The gravel crunched under the tires, the sound loud in the sudden quiet as Mark killed the engine. Outside the car windows, dense pine trees pressed in, swallowing the late afternoon light. Secluded didn't quite cover it. This place felt remote, cut off, the silence humming with an energy that prickled Mark’s skin. Beside him, Sarah shifted, unbuckling her seatbelt with a decisive click.
“Well, we’re here,” she said, her voice too bright, too cheerful. It grated against the unease coiling low in Mark’s stomach. This weekend getaway was supposed to fix things, or at least paper over the cracks that had widened into chasms between them. Their bed had become a cold, empty space, conversations stilted, touches accidental. He craved her, the memory of how they used to be, but desire was tangled tight with resentment and a gnawing insecurity he couldn’t voice.
He watched her get out, her movements fluid and confident. She stretched, arching her back, and the thin fabric of her grey top pulled taut across her breasts. Full, heavy breasts that he hadn’t properly touched in weeks. His eyes traced the swell, the hard points of her nipples pressing against the cotton. He remembered the weight of them in his hands, the taste of her skin. A familiar ache started low in his gut, spreading downward, a reminder of the hunger he tried so hard to ignore.
Sarah turned, catching his gaze. Her eyes, a startlingly clear blue, held a challenge. “Coming?”
Mark forced himself out of the car, grabbing their bags from the back. The air was cool, smelling of pine needles and damp earth. He followed her towards the cabin, his gaze unwillingly snagged by the sway of her hips, the perfect curve of her ass outlined by tight denim jeans. Her dark hair, cut blunt just below her shoulders, swung slightly as she walked, catching the stray beams of light filtering through the trees. She was beautiful. Vibrantly, painfully beautiful, and lately, she felt like a stranger living in his hous
