Page 132 of Snowed In

His hands latch onto my hips, making me cringe at the thought of him discovering the full girth of my waist, but he isn’t deterred. His mouth moves to my neck, planting kisses there.

His fingers interlace with mine, drawing them against the wall over my head. I hope this is as real as it feels. His warmth. His solid chest pressed against mine. His hot breath on my skin.

Terror seizes my lungs, watching his nose angle toward my armpit. My sweaty, nervous-as-shit armpit. Before I can warn him, he buries his face in it, letting out a deep inhale sound and groaning like he’s in heaven.

So, of course… I whimper. Fuck, that was hot.

Glancing down, he looks to be contemplating something and then drops to his knees. His hands trail down my body like he doesn’t want to stop touching it.

“Can I?” he asks, peering up at me with hope in his eyes and his fingers on my fly.

A laugh barks out of my lungs because who would say no to that wanting look in his eyes? “I mean… yeah,” I bluster like I’m some cool, confident man who’s asked that all the time.

As he takes me out, my mind reels with a myriad of nonsense. Which boxers did I put on? Were they my sexy ones? I don’t have any sexy ones. What am I talking about?

Oh, for the love of lumberjacks! His mouth feels just as good on my cock as it does on my mouth.

“Yeah,” I whine all breathy, hoping it says nothing about my lack of stamina.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the day I met you,” he murmurs, popping off to give me a long lick on either side of my shaft.

The fuck he did. I still don’t believe it, but belief and conviction become mottled when his talented mouth takes me back in. I gape in awe, pinned to his wall like a biology specimen as he worships my cock with a mouth that used to annoy the shit out of me. A mouth that can no longer do wrong. It’s patient, artful, and clearly designed by the gods of oral sex.

Oh, fuck. I’m coming!

“Ronny!”

You could call the way I shove his head out of the way a polite warning, but judging by the way he winces, it lacked the grace I intended. “Sor—sorry,” I pant, pulsing into my hand while trying not to pass out.

He rises without a word. I blew it. Literally blew it from him blowing me.

Damn it.

Not so perfect now, am I, Ronald?

Except, he’s whipping off his shirt…

I babble incoherent noises meant to be protests, but he pays no mind, cleaning my hand with his shirt. I wait for my folly to test his manners, but it doesn’t happen. He still has that drugged look on his face as he steps toward me again, slinking his hands around my waist and kissing me.

My dick is still out, squished between us. I should really put it back in, but kisses… Ronny kisses. Ronny touches. More Ronny handfuls of my plentiful ass.

“Oh, shit!” I squawk when his handfuls turn into hoisting, lifting me in the air, and pulling me against him.

I grab his shoulders like a monkey, holding on for dear life, waiting for the moment we go down. But… we don’t. And he’s moving. And kissing…

His stubble grazing against my neck is a sound distraction from the fear of being dropped as his heavy footsteps make their way deeper into his house. He’s not much taller than me, and I know his shoulders are wide, but I cannot be easy to carry. Ronny is getting more and more lumberjack points by the second.

He drops me down on his bed and plants a hand on the mattress next to my head.

“You good?” he asks, gazing down at me.

“Yeah. Good,” I muster, afraid to say anything that will burst this bubble.

Reaching out carefully, I run my hands up his abs. His breathing stutters, making them ripple—fucking ripple—beneath my touch.

Uhn, I want to lick them.

A soft puff of laughter ghosts my face when he moves in for more nuzzling. “I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking about things like that.”

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