Exclusive Bonus Chapter

Snowbound Again

from Cabin Daddy & Two Lost Boys
by Isla Wilde

The epilogue ends with four people going inside and closing the door.
This is what happened behind it.

The door closed and Leo had my sweater off before it finished latching.

“One year,” he said against my throat. His hands were already under my thermal, spanning my ribs, cold from the porch and greedy about it. “One year ago tonight you were freezing to death in a rental cabin and I was lost on a mountain with Finn and none of us knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we were about to become the luckiest three men in the Cascades.”

Finn’s hands landed on my hips from behind. He’d crossed the room without a sound — he always did, the man moved like weather — and now his chest was against my back and his mouth was at the nape of my neck and I was pinned between them before I’d taken three steps into the room.

“Bedroom,” Grant said.

Not a suggestion.

The bed he’d built took up half the room. Cedar headboard, rope joints, timber thick enough to hold four people through a decade of exactly this. He’d sanded it by hand over six weeks last spring, and the first night we’d used it he’d stood in the doorway watching us fall into it with an expression I hadn’t been able to read.

I could read it now. It was the look of a man who’d built something to last and was watching it get used the way he’d intended.

He shut the bedroom door behind us. Leaned back against it. Crossed his arms.

“Undress her.”

Leo’s breath hitched against my shoulder. Finn’s hands tightened on my hips.

That was the thing about Grant. He didn’t have to touch anyone to run a room. He just had to speak, in that low gravel register that had rewired my nervous system twelve months ago and never stopped, and three people rearranged themselves around the sound.

They undressed me between them.

Leo took the front. Thermal over my head, one slow inch at a time, his eyes tracking every centimeter of skin as it appeared like he was reading a page he’d written and forgotten and was rediscovering. Finn took the back — bra clasp between two calloused fingers, released in a single motion, the straps drawn down my arms with a patience that made my teeth ache.

Leggings. Underwear. Their four hands working together, unhurried, thorough, while Grant watched from the door with his arms crossed and his jaw set and his eyes going darker by the second.

I was naked in ninety seconds and I hadn’t lifted a finger.

“Look at her,” Leo breathed.

“I am,” Grant said.

“No, but look at her. A year ago she couldn’t take her clothes off in front of one man without apologizing. Now she’s standing in the middle of a room letting three of us strip her and she’s not even—”

“Leo.” Finn. Flat. “Stop narrating and get her on the bed.”

“I contain multitudes, Finn. I can do both.”

He did both.

They laid me out on the bed like something ceremonial.

Leo on my left. Finn on my right. Both of them still fully dressed, which was its own particular cruelty — I was naked and open and they were in flannel and denim and looking down at me like a decision they were taking their time making.

Grant crossed the room. Slow. He sat on the edge of the mattress by my hip and put one enormous hand flat on my stomach.

“A year ago tonight,” he said, “you were dying in a cabin two miles from here.”

“I know.”

“I want you to say what you want. Out loud. All of it.” His hand slid lower. Stopped at the crease of my thigh. “You spent twenty-eight years not asking. So ask. Tonight you don’t get anything you don’t ask for.”

My pulse hammered. This was the game — his game, the one he’d been playing with me since the bathtub, the one that had taken me from a woman who faked it to a woman who demanded it. Make her say it. Make her hear herself say it. Make the asking as good as the getting.

“I want your mouth,” I said.

His thumb moved. A quarter-inch. “Where?”

“You know where.”

“Say it.”

“I want your mouth on my cunt, Grant.”

Leo made a noise like he’d been shot.

Grant’s eyes went black. “Good girl.”

He went down on me with the deliberation of a man who’d been doing this for a year and had made a study of it.

He knew everything. Every angle, every pressure, the exact place where my hips would jump if he pressed his tongue flat and dragged. He’d learned me the way he’d learned the mountain — completely, permanently, with a patience that made the knowledge feel like devotion.

His beard rasped my inner thighs. His hands pinned my hips. He built me up in slow, punishing increments and then pulled back every time I got close, holding me on the edge with a control that was, frankly, sadistic.

“Grant—”

“Ask.”

“Please—”

“Ask properly.”

“Please let me come, Daddy.”

The word did what it always did. His control snapped, his tongue flattened, and he sucked my clit into his mouth and I came so hard the headboard cracked against the wall.

Leo’s mouth was on my breast. Finn’s hand was in my hair, holding my head back, his mouth at my ear murmuring things I couldn’t parse through the roar of it — that’s it, look at you, you’re so beautiful when you let go — and I rode it out with three men touching me and the snow falling outside and my body doing things it hadn’t known were possible thirteen months ago.

Grant lifted his head. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“One,” he said.

I lost track somewhere around four.

Leo got me next. He’d stripped by then — the man could not stay dressed in a room where something was happening, it was pathological — and he crawled up my body and pushed inside me while I was still shaking from Grant’s mouth, and the stretch of it on an already-overstimulated body made me sob.

He talked the entire time. Of course he did.

“You’re so wet — God, that’s Grant’s mouth and my — you’re taking me so easy — Harper, look at me, look at me while I—”

I looked at him. Green eyes blown black, curls stuck to his forehead, twenty-five years old and still looking at me like I was a miracle he’d been allowed to touch by clerical error.

“I love you,” he said. Mid-thrust. Ruined voice. “I love you, I love you, I—”

“I know.” I pulled him down. Bit his throat. “I love you too. Now shut up and fuck me properly.”

He laughed — laughed, into my neck, while he was inside me — and the joy of it, the sheer stupid joy of a man who found sex funny and wonderful and worth laughing about, hit me harder than the orgasm that followed.

Finn didn’t ask. Finn never asked. Finn watched, and waited, and knew.

When Leo rolled off me, boneless and grinning at the ceiling, Finn’s hand found my hip and turned me over.

Face down. Ass up. His palm flat on my lower back, pressing my chest into the mattress, arranging me with the wordless competence of a man who’d spent his life understanding how things fit together.

He entered me from behind in one long, silent stroke that punched the air out of my lungs.

He was thick. Thicker than Leo, less long than Grant, a stretch that bordered on too much on a good day and on a night when I’d already come four times was — God. It was everything.

He fucked me in complete silence. No narration, no praise, no filthy whispers. Just the slap of his hips and the harsh rhythm of his breathing and his hands gripping my waist hard enough to leave marks I’d find tomorrow and press my thumbs into like a keepsake.

“Finn—”

His hand slid up my spine. Wrapped around the back of my neck. Pressed my cheek into the mattress.

That was all. That was Finn’s entire vocabulary and it was more articulate than any sentence in the English language.

I came around him with my face in the sheets and his hand on my neck and the sound I made wasn’t a word.

“Grant.” My voice was destroyed. I pushed up onto my elbows and found him at the foot of the bed — still dressed, still watching, his jaw carved from something geological. “Get over here.”

“You’re done.”

“I’m not done.”

“You’ve come four times. Your legs are shaking.”

“Grant.” I held his eyes. “I’m asking.”

Something moved behind his face. The thing that had been cracking open for twelve months and never quite finished the job.

He undressed.

“All three,” I said.

The room went dead silent.

Leo sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed. “All three like — Harper, do you mean—”

“I mean all three. At once. I’ve been thinking about it for a month and I want it and I’m asking.”

Grant’s gaze cut to Finn. Finn’s cut back. Something passed between them — the fast, silent, load-bearing communication of two men who’d been coordinating around my body for a year and had gotten very, very good at it.

“You’ve never—” Grant started.

“No.”

“It’s a lot.”

“I know.”

“If it’s too much—”

“Then I’ll say so. That’s the rule. I made that rule.” I pushed up onto my knees. Naked, wrecked, shaking, absolutely certain. “Rule one. I say what I want. So I’m saying it. I want all three of you inside me at the same time and I want you to take care of me while it happens and I want it tonight, on the anniversary of the day you three saved my life.”

Leo’s hands were trembling.

Grant exhaled — long, controlled, the sound of a man taking a load off a truck bed.

“Finn. Underneath.”

The choreography was Grant’s. It always was.

Finn on his back. Me straddling him, sinking down onto him slowly, my hands braced on that compass rose tattoo while he filled me and his eyes locked on mine and stayed there. Then Grant’s hands on my shoulders, easing me forward until my chest was against Finn’s, until my back was a long open line, until I was folded over one man and presented to another.

Grant knelt behind me. I felt the slick of him — he’d taken his time, he was Grant, he did nothing carelessly — and then the blunt pressure and the slow, patient, relentless press.

“Breathe out,” he said.

I breathed out.

He pushed in.

The sound that came out of me was not human. It was too much — it was so much too much — every nerve I owned lighting up at once, the impossible fullness of two men inside me at the same time, the stretch and the burn and the pressure, and for one white-hot second I was certain I’d made a catastrophic error in judgment.

Then Finn’s arms came around me. Then Grant’s hand splayed across my lower back, holding me open, holding me steady, holding me. Then Leo’s fingers were in my hair, sweeping it off my face, and his voice was in my ear:

“Hey. Hey. Look at me. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re so okay. You’re incredible.”

I breathed. The panic receded. And what came in behind it was—

Oh.

Oh.

“Move,” I gasped. “Somebody move.”

They moved.

They found the rhythm inside four strokes. Of course they did. They’d been finding rhythms around my body for a year — in hot tubs and blanket nests and the bed Grant built with his hands — and now they synchronized like they’d been rehearsing: Grant pulling out as Finn pushed in, Finn withdrawing as Grant drove home, a rolling alternation that never left me empty for a fraction of a second.

I stopped being a person. I became a frequency.

“Look at you,” Grant gritted out behind me. His control was gone. Twelve months and I’d finally, finally broken it all the way. “Look at you taking us both. So good. So fucking good, sweetheart—”

“Harper.” Finn beneath me. His hand on my face, his eyes on mine, refusing to let me look away even now, even here. “Stay with me.”

“I’m here—”

“I know. Stay anyway.”

Leo knelt at the edge of it, one hand in my hair and the other on Grant’s shoulder, connecting the circuit, and he was talking — narrating, describing, telling me exactly what I looked like and exactly what it was doing to him and exactly how beautiful I was with two men inside me and my mouth open and my eyes rolling back.

I turned my head. Found him. Opened my mouth.

He said “oh fuck” and gave me what I was asking for.

Four bodies. One bed. The snow coming down outside like it had a year ago, like it would every year for the rest of our lives, and inside — this.

The orgasm didn’t build. It detonated. It came from everywhere at once and it took me apart like a demolition, my whole body seizing, clenching around both of them at once, and the sound I made around Leo’s cock made him come instantly, and the feel of me clamping down took Finn with him, and Grant—

Grant broke.

He came with his forehead against my spine and his arms crushing me against Finn’s chest and a sound tearing out of him that was not a groan. It was the same sound he’d made the night he finally cried inside me. The sound of a man who’d built a grave and climbed out of it and was still, twelve months later, astonished to find himself in the light.

“Always,” he said. Wrecked. Broken open. His mouth against my shoulder blade. “Always, always, always—”

Afterward.

Nobody moved for a long time. We couldn’t. We were a single organism at that point, four bodies interlocked in a configuration that no engineer would have approved, breathing in a rhythm that had synchronized without anyone deciding to.

Grant withdrew first. Careful. Gentle. He was always gentle after — the man who could break me in half spending twenty minutes putting me back together. He disappeared and returned with a warm washcloth and water and cleaned me with a tenderness that made my throat close.

Finn hadn’t let go. His arms were still around me, my cheek on the compass rose, his heartbeat slamming under my ear.

Leo was face down beside us, one arm flung across all three of us, muttering something into the mattress.

“What?” I croaked.

He turned his head. His face was a wreck. His grin was incandescent.

“I said I’m going to need a minute before I can form opinions about anything ever again.”

I laughed. It hurt. Everything hurt. I’d never felt better in my life.

Grant lay down and pulled me against his chest, and Finn curled in behind me, and Leo wedged himself in wherever there was room — which there wasn’t, but he managed it, because he always did.

“Happy anniversary,” Finn said. Against the back of my neck. Two words. Maximum efficiency.

Outside, the storm settled in for the night.

Inside, in a cabin built by a man who’d wanted to disappear, in a bed built for the people who’d refused to let him, four bodies breathed in the dark and the fire burned low and nobody was alone.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

Haven’t read the book yet?

This scene is the payoff to a 20-chapter slow-burn descent into inferno. Start at the beginning — the blizzard, the rescue, the bathtub, the word she’d never said out loud. Available at all major retailers.

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