Page 8 of Snowed In with the Rancher

His erection wasn’t going anywhere, not when the shower was still running downstairs and Triss was still most definitely naked.

Could he take himself in his palm knowing a stranger was downstairs?

He’d certainly taken himself in less private places than his own bedroom. He’d also taken himself in the privacy of his own bedroom with a lot more people in the house.

There was just something about her …

They’d spent all of five minutes—collectively—together and yet he just knew there was a reason besides his meddling niece and inconvenient weather that brought her here.

Hannah mentioned that Triss had just been dumped by her boyfriend. Why had he dumped her? Was she fragile and looking to cry? Or was she looking for rebound sex and to scrape every last memory of the idiot from her mind, body, and soul.

Asher could certainly help her out there.

He wasn’t much for talking, anyway, but fucking he could definitely do.

Releasing his dog tags, he slowly trailed his hand down his abdomen and beneath his pants to where his erection pitched a tent. He began to stroke himself lazily, closing his eyes and picturing Triss with that long, dark hair wet down her back, her body soapy and silky soft and her hands running all over her skin, lingering extra long on her breasts—which filled out her bra nicely—and between her legs.

He’d only barely caught a glimpse, but her white panties had been slightly sheer and he could see a dark shadow behind the thin fabric. His mouth filled with saliva at the thought of getting to taste her there.

Fuck.

He picked up fervor with his strokes, squeezing the head of his cock as he reached the crown, then sliding back down to the base.

He sure as fuck wasn’t going to pursue a hurt and healing woman, but if she wanted something, he also sure as fuck wouldn’t turn her down. She just needed to know right off the bat that he didn’t do relationships. He was married to this ranch and only ever would be. But after the chores were done, the animals were fed and the wood brought in for the wood stove, he could help her forget that douche that dumped her—at least until the storm passed.

His balls cinched up and he reached over to the nightstand for the box of tissues. He kept working his cock, the need to come building like a well-stoked fire in his lower belly. The water in the bathroom downstairs shut off and now he pictured Triss wet and naked, stepping out of the tub, her nipples growing tight from the cooler air hitting her. He’d like to suck those nipples.

“Fuck,” he grunted, stroking himself even faster. He squeezed the crown even harder, pressure built in his balls and abdomen, and with his free hand, he grabbed a handful of tissues, rolled over to his side, yanked his pants down just enough to get his cock free, and blew his load into the Kleenex. “Fucking Christ,” he murmured as he came, wishing it was Triss’s pussy or her mouth he was filling with his cum and not a stack of tissues.

When he was done, he balled up the evidence and tossed it into the garbage can beside his dresser, then he went to the bathroom that he shared with his brother upstairs and washed his hands.

He thought about going back downstairs to make sure she had everything that she needed but decided against it. There was no need for him to check on her. She wasn’t his guest and she was a grown-ass woman. If she needed something, chances are she’d figure out how to find it. He probably shouldn’t have even bothered to bring her towels, since the linen closest was next to the bathroom door downstairs, but something had compelled him to give her the towels personally. He also could have just taken towels from the closet and put them in the bathroom for her, but he didn’t.

On his way back from the bathroom, he stopped and stood at the top of the stairs for several heartbeats longer than he should have, staring down into the dark, waiting to hear the bathroom door open and her walk softly across the hall to her room.

Why?

He couldn’t fucking say, but he did it anyway.

Softly, the door opened and it was all of four footsteps then she closed her bedroom door.

He stood there for five more breaths to see if she’d come out of her bedroom again, but she didn’t. Shaking his head and berating himself for his stupidity, he returned to his room and closed the door.

Breakfast was at seven. Would she wake up for it? Would he see her before he headed out to work for the day? Did she like oatmeal?

Chapter Four

The time change had Triss waking up at five o’clock in the morning, despite the fact that she was bone-tired when she went to bed. Her body was conditioned to wake up early so she could do a workout in her living room, have a shower, then take her wholegrain toast breakfast sandwich with avocado, a fried egg, and turkey bacon with her as she drove to work. Then she stopped for a coffee from the Lebanese gentleman on the corner who made the best dark latte in Connecticut and walked into her office with her half-eaten sandwich and delicious latte from Ferjal. That was how she started her day every day.

She was a creature of habit, and it was hard to break that habit, even on the weekends. And since Lorne often worked on the weekends at the restaurant, Triss kept her routine up and went in to her office to work on files and programs.

Ferjal sold coffee seven days a week, why couldn’t she work seven days a week, too?

Yeah, she definitely did not have a very good work-life balance.

Even though she was awake at five in the morning, she didn’t immediately throw back the covers and go do calisthenics in a stranger’s living room. She checked for flights on her phone for an hour, coming up with nothing since the storm had grounded all non-emergency flights for at least the next forty-eight hours. The weather app on her phone said it was still snowing and that they should expect even more snow over the next seventy-two hours. Yeah, if she wasn’t going anywhere, she was going to stay snuggled up under the duvet for a bit longer, particularly since it didn’t sound like Asher was awake yet.

Her mood was sufficiently soured when Lorne texted her asking where the Instant Pot was. Her reply of In storage with all of my other worldly possessions since I was kicked out of my own apartment, of which my name is on the lease, was not well received.

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