AI Smut Writer

The cabin had one bed and a wood stove that had been temperamental since the first night. Marisol had claimed the left side of the mattress with a pillow between them like a border wall, and for four days Dex had honored it, even when the storm sealed the door shut with snow and his patience wore thinner than the firewood.

On the fifth night, the wind howled and the stove sputtered like a dying argument. Marisol lay awake, listening to Dex breathe, and thought about the way he'd looked at her that afternoon when she'd burned her hand on the kettle and he'd wrapped her fingers in his own. She'd pulled away. He'd let her.

"You're doing it again," he said, voice low in the dark.

"Doing what?"

"Pretending you don't want to close the distance." He didn't move. That was the worst part. He never moved unless she did, and she'd been running from the fact that she wanted him to.

She turned onto her side, and the pillow barrier tipped onto the floor. Neither of them reached for it. Moonlight through the frost-glazed window painted his face silver and gray, and she saw the question he'd been too careful to ask.

"I'm not pretending anything," she said, but her voice cracked.

"Okay," he said. "Then I'll stay right here."

"Dex."

"Yeah?"

She crossed the space between them, and he caught her waist like he'd been waiting for permission his whole life. His mouth was warm and slow, the kind of kiss that asked before it took, and she answered by pressing closer until there was no border left at all. His hands slid under her sweater, rough and reverent, and she gasped against his throat when his palm found her breast.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

"Don't you dare."

He laughed, low and ragged, and rolled her beneath him. The cabin creaked around them, the fire finally catching, and Marisol stopped thinking about snow and cold and the long drive home. She thought only of his mouth on her skin, his weight and heat, the way he said her name like a prayer he'd been holding in for months.

Afterward, tangled and damp and breathless, she traced the line of his jaw. "We have to go back to work."

"Eventually," he said, and kissed her again.