The cabin is quiet in a way my life rarely is…no buzz of machines, no calls, no distractions. Just the low crackle of the fire and the rustle of the wind moving through the trees. I can taste the pine in the air, but nothing compares to the sweet taste on the air from her. That soft aroma that lingers long after she’s moved to another room.
She is by the window, backlit by the full moon. Standing barefoot, wearing one of my shirts…half buttoned, barely covering the curve of her thigh. A glass of wine dangles from her fingers, but she’s not drinking. Just… watching. Listening. Feeling it all the way I am.
I take a moment to just stand there and look at her, trying to burn it into memory. This peace. This woman. This night.
When I finally walk up behind her, my arms slide around her waist like they were made for it. She leans back into me instantly, and it hits me…how natural it feels. Like I didn’t know what it was to breathe deeply until this moment.
“I needed this,” she says, soft and real.
I turn her in my arms and as I tangle my fingers in her hair and I bring her in close. She’s all eyes and warmth and trust. “Me too,” I tell her, and mean it more than she’ll ever know.
I kiss her slow, like time doesn’t exist here. Her lips part, and it’s like something sacred opens between us. Not just want, but knowing. A recognition. Her fingers wrap around my head and she pulls me closer until we’re pressed together, heartbeat to heartbeat.
The floor in front of the fire is where we end up. Clothes fall away like they were never necessary. I take my time, tracing her skin with my hands, my mouth, listening to every sound she makes like it’s a map. She responds with this quiet intensity that undoes me…makes everything else feel small by comparison.
We move together like waves. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me deeper, grounding me while my whole world falls into her. The firelight paints gold on her skin, and her name tastes like home when I whisper it.
Later, we lay tangled in a blanket, the kind of silence between us that feels full, not empty. Her head rests on my chest, and I can feel the slow, steady rhythm of her breath against my skin. The moon is high now, casting silver light across the wooden floor like a spell.
There’s no pressure to speak. No promises to make. Just this moment. Just her.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel still. Seen. Wanted.
Loved.
By the fire, under the moon, in a cabin far away from everything…I let go of the world, and held on to her.
She is by the window, backlit by the full moon. Standing barefoot, wearing one of my shirts…half buttoned, barely covering the curve of her thigh. A glass of wine dangles from her fingers, but she’s not drinking. Just… watching. Listening. Feeling it all the way I am.
I take a moment to just stand there and look at her, trying to burn it into memory. This peace. This woman. This night.
When I finally walk up behind her, my arms slide around her waist like they were made for it. She leans back into me instantly, and it hits me…how natural it feels. Like I didn’t know what it was to breathe deeply until this moment.
“I needed this,” she says, soft and real.
I turn her in my arms and as I tangle my fingers in her hair and I bring her in close. She’s all eyes and warmth and trust. “Me too,” I tell her, and mean it more than she’ll ever know.
I kiss her slow, like time doesn’t exist here. Her lips part, and it’s like something sacred opens between us. Not just want, but knowing. A recognition. Her fingers wrap around my head and she pulls me closer until we’re pressed together, heartbeat to heartbeat.
The floor in front of the fire is where we end up. Clothes fall away like they were never necessary. I take my time, tracing her skin with my hands, my mouth, listening to every sound she makes like it’s a map. She responds with this quiet intensity that undoes me…makes everything else feel small by comparison.
We move together like waves. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me deeper, grounding me while my whole world falls into her. The firelight paints gold on her skin, and her name tastes like home when I whisper it.
Later, we lay tangled in a blanket, the kind of silence between us that feels full, not empty. Her head rests on my chest, and I can feel the slow, steady rhythm of her breath against my skin. The moon is high now, casting silver light across the wooden floor like a spell.
There’s no pressure to speak. No promises to make. Just this moment. Just her.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel still. Seen. Wanted.
Loved.
By the fire, under the moon, in a cabin far away from everything…I let go of the world, and held on to her.
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