Cabin Fever Claims the Young Virgin Milf

The wind howled like something wounded as the blizzard swallowed the mountain whole. Elena Voss stood at the tall window of her remote cabin, a mug of mulled cider warming her palms, when the knock came—three desperate thumps that made her pulse jump.

She opened the heavy oak door and found him there: a tall, snow-dusted boy shivering in a sodden hoodie, cheeks raw from the cold, eyes wide with equal parts fear and awe. Snow clung to his dark lashes. His car, he stammered, had slid off the narrow road a quarter mile down. Cell service was dead. He’d seen her lights through the whiteout.

Elena felt the punch of instant, filthy want low in her belly.

At forty-two she knew exactly what she looked like—thick auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, heavy breasts straining against a soft cream sweater, wide hips and strong thighs wrapped in black yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination. She was the living embodiment of every MILF fantasy she’d ever written, and the boy couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to the deep valley of her cleavage before yanking it guiltily back up.

“Come inside before you freeze, sweetheart,” she said, voice low and warm. “I’m Elena.”

“Ryan,” he managed, teeth chattering. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know anyone lived up here.”