The first gray light of morning slipped through the cabin's single window, painting the room in cool pearl. Sarah woke slowly, her body heavy with the languid ache of a night well spent. Alex's arm was still draped across her waist, his palm splayed over the soft curve of her stomach. His breathing was deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest warm against her back.
She didn't move. Not yet. She wanted to hold this moment—skin to skin, the faint musk of sex still clinging to the sheets, the quiet certainty that the world outside had not yet intruded.
But the lake called.
Carefully, she eased out from under his arm. Alex stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, then settled again. Sarah slipped from the bed, bare feet silent on the cool floor. She found his discarded t-shirt on the chair—soft, worn cotton that smelled of him—and pulled it over her head. It hung to mid-thigh, the hem brushing the tops of her legs.
The cabin was silent save for the soft tick of cooling embers. She padded to the front door, eased it open, and stepped onto the porch. The air was crisp, washed clean by the storm. Mist hovered over the lake like breath, and the water itself was glass-still, reflecting the pale sky.
Sarah walked to the dock. The blanket from last night lay folded where Alex had left it, candles reduced to stubs. She sat on the edge, legs dangling over the side, toes skimming the surface. The cold shock of it made her gasp, then smile.
Behind her, the door creaked. Alex emerged, barefoot and shirtless, boxers riding low on his hips. His hair was tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the sight of her—his t-shirt clinging to her curves, thighs bare to the morning air—brought a slow, appreciative grin.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, voice rough.
"Couldn't stay still." She tilted her head. "Join me."
He did, settling beside her. Their shoulders touched. For a while, they simply watched the mist drift, the lake so calm it looked solid enough to walk across.
Alex's hand found hers, fingers lacing. "Roads might be clear today."
"I know."
He was quiet a moment. "College starts in three weeks."
"I know that too."
Sarah turned to him. The early light caught the faint stubble on his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbone. She reached up, tracing the line of his lower lip with her thumb. "We don't have to decide anything right now."
His eyes searched hers. "But we will."
"Yes." She leaned in, kissed him softly—just lips, no tongue, a promise more than a demand. "Later."
Alex exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. He shifted, sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap. The dock was cool beneath them, but his body was warm. Sarah straddled him naturally, knees bracketing his hips, the t-shirt riding up to pool at her waist.
He was already hard—morning wood, or memory, or both. The thin cotton of his boxers did little to hide it. Sarah rocked experimentally, feeling the ridge of him press against her bare pussy. A soft sound escaped her, half-laugh, half-moan.
"Cold?" he asked, hands sliding under the shirt to cup her ass.
"Getting warmer."
She reached between them, tugged his waistband down just enough. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. Sarah guided him to her entrance, still slick from the night before, and sank down slowly. No rush. Just the quiet, deliberate joining of bodies in the pale dawn.
They moved like the lake itself—gentle, unhurried. Sarah's hands braced on his shoulders; Alex's gripped her hips, guiding her in a slow grind. The water lapped inches from their feet, cool mist kissing their heated skin. Each roll of her hips dragged his cock over her G-spot, building a low, steady thrum.
Alex leaned forward, mouth finding her neck. He sucked gently, not marking—just tasting. Sarah's head fell back, hair trailing over her shoulders. The t-shirt clung to her breasts, nipples hard and visible through the fabric. He pushed it up, latched onto one, tongue swirling until she gasped.
"Quiet," he murmured against her skin. "Just us and the lake."
She nodded, biting her lip. Her rhythm quickened—subtle, still controlled, but deeper now. The dock creaked softly beneath them, a secret metronome. Alex's thumb found her clit, circling in lazy figure-eights. The dual sensation—his cock filling her, his finger on her swollen nub—pushed her toward the edge.
Sarah buried her face in his neck, muffling her cry as she came. It was softer than the night's explosions—a warm, rolling wave that left her trembling, her pussy fluttering around him in gentle pulses. A trickle of wetness slipped down his shaft, dripping into the lake with a faint *plink*.
Alex followed moments later, hips lifting once, twice, before he stilled deep inside her. His release was quiet—just a low groan against her collarbone, the pulse of heat as he filled her again. They stayed locked together, breathing hard, the mist curling around them like a veil.
When the aftershocks faded, Sarah lifted her head. The sun had crested the trees, turning the lake gold. A loon called somewhere in the distance—lonely, beautiful.
Alex smoothed the hair from her face. "One more night," he said again, but this time it sounded like a vow.
Sarah smiled, slow and sure. "One more night," she echoed.
Behind them, the cabin waited—fire to stoke, coffee to brew, a world that would eventually return. But for now, there was only the dock, the water, and the quiet certainty that whatever came next, they would face it together.
The sun climbed higher, burning off the mist until the lake blazed like polished glass. Sarah and Alex lingered on the dock a while longer, legs still entwined, his softening cock nestled inside her. When the chill finally crept in, they rose together, hands linked, and walked back to the cabin barefoot, the t-shirt and boxers abandoned somewhere between dock and door.
Inside, the fire was ash. Sarah knelt to rebuild it—kindling, paper, a single match—while Alex filled the kettle from the pump. Domestic, easy. As if they'd done this a hundred mornings instead of one. The kettle hissed on the stovetop; the fire caught with a soft *whoomph*. Warmth spread through the small space like a promise.
They drank coffee black, sitting cross-legged on the rug, shoulders touching. The silence was comfortable, threaded with the memory of skin and breath. Sarah traced the rim of her mug.
"Road crew's probably out by now," she said.
Alex nodded. "Heard a truck earlier. Distant."
She set her cup aside, turned to him. "We should shower. Before the hot water's gone."
The bathroom was tiny—claw-foot tub, rusted showerhead, one threadbare towel. They squeezed in together, laughing when the curtain stuck to their hips. Water sputtered, then steadied, lukewarm but enough. Sarah tipped her head back, letting it soak her hair; Alex poured shampoo into his palm and worked it through the strands, fingers massaging her scalp until she sighed.
Soap slid over breasts, down stomachs, between thighs. No urgency—just exploration. He washed her slowly, reverently, thumbs brushing her nipples, the curve where thigh met hip. She returned the favor, lathering his chest, the V of his hips, the heavy weight of his cock. It stirred under her touch, thickening, but neither pushed further. Not yet.
They toweled off with the same towel, trading kisses between passes. Sarah's hair dripped onto the floorboards; Alex's skin steamed in the cool air. When they stepped out, the fire had settled into steady flames. Afternoon light slanted through the windows, gold and lazy.
Sarah found a clean sheet in the linen closet—soft flannel, sun-dried scent. She spread it over the couch, then crooked a finger. Alex followed, eyes dark. She pushed him down gently, straddled his lap. The couch springs groaned; the fire crackled.
This time, she wanted to watch his face.
She guided him inside her—no resistance, just slick heat welcoming him home. Sarah sank slowly, savoring every inch until he was buried deep. Alex's hands settled on her waist, thumbs tracing the faint stretch marks she'd once hated. Now they felt like road maps to this moment.
She began to move—small rolls of her hips, a gentle rise and fall. The angle let her grind her clit against his pubic bone with each downward slide. Alex's head fell back against the couch, throat exposed, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed a groan.
"Look at me," she whispered.
His eyes opened—hazel, flecked with gold in the firelight. She leaned forward, hair curtaining them, and kissed him. Tongues slow, unhurried. Her rhythm stayed steady, a tide rather than a storm. Each glide dragged the head of his cock over her G-spot; each grind sparked pleasure along her clit.
Minutes blurred. The fire popped, sending up a shower of sparks. Sarah felt the familiar coil tightening low in her belly—different this time, deeper, earned. She sat up straighter, hands braced on his chest, and rode him with purpose. Alex's hips lifted to meet her, matching her pace perfectly.
"Come with me," she said again, voice trembling on the edge.
He nodded, jaw clenched. His thumb found her clit, circling once, twice—then she was gone. The orgasm rolled through her like warm honey, her pussy pulsing around him in long, slow waves. A soft gush soaked his lap, trickled down to the flannel sheet. Alex followed with a broken groan, thrusting up once, deep, and spilling inside her—pulse after pulse until they were both trembling.
Sarah collapsed forward, forehead to his. Their breaths mingled, ragged and sweet. The fire settled into steady flames, casting flickering shadows across their joined bodies.
After a while, she lifted her head. "We should pack," she said, but her tone held no conviction.
Alex traced her spine. "In a minute."
They stayed like that—joined, sated, the afternoon stretching golden around them. Outside, a truck engine rumbled closer, then faded. The world was returning, but not yet. Not quite.
Sarah pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "One more night," she murmured against his skin.
Alex's arms tightened around her. "One more night," he echoed.
The fire crackled. The lake waited. And for a few more stolen hours, the cabin held them close—two bodies, one heartbeat, suspended in the last ember of the storm.