The Cabin: A forced proximity, strangers-to-lovers romance with the cinnadombook boyfriend of your dreams by Chey Williams

Author:Chey Williams [Williams, Chey]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2023-12-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Wrapped in a towel and nothing else, I watch Grayson come out of his closet in short black boxers and almost have an orgasm right then and there.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know how I am supposed to act now. How do you treat the man who delivered you the most erotic, provocative experience of your life on a silver platter? Do you thank him? Do you die of shame from screaming his name at the top of your lungs? Do you get him a present? Do you ignore him forever because how can you ever look him in the eyes again after sucking your own cum off his fingers?

He doesn’t seem to be having the same panicked breakdown in his head.

He walks up to me, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had me take a shower when we got back. He wanted to come in with me and help me get cleaned up, but I couldn’t possibly survive that.

I needed to panic in the safety of my own head, without any extremely perceptive men watching every expression on my face, no matter how small. I needed to spiral and hyperventilate and repeat every single second in that spring over and over until I was even more wet than when I got in the shower. I needed a… what did she call it…, ‘a human moment.’ (Chef’s kiss to you if you know the reference without having to look it up.)

Grayson sets another black t-shirt and black boxers on the bed before pulling me closer by the top of my towel. He unwraps it, letting it drop to the floor. With the boxers in hand, he motions for me to step into them, and gently drags them up my legs. I feel like I should close my eyes. The intimacy of this is making me clench up. It is beautiful and sweet and swoon worthy and horrifically embarrassing. I just rode his fingers like a cowgirl but somehow this feels worse. Deeper.

Hmm. Pun intended.

I am still fighting my avoidance of vulnerability. And this feels very, very vulnerable.

With the boxers set snuggly on my hips, (I know this is not the freaking size that he wears, where the hell are all these magic clothes perfectly in my size coming from?) he moves to put the shirt over my head (and this time I’m delighted to find it does smell like him), tugging at the bottom, using the movement to force me to step forward and stand in between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed. He places his hands on the outside of my thighs and rubs soft, sweet patterns over them.

Do you think they made him somewhere in a lab? Like mixed in all the ingredients that people who are attracted to men around the world would sell their soul to find in a man? Who funded it? Should I send them a thank you card?

“I like you in my shirts, lollipop,” he murmurs against my stomach, leaning in to rest his forehead on me.

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