Page 17 of Snowed in with My Protector

Probably the best man I’ve ever met.

Which is why I’ve been falling for him. It hasn’t been gradually. My heart and soul have jumped in completely with both feet, not caring about what the abyss of something so big holds.

“Tell me, Fallon,” there’s an edge to his voice, a warning.

It’s something I can’t ignore. “I’m scared,” I admit, and his face softens. “I know you’ll protect me with everything in you, but the storm means that if we need help then it won’t come, and we can’t get out.” I swallow hard and fight back against the tears threatening to fill my eyes; now is not the time to fall apart completely. “I know that if I were to be injured then you’d risk yourself to get me to the help I need, but what if you’re the one who gets hurt? I’m not strong enough to carry you down the mountain,” I try for a bit of levity, but it falls flat.

The smile that Hutch tries to hide has me narrowing my eyes. This is serious. He stands from his small table where the discarded board game lays between us. His steps are measured but deliberate as he rounds the table.

The way he moves—so graceful and predatory—has me freezing in place. He’s a predator, the muscles of his broad chest are a moving symphony of beauty. I should be running, but I don’t want to.

I want to be caught.

I want him to fight my fears and banish them.

I want him to make me forget.

I need it.

Desperately.

While I expect him to haul me up against his chest, he surprises me by holding his hand out for me to take. The way he offers this connection while looking like he has all the time in the world to wait for me to be ready, feels so much bigger than this moment. It feels like far more than a hand in front of me, it feels like a future.

One I’ve longed for without even realizing it.

When my hand slides into his, his grip tightens but it’s not painful. It’s firm. Resolute. The feeling grounds me and I take a deep breath. His touch is a gift, one which allows me to fight back my fear on my own.

My eyes are big and round as I look up at him, amazed that a simple touch, a simple gesture, can help me so much. He doesn’t pull me up, but I stand anyway.

“You sure?” There’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice because he knows he’s offering so much more than a night, so much more than a helping hand in the darkness.

I melt against him and wrap my free arm around his neck, wishing I was closer, wishing my bare skin was pressed against his. “Make me chase away my fear and forget all of it,” my whispered words are a plea.

The press of Hutch’s mouth to mine is different this time. There’s a softness there, a promise, which has me clinging to him like he’s a lifeline. In this moment, it feels like he is, one I welcome, one I need.

Hutch releases my hand, and I whimper against his lips at the loss, but then he’s right there, his hands roaming over my body, shoring me up and making me feel like the ground I’m standing on is stable. It’s a feeling I don’t want to lose. Ever.

His hands slide down my back until he’s kneading my ass in his large hands. Using the hold that he has on me, he lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist. The action feels natural and maybe it is.

My lips part and he swallows down my keening moan before his tongue slides against mine. Then we’re moving deeper into his cabin and into his room. I’ve been sleeping in his bed since he carried me in the first time, but all he’s done is hold me.

I know he’ll be doing much more now and I’m ready. I want it. Need it.

“Hutch,” I whimper as he pulls back, “please I need you.”

As we stare into each other’s eyes, something passes between us, a binding, a claim, a vow. It’s powerful and like nothing I’ve ever felt before. There is no way I can ever walk away from it and having no idea what that means or looks like in the future doesn’t matter or scare me.

“I want everything you’re offering,” my words are whispered softly because I’m afraid to break this spell by being any louder.

“Good,” he rumbles.

Hutch gently lays me down in the middle of his bed before his hands start to map out the dips and curves of my body. Every touch is measured, a choreographed dance that leaves me naked and laid out before him like an offering. A gift. An offering. A boon.

And that is how he looks at me.

As he stands and begins to strip, I hope he’s able to see that I view him the same way. It has nothing to do with the hard planes of his body that he reveals to me; it’s him. The man whois determined to protect me and who sees far more than I’ve ever willingly shown anyone else.

When he’s standing in front of me, he looks like a victorious warrior. But I see the scars, the pain, and the need to seek peace. I want to kiss the raised edges, soothe the ache, and be his salvation.

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