Cabin Woodcutter Claims the Milf

The rain lashed the windows of the remote mountain cabin like a thousand wet fingers trying to get inside. Elena Voss sat at the heavy oak desk in nothing but a short silk robe, thighs clenched, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard of her dead laptop. Forty-two years old, bestselling erotica author, and currently hornier than any of the sluts she wrote about. The power had been flickering for two days. Every time the generator coughed and died, so did her momentum on the filthiest manuscript she’d ever attempted.

She glanced out the rain-streaked window for the hundredth time.

There he was.

Jax.

Twenty-two, six-foot-three, built like a goddamn lumberjack fantasy. Shirtless again, despite the storm, splitting the last of the firewood under the overhang. Each swing of the axe made the thick slabs of muscle in his back and shoulders ripple. Sweat and rain glistened on his tanned skin. His worn jeans hung low on narrow hips, the deep V of his pelvis pointing like an arrow straight to the heavy bulge that had been tormenting Elena’s imagination for a week.

She had been watching him every morning. Touching herself while he worked. Coming with her face pressed to the cool glass as his axe rose and fell. Pathetic, delicious, necessary.

The laptop screen went black again.

“Fuck,” Elena hissed.

Lightning cracked overhead. The generator gave one last pathetic sputter and died completely. She had no choice.

She stood, tied the silk robe loosely around her waist so that her heavy breasts threatened to spill out with every breath, and opened the cabin door.

“Jax!” she called over the rain.

He straightened, axe resting on one broad shoulder. Water streamed down his carved torso. His eyes—dark, hungry—locked on her immediately.

“Power’s out again,” she said, voice huskier than she intended. “Generator’s being stubborn. Think you could take a look?”

He didn’t smile. He simply nodded once and started toward her, boots heavy on the wet porch. When he stepped inside, the temperature in the small cabin seemed to rise ten degrees. He smelled like rain, pine, and clean male sweat. Elena’s pussy gave a sudden, humiliating throb.