around at the cluster of lace-covered tables and the old folks gathered around them.

  “Not just the café,” I sighed. “I want to leave town.”

  For just a second, I thought he looked a little disappointed at hearing me say this. But why should he be bothered? He didn’t even know me.

  “If you’re not leaving town within the next few days, perhaps we could meet up some other time for tea?” he said, hovering just above his seat, unsure whether to sit back down again or not.

  “I’d like that,” I smiled back at him, my cheeks flushing scarlet again. I wasn’t going anywhere just yet. And besides, it was going to take me more than just a few weeks of tips to get me away from town.

  “Really?” he said, sounding shocked by my reply.

  “You sound surprised,” I said.

  “Well, can you blame me? You saw me wearing my binoculars,” he laughed.

  “They’re not so bad,” I smiled.

  I watched him head for the door. Pulling up his collar again, he stepped out into the rain. Then, glancing back at me he said, “I’m Nathan, by the way.”

  “Mia,” I smiled.

  “Okay, Mia,” he smiled back. Then, glancing at the opening and closing times printed on the café door, he added, “I’ll see you at five this afternoon.”

  That was how I meet Nathan Chaplin, the man I would end up marrying. The man I met for tea that cold, rainy afternoon, not because I found him attractive, but because he had nice eyes and a kind smile. And it was with that kind smile and nice eyes that he looked at me now as he came across the honeymoon suite, believing tonight was the night I would finally give myself to him.

  Two

  I had been dating Nathan four months, as we strolled one morning through the park in our home town of Skipton, North Yorkshire; he looked at me and said, “Mia, I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”