The lumberjack boyfriend - Chapter 4 (Patreon)

I decided to go after him.

His heavy footsteps crushed the grass and dead leaves beneath his boots. My heart was racing—not just because of the sex, but because of the step I was about to take. His cum was still inside me as I followed him from a distance. He reached his cabin quickly. We were not that far, I hadn’t exactly been trying that hard to run from him… Of course I wanted him to catch me.

My mind was a complete whirlwind. I’d had sex twice with my sister’s boyfriend. I couldn’t lie to myself or deny that Morgan was my ideal man. Everything about him embodied perfection and raw masculinity. He had every trait, every ounce of that toxic energy that always drove me wild in the leading men of the novels I devoured.

When he stepped inside his cabin, I quietly climbed the porch steps. I hesitated, wondering if I should really do this… how he would react.

I knocked softly.

Heavy footsteps.

The door swung open.

“You’ve got the wrong cabin, kid.”

He was already down to nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s dangling from one hand.

“Can I come in?” I asked timidly.

His eyes narrowed, confused for a second, yet locked onto mine.

I dropped my gaze, burning with embarrassment.

“Come on in, kid.”

He stepped aside, making room for me.

The little cabin was a mess. The Scream mask lay discarded on the floor. Clothes were scattered everywhere. The bed hadn’t been made. Empty beer cans and bottles covered nearly every surface.

“I’d offer you a drink,” he said, “but you probably couldn’t handle it. You’re not man enough.”

He laughed at his own jab.

“You want a Coke instead?”

I nodded and answered with a quiet yes.

“Hey, buddy. Speak up when you’re talking to me. I just fucked you behind the cabins, remember? You scared of me?”

He grabbed a bottle of Coca-Cola from the fridge and popped the cap off with his keys. It clattered onto the wooden floor.

The muscles in his arms flexed, and I couldn’t stop staring.

He handed me the ice-cold bottle.

“Thanks.”

I was shaking.

Not just from the adrenaline of having sex out in the woods, but because of what I wanted to do next.

His sweaty body stood only inches away. I could make out every short hair across his bronzed chest. My glasses sharpened every detail, making his thick dark mustache look even more defined.

“Eyes on me, chico.”

He grabbed my face with one rough, calloused hand, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“The eyes chico, they never lie.”

It was a line from Scarface. Of course a straight guy like him knew Tony Montana.

I pushed against his chest, feeling the warmth and sweat beneath my palm.

I stepped back and took a long drink of the cold Coke, hoping to loosen my dry tongue and soothe my throat.

“So, Gay Potter… what’d you follow me here for? Didn’t get enough?”

His presence was overwhelming.

He was so tall he practically cast a shadow over the cramped, stuffy room.

I gulped down the Coke so quickly I almost choked.

“Easy… easy.”

He took the bottle from my hand and set it on the dresser.

“We don’t need anyone drowning in the lake tonight. Your sister would never forgive me if I let her baby brother die.”

He picked up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and took another long swig.

“When’s she coming back?” I asked cautiously.

“No clue, kid. I’d like to know myself.”

He shrugged.

“I… I don’t want her to come back…”

The words slipped out, barely louder than a whisper.

“I don’t think I heard what you said.”

His voice turned harder.

“I told you to speak up when you’re talking to me. What, you’re mute now? Or are you deaf too? Didn’t seem that way when you were moaning with my dick inside your ass.”

He took several slow steps toward me until my back slammed against the wall.

“You gonna say that to my face?”

His whiskey-soaked breath hovered inches away.

His lumberjack mustache was so close it almost brushed my lips.

“I… I…”

My voice caught.

“I think… I need some alcohol before I can say it. C-can you give me some?”

He threw his head back and burst out laughing.

“You need liquid courage, Gay Potter? A magic potion from one of your little books?”

He raised the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to my lips and tipped it.

The whiskey flooded my mouth.

I immediately coughed.

It burned all the way down my throat, and I ended up spraying whiskey across Morgan’s broad, hairy chest.

He laughed even harder.

“Just like I expected! Told you you couldn’t handle it, kid.”

“I’m sorry… I’ll clean you up.”

With trembling hands, I reached out and tried to wipe the whiskey from my sister’s boyfriend’s muscular chest.

Morgan grabbed my wrist.

Hard.

Then he shoved me even harder into the cabin wall.

A framed hunting painting crashed to the floor from the force.

“Talk, Gay Potter… or am I gonna have to make you?”

His grip tightened.

“What’d you come here for? And what was that thing you muttered about your sister?”

I was trembling like a leaf caught in the breeze coming off the lake.

Every ounce of courage I’d had disappeared the moment he opened that door.

But the heat of his skin under my palm was still there. The whiskey I had sprayed across his chest was mixing with the sweat that never seemed to fully leave his body. My fingers were still resting against the hard muscle and the coarse hair.

I didn’t pull away this time.

Instead, I slowly spread my hand wider, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. The short dark hairs scratched against my palm. His skin was still warm from the day, from the sex in the woods, from the whiskey. I could feel the solid beat of his heart under the muscle.

My throat was tight.

This was Jenna’s boyfriend. The man she kissed goodbye. The man she left here as “collateral.” The man who had just fucked me against a tree and filled me with his cum less than 15 minutes ago.

And I was touching his chest like I had any right to.

“I came because…” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Morgan’s grip on my wrist loosened just a fraction. His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and unreadable under the dim cabin light.

I leaned in before I could talk myself out of it.

My lips brushed the center of his chest, right over the place where the whiskey had landed. I kissed the warm, salty skin there, soft, careful, almost reverent. Then another kiss a little higher, closer to his collarbone. The smell of him filled my nose: sweat, whiskey, sex, and that deep masculine scent that had been driving me insane since the first day.

My hand stayed on his chest the whole time, feeling the way his breathing changed.

“I know you’re hers,” I whispered against his skin. “I know this is fucked up. I know I’m supposed to stop. But I… I can’t.”

For a long second Morgan didn’t move.

Then a low, rough sound left his throat, something between a growl and a groan, and his control snapped.

Both of his big hands grabbed me under the thighs and lifted me clean off the floor like I weighed nothing. My back hit the wall again, but this time his mouth crashed into mine. The kiss was nothing like the careful one I had just given him. It was hungry, open, desperate. His mustache scraped my skin raw as his tongue pushed into my mouth, tasting like whiskey and the earlier sex. He kissed me like he was trying to devour the words I had just said.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back just as hard, even though every part of me still screamed that this was wrong.

Morgan carried me the short distance to the unmade bed and dropped me onto it. The springs creaked under our combined weight as he came down on top of me, still kissing me like he couldn’t get enough. His heavy body pressed me into the mattress. The coarse hair on his chest rubbed against my skin. One of his thick thighs forced my legs apart.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth between kisses. “You little shit… coming in here saying shit like that…”

He yanked my shorts down and off in one rough motion. His own boxer briefs followed. Then he was back on me, skin to skin, the thick length of his cock sliding against mine as he kissed me deeper. His hands were everywhere, grabbing my ass, sliding up my sides, fisting in my hair to tilt my head the way he wanted.

When he pushed inside me again it was different from the woods.

Slower at first. Deeper. His forehead pressed against mine as he worked every thick inch into me, both of us breathing hard into each other’s mouths. The stretch still burned, but the way he looked at me while he did it made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with lust alone.

“Morgan…”

“Don’t.” he growled, but his voice was shaky. “Don’t say my name like that.”

He started moving. Long, powerful strokes that filled me completely each time. The bed creaked in steady rhythm. Sweat built between our bodies almost immediately in the humid cabin air. Every thrust forced soft, broken sounds out of me that he swallowed with another kiss. His mustache kept scraping my lips raw. His chest hair dragged against my skin. The smell of sex and whiskey and man filled the small room.

I clung to him like I was drowning.

My hands ran over the hard muscles of his back, feeling them flex with every thrust. I kissed his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, anywhere I could reach, while he fucked me deeper than before. This wasn’t the rough, almost angry sex from the tree. This was something heavier, deeper. Something that felt like it could break both of us.

Morgan’s rhythm grew harder, more desperate. His breathing turned ragged against my ear. One of his hands slid under my lower back, tilting my hips so he could go even deeper.

“You’re gonna ruin everything,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “You know that? Coming in here… touching me like that… saying you don’t want her to come back…”

I could only moan in answer, legs wrapped around his waist, taking every thick inch of him.

When he came it was with a deep, almost pained sound, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing hard inside me. The heat of it flooded me all over again. I followed right after, spilling between our stomachs while my hole clenched around him.

For a long time neither of us moved.

Morgan stayed inside me, chest heaving against mine, face buried in the side of my neck. His weight was heavy and solid and perfect. My fingers traced slow lines up and down the sweat-slick muscles of his back. The cabin was quiet except for our breathing and the distant sound of the lake outside.

I thought, stupidly, that maybe he would stay like that for more than a few minutes.

Then his body went rigid.

He pulled out of me abruptly and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His chest was still rising and falling hard. Cum leaked out of me onto the sheets. The sudden absence of his weight made the bed feel cold.

“Get out.”

The words were flat. Cold.

I turned my head to look at him, still half-dazed.

“What?”

Morgan sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t look at me. He reached for the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the nightstand and took a long, harsh swallow.

“I said get the fuck out of my cabin.”

The change was so sudden it felt like a slap.

“Morgan…”

“Don’t.” His voice was harder now, almost angry. “This was a mistake. All of it. You’re Jenna’s little brother. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have let you in here. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have just… done that.”

He stood up, still naked, and grabbed his jeans from the floor. The muscles in his back were tight with tension.

“Get dressed and leave boy. Now.”

I sat up slowly, the sheets sticking to my skin. His cum was still leaking out of me. My throat felt tight in a completely different way than before.

“I thought..”

“You thought wrong.” He finally looked at me, and the expression on his face was pure conflict, anger, guilt, and something darker mixed together. “I got a girlfriend. Your sister. And you’re just the skinny little faggot who can’t keep his legs closed. That’s all this is. Now get the fuck out before I throw you out.”

The words hit harder than any slap.

I scrambled off the bed, hands shaking as I pulled my shorts back on. I couldn’t look at him. My eyes were already burning. I grabbed my t-shirt from the floor and didn’t even bother putting it on properly before I headed for the door.

Morgan didn’t stop me.

He didn’t say another word.

I stepped out into the humid night air with my chest aching and his cum still running down my thighs. The door shut hard behind me. I made it halfway across the grass before the first tears spilled over.

I didn’t go back to the main cabin right away. I sat down hard on the wooden steps of the smaller porch, face buried in my hands, shoulders shaking. Shame burned through me hotter than any of the sex had. I had just let my sister’s boyfriend fuck me in his bed and then hold me like it meant something, only to get thrown out like trash the second the orgasm faded.

Inside the cabin I could hear the faint sound of the whiskey bottle being set down hard, then the creak of the bed as Morgan sat back down.

He didn’t come after me.

I stayed there in the dark for a long time, crying quietly into my hands, the taste of his mouth still on my tongue and the deep ache of him still inside me, knowing I had crossed a line I could never uncross.

And the worst part was that even after the way he had just spoken to me… some broken piece of me still wanted to go back inside.

His heavy footsteps crushed the grass and dead leaves beneath his boots. My heart was racing—not just because of the sex, but because of the step I was about to take. His cum was still inside me as I followed him from a distance. He reached his cabin quickly. Then again, I hadn’t exactly been trying that hard to catch up…

Of course I wanted him to notice me.

My mind was a complete whirlwind. I’d had sex twice with my sister’s boyfriend. I couldn’t lie to myself or deny that Morgan was my ideal man. Everything about him embodied perfection and raw masculinity. He had every trait, every ounce of that toxic energy that always drove me wild in the leading men of the novels I devoured.

When he stepped inside his cabin, I quietly climbed the porch steps. I hesitated, wondering if I should really do this… how he would react.

I knocked softly.

Heavy footsteps.

The door swung open.

“You’ve got the wrong cabin, kid.”

He was already down to nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s dangling from one hand.

“Can I come in?” I asked timidly.

His eyes narrowed, confused for a second, yet locked onto mine.

I dropped my gaze, burning with embarrassment.

“Come on in, kid.”

He stepped aside, making room for me.

The little cabin was a mess. The Scream mask lay discarded on the floor. Clothes were scattered everywhere. The bed hadn’t been made. Empty beer cans and bottles covered nearly every surface.

“I’d offer you a drink,” he said, “but you probably couldn’t handle it. You’re not man enough.”

He laughed at his own jab.

“You want a Coke instead?”

I nodded and answered with a quiet yes.

“Hey, buddy. Speak up when you’re talking to me. I just fucked you behind the cabins, remember? You scared of me?”

He grabbed a bottle of Coca-Cola from the fridge and popped the cap off with his keys. It clattered onto the wooden floor.

The muscles in his arms flexed, and I couldn’t stop staring.

He handed me the ice-cold bottle.

“Thanks.”

I was shaking.

Not just from the adrenaline of having sex out in the woods, but because of what I wanted to do next.

His sweaty body stood only inches away. I could make out every short hair across his bronzed chest. My glasses sharpened every detail, making his thick dark mustache look even more defined.

“Eyes on me, chico.”

He grabbed my face with one rough, calloused hand, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“The eyes chico, they never lie.”

It was a line from Scarface. Of course a straight guy like him knew Tony Montana.

I pushed against his chest, feeling the warmth and sweat beneath my palm.

I stepped back and took a long drink of the cold Coke, hoping to loosen my dry tongue and soothe my throat.

“So, Gay Potter… what’d you follow me here for? Didn’t get enough?”

His presence was overwhelming.

He was so tall he practically cast a shadow over the cramped, stuffy room.

I gulped down the Coke so quickly I almost choked.

“Easy… easy.”

He took the bottle from my hand and set it on the dresser.

“We don’t need anyone drowning in the lake tonight. Your sister would never forgive me if I let her baby brother die.”

He picked up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and took another long swig.

“When’s she coming back?” I asked cautiously.

“No clue, kid. I’d like to know myself.”

He shrugged.

“I… I don’t want her to come back…”

The words slipped out, barely louder than a whisper.

“I don’t think I heard what you said.”

His voice turned harder.

“I told you to speak up when you’re talking to me. What, you’re mute now? Or are you deaf too? Didn’t seem that way when you were moaning with my dick inside your ass.”

He took several slow steps toward me until my back slammed against the wall.

“You gonna say that to my face?”

His whiskey-soaked breath hovered inches away.

His lumberjack mustache was so close it almost brushed my lips.

“I… I…”

My voice caught.

“I think… I need some alcohol before I can say it. C-can you give me some?”

He threw his head back and burst out laughing.

“You need liquid courage, Gay Potter? A magic potion from one of your little books?”

He raised the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to my lips and tipped it.

The whiskey flooded my mouth.

I immediately coughed.

It burned all the way down my throat, and I ended up spraying whiskey across Morgan’s broad, hairy chest.

He laughed even harder.

“Just like I expected! Told you you couldn’t handle it, kid.”

“I’m sorry… I’ll clean you up.”

With trembling hands, I reached out and tried to wipe the whiskey from my sister’s boyfriend’s muscular chest.

Morgan grabbed my wrist.

Hard.

Then he shoved me even harder into the cabin wall.

A framed hunting painting crashed to the floor from the force.

“Talk, Gay Potter… or am I gonna have to make you?”

His grip tightened.

“What’d you come here for? And what was that thing you muttered about your sister?”

I was trembling like a leaf caught in the breeze coming off the lake.

Every ounce of courage I’d had disappeared the moment he opened that door.

But the heat of his skin under my palm was still there. The whiskey I had sprayed across his chest was mixing with the sweat that never seemed to fully leave his body. My fingers were still resting against the hard muscle and the coarse hair.

I didn’t pull away this time.

Instead, I slowly spread my hand wider, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. The short dark hairs scratched against my palm. His skin was still warm from the day, from the sex in the woods, from the whiskey. I could feel the solid beat of his heart under the muscle.

My throat was tight.

This was Jenna’s boyfriend. The man she kissed goodbye. The man she left here as “collateral.” The man who had just fucked me against a tree and filled me with his cum less than 15 minutes ago.

And I was touching his chest like I had any right to.

“I came because…” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Morgan’s grip on my wrist loosened just a fraction. His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and unreadable under the dim cabin light.

I leaned in before I could talk myself out of it.

My lips brushed the center of his chest, right over the place where the whiskey had landed. I kissed the warm, salty skin there, soft, careful, almost reverent. Then another kiss a little higher, closer to his collarbone. The smell of him filled my nose: sweat, whiskey, sex, and that deep masculine scent that had been driving me insane since the first day.

My hand stayed on his chest the whole time, feeling the way his breathing changed.

“I know you’re hers,” I whispered against his skin. “I know this is fucked up. I know I’m supposed to stop. But I… I can’t.”

For a long second Morgan didn’t move.

Then a low, rough sound left his throat, something between a growl and a groan, and his control snapped.

Both of his big hands grabbed me under the thighs and lifted me clean off the floor like I weighed nothing. My back hit the wall again, but this time his mouth crashed into mine. The kiss was nothing like the careful one I had just given him. It was hungry, open, desperate. His mustache scraped my skin raw as his tongue pushed into my mouth, tasting like whiskey and the earlier sex. He kissed me like he was trying to devour the words I had just said.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back just as hard, even though every part of me still screamed that this was wrong.

Morgan carried me the short distance to the unmade bed and dropped me onto it. The springs creaked under our combined weight as he came down on top of me, still kissing me like he couldn’t get enough. His heavy body pressed me into the mattress. The coarse hair on his chest rubbed against my skin. One of his thick thighs forced my legs apart.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth between kisses. “You little shit… coming in here saying shit like that…”

He yanked my shorts down and off in one rough motion. My shirt was off in a second too. His own boxer briefs followed. Then he was back on me, skin to skin, the thick length of his cock sliding against mine as he kissed me deeper. His hands were everywhere, grabbing my ass, sliding up my sides, fisting in my hair to tilt my head the way he wanted.

When he pushed inside me again it was different from the woods.

Slower at first. Deeper. His forehead pressed against mine as he worked every thick inch into me, both of us breathing hard into each other’s mouths. The stretch still burned, but the way he looked at me while he did it made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with lust alone.

“Morgan…”

“Don’t.” he growled, but his voice was shaky. “Don’t say my name like that.”

He started moving. Long, powerful strokes that filled me completely each time. The bed creaked in steady rhythm. Sweat built between our bodies almost immediately in the humid cabin air. Every thrust forced soft, broken sounds out of me that he swallowed with another kiss. His mustache kept scraping my lips raw. His chest hair dragged against my skin. The smell of sex and whiskey and man filled the small room.

I clung to him like I was drowning.

My hands ran over the hard muscles of his back, feeling them flex with every thrust. I kissed his neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, anywhere I could reach, while he fucked me deeper than before. This wasn’t the rough, almost angry sex from the tree. This was something heavier, deeper. Something that felt like it could break both of us.

Morgan’s rhythm grew harder, more desperate. His breathing turned ragged against my ear. One of his hands slid under my lower back, tilting my hips so he could go even deeper.

“You’re gonna ruin everything,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. “You know that? Coming in here… touching me like that… saying you don’t want her to come back…”

I could only moan in answer, legs wrapped around his waist, taking every thick inch of him.

When he came it was with a deep, almost pained sound, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing hard inside me. The heat of it flooded me all over again. I followed right after, spilling between our stomachs while my hole clenched around him.

For a long time neither of us moved.

Morgan stayed inside me, chest heaving against mine, face buried in the side of my neck. His weight was heavy and solid and perfect. My fingers traced slow lines up and down the sweat-slick muscles of his back. The cabin was quiet except for our breathing and the distant sound of the lake outside.

I thought, stupidly, that maybe he would stay like that for more than a few minutes.

Then his body went rigid.

He pulled out of me abruptly and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His chest was still rising and falling hard. Cum leaked out of me onto the sheets. The sudden absence of his weight made the bed feel cold.

“Get out.”

The words were flat. Cold.

I turned my head to look at him, still half-dazed.

“What?”

Morgan sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t look at me. He reached for the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the nightstand and took a long, harsh swallow.

“I said get the fuck out of my cabin.”

The change was so sudden it felt like a slap.

“Morgan…”

“Don’t.” His voice was harder now, almost angry. “This was a mistake. All of it. You’re Jenna’s little brother. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have let you in here. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have just… done that.”

He stood up, still naked, and grabbed his jeans from the floor. The muscles in his back were tight with tension.

“Get dressed and leave boy. Now.”

I sat up slowly, the sheets sticking to my skin. His cum was still leaking out of me. My throat felt tight in a completely different way than before.

“I thought..”

“You thought wrong.” He finally looked at me, and the expression on his face was pure conflict, anger, guilt, and something darker mixed together. “I got a girlfriend. Your sister. And you’re just the skinny little faggot who can’t keep his legs closed. That’s all this is. Now get the fuck out before I throw you out.”

The words hit harder than any slap.

I scrambled off the bed, hands shaking as I pulled my shorts back on. I couldn’t look at him. My eyes were already burning. I grabbed my t-shirt from the floor and didn’t even bother putting it on properly before I headed for the door.

Morgan didn’t stop me.

He didn’t say another word.

I stepped out into the humid night air with my chest aching and his cum still running down my thighs. The door shut hard behind me. I made it halfway across the grass before the first tears spilled over.

I didn’t go back to the main cabin right away. I sat down hard on the wooden steps of the smaller porch, face buried in my hands, shoulders shaking. Shame burned through me hotter than any of the sex had. I had just let my sister’s boyfriend fuck me in his bed and then hold me like it meant something, only to get thrown out like trash the second the orgasm faded.

Inside the cabin I could hear the faint sound of the whiskey bottle being set down hard, then the creak of the bed as Morgan sat back down.

He didn’t come after me.

I stayed there in the dark for a long time, crying quietly into my hands, the taste of his mouth still on my tongue and the deep ache of him still inside me, knowing I had crossed a line I could never uncross.

And the worst part was that even after the way he had just spoken to me… some broken piece of me still wanted to go back inside.

All characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the characters.