Storm Shelter

The rain started three hours ago, and now it’s hammering the tent like a thousand angry fists. I’m lying on my sleeping bag, pretending to read, but I haven’t turned a page in twenty minutes. Across the nylon cave, Marcus is doing the same thing with his phone — thumb frozen mid-scroll, eyes not even on the screen.

We broke up eight months ago. Mutual, they call it. Bullshit.

“This is stupid,” he says suddenly, tossing the phone aside. The sound smacks against the tent floor. “We’ve been dancing around it since we started hiking.”

I look at him. Even in the dim lantern light, he’s gorgeous — broad shoulders, that jawline I used to trace with my fingers, skin the color of rich coffee. The tent feels small. Too small.

“What do you want me to say, Marcus?”

“Say you still feel it.” His voice drops. “Because I know you do. I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

My breath catches. He’s right. I’ve been stealing glances at him all day — the flex of his arms when he set up the tent, the way rain beaded on his lashes. Desire pools low in my belly, hot and insistent.

“Maybe I do,” I whisper.

He moves before I can think. One second he’s three feet away, the next he’s kneeling over me, his big hands framing my face. His mouth finds mine, and it’s not gentle — it’s hungry, desperate, eight months of loneliness poured into a single kiss. I moan against his lips and pull him down on top of me.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathes against my neck, teeth grazing my skin. His hand slides under my shirt, palm hot on my stomach, moving up until he’s cupping my breast. I arch into his touch, my nipple hard against his fingers.

“Missed this too,” I gasp.

He pulls my shirt over my head, then his own. The lantern light paints his chest in gold and shadow, muscles shifting as he leans down to kiss my collarbone, my sternum, the swell of my tits. His mouth closes over my nipple and I cry out, fingers tangling in his short curls.

“God, Marcus…”

“Shh,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let me taste you.”

His hand slides down, past my waistband, fingers finding me wet and ready through my panties. I buck against his touch, already trembling. He pushes the fabric aside and slides two fingers inside me, slow and deep, and I bite my lip so hard I taste copper.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he says, voice rough. “You always were.”

“Please,” I beg. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He strips off my shorts and panties in one motion, then his own. His cock springs free — thick, dark, already slick at the tip. I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around the shaft, stroking once, twice, watching his eyes flutter shut.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he growls.

I turn, bracing myself on the sleeping bag. The rain drums against the tent, drowning out the sound of my pounding heart. He kneels behind me, one hand on my hip, the other guiding his cock to my entrance. He teases me — just the head pressing in, then pulling away.

“Marcus, fucking hell…”

He thrusts forward, filling me in one smooth stroke. I gasp, head dropping, as he stretches me open. He’s thick, always was, and my body clenches around him, remembering.

“That’s it,” he groans, starting to move. “Take it all.”

His pace is punishing — hard, deep strokes that rock me forward with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin, my moans, his grunts, all of it swallowed by the storm. I push back against him, meeting his rhythm, wanting him deeper. He grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my head back, and the sting makes me gasp.

“You like that?” His voice is a growl in my ear.

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He fucks me harder, faster, until I’m incoherent, just sounds and sweat and the relentless pressure building inside me. My legs shake. My fingers claw at the sleeping bag.

“I’m gonna come,” I choke out.

“Come for me,” he says, slamming into me. “Come on my cock.”

That does it. My orgasm crashes through me, hot and electric, and I scream into the wet nylon as my body convulses around him. He follows a second later, a low groan tearing from his throat as he pulses inside me, filling me with warmth.

We collapse together, breathing ragged, the tent suddenly quiet. The rain has softened to a gentle patter.

He pulls me against his chest, lips brushing my shoulder. “We’re idiots for ending this.”

I laugh, breathless. “Total idiots.”

“Stay with me tonight. And tomorrow. And maybe forever.”

I turn in his arms, kiss him softly. “Forever sounds good.”