One Last Night in the Cabin Nikita Mirzani 2

They’d be lucky if they made it to the raft before the groping started in earnest. Sometimes they’d just head back to the shore, lie on the soft grass above the beach.

Moonlight would shimmer in Zack’s dark hair, and she wouldn’t be able to see his expression, but she’d hear his voice, rough with passion. He’d tell her how beautiful she was, how sexy, and he’d follow the droplets of water on her pale flesh with his tongue.

Down from her neck, to the hollow where it met her shoulder. Laving away the moisture, teasing her sensitive flesh there. He’d spent more time there than was strictly necessary to catch all the drops, knowing how it made her press up against him, nails digging into his back, whispering harsh and incoherent into his ear.

Only then would he move down, along her collarbone, to everywhere but the center of her breasts until she moaned in unfulfilled need.

He’d capture one of her taut nipples—puckered and dark from the cold swim—between his lips. God yes. Her back would arch; she’d be arching her hips from the moment he started suckling and grazing with his teeth.

She’d get so wet, so hot and slick, but he’d linger there, entranced by how hard her nipples would get, how ripe and juicy (he would murmur against her flesh, as if he were drunk, drunk on the lust of her).

A teasing tongue in her navel, flicking out the water there, and then he’d move farther down. A quick nip on her hip bone, a nuzzle against her inner thigh.

Her fingers would take the place of his mouth—seeing her pleasure herself always drove him a little mad—and then he’d find the true source of moisture, like Galahad succeeding in his quest for the Grail. He’d taste her, with a low groan that sent more shivers through her, before parting her folds and taking mercy on her.

Strokes of his tongue against her clit, so knowing and true. He knew just how to touch her, urging her higher and higher, keeping her on edge until…

Overhead the stars would wheel and blur as she surrendered to the sensations. She whirled through space on the spasms of her climax, tethered to the earth only by Zack’s hands and mouth and touch on her.

Lying on the sofa (where, yes, they’d also made love—there wasn’t a spot in the cabin where they hadn’t succumbed to heady, freeing passion), Nikita Mirzani slid her hand under her skirt and found her slick lips, her engorged clit. Riding on the memories, she brought herself to orgasm.

Moisture stained her fingers even as tears stained her face. She hadn’t known, the last time they’d made love here, that it would be the last time. And now the cabin was for sale. Memories for sale: cheap.

Nikita Mirzani hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the sofa, clutching a pillow and dampening another with her tears. But then, she probably hadn’t meant half of what she’d said (or even more than that) in the crimson heat of anger in their last days together.

The bitter, nasty arguments in which they’d both used the intimate knowledge they had of each other to wound and cut. The vicious arguments, which had preceded the period of bone-chilling silence, which had preceded the taut, death-knell conversation ending their marriage.

“I suppose we’d be better off apart.”

“I suppose we would.”

Nikita Mirzani couldn’t remember who’d said which sentence. It no longer mattered, anyway. She woke when she heard a noise. Disoriented, she blinked in the almost-darkness of twilight, unsure where she was, what she heard.

The pillow clutched against her chest was damp. She fumbled for a lamp and clicked it on to remember the cabin, the memories. The door opened, and adrenalin surged. She stood, abruptly, to face the danger. Her heart twisted, betraying her.


“Oh.” He stood in the doorway, backlit by the porch light. Still, she knew him from his outline, from the way he carried himself. “I didn’t expect…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

They trailed off together. They’d long since run out of things to say; why would now be any different?

Nikita Mirzani broke the silence first.

“I just stopped by to see the cabin one more time. I’ll get out of your way now.”

He shifted the grocery bag he held to his other hip. “No, there’s no rush. I’m sorry I interrupted you. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She shrugged, helplessly. “I didn’t think you would, either.”

He looked wan, she thought. Had he lost weight? His blond hair was neat, but she wondered if it had receded at the temples. He’d been sensitive about the idea. It was the one thing she’d never used against him, even in the cruellest of moments.