Page 14 of Snowed in with the Mountain Man

His eyes widen. "Phoebe, what—"

"I want to thank you," I say, looking up at him through my lashes. "For everything."

His breath catches as I reach for his belt. "You don't need to—"

"I know." I maintain eye contact as I unbuckle his belt. "I want to."

His pupils dilate, desire darkening his eyes. "Anyone could see us."

I glance around at the pristine snow stretching unbroken in every direction. "Who? The squirrels?"

That earns me a genuine laugh, which turns into a sharp intake of breath as I free him from his jeans. He's already hardening, growing impressively under my gaze.

I blow warm air against him, watching him twitch in response. The contrast of the frigid air around us and the heat of him in my hand is intoxicating.

"Phoebe," he groans as I take him into my mouth.

I work him slowly at first, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him. His hands come to rest in my hair, not pushing, just holding on as if he needs an anchor.

"Look at you," he rumbles, voice thick with desire. "So fucking beautiful."

The praise sends heat pooling between my legs. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, drawing a string of curses from his lips that steam in the cold air.

"That's it," he encourages, fingers tightening in my hair. "Take all of me."

I comply eagerly, relaxing my throat to accommodate him. His hips buck slightly, unable to remain still. I look up, meeting his gaze as I work him, and the raw hunger I see there nearly undoes me.

"Your mouth," he groans. "So hot. So perfect."

The condensation rises more heavily around him now, his body temperature soaring with arousal. I pull back to swirl my tongue around the sensitive head, one hand stroking the shaft while the other cups him from below.

"Fuck," he hisses. "You're too good at this."

I smile around him before taking him deep again, establishing a rhythm that has his thighs tensing beneath my hands. I can feel him getting close, his cock hardening further, his breathing ragged.

"I'm going to come," he warns, trying to pull back. "Phoebe—"

I tighten my grip on his hips, silently urging him to let go. His restraint breaks with a guttural moan that echoes across the snow-covered clearing. Salty and hot. I take everything he gives, swallowing around him until he's spent.

When I finally release him, he hauls me to my feet and kisses me deeply, seemingly unconcerned about tasting himself on my tongue. His hands frame my face with surprising tenderness.

I'm in trouble. Because this isn't just physical attraction anymore. This isn't just convenient proximity or storm-induced passion. Standing here on this snow-covered porch, looking at this man who's shown me nothing but strength and unexpected kindness, I'm developing real feelings.

The kind that will make leaving when the roads clear a lot more complicated than I anticipated.

six

Aiden

Mymusclesacheinthat good way that comes from honest work. We've spent the whole day battling the aftermath of the storm—clearing paths, securing the cabin, hauling in firewood from the shed. Through it all, Phoebe surprised me with her tenacity. No complaints, just determination and that quick wit of hers.

Night has fallen now, bringing with it a bone-deep cold that seeps through the cabin walls despite our best efforts. The temperature will likely drop into the single digits before morning. But we're prepared this time—fire roaring, extra blankets found in a trunk, snow melted for drinking water, a decent meal cobbled together from our supplies.

Phoebe sits cross-legged on the hearth rug, firelight dancing across her face. She's wrapped in one of my flannel shirts over her own clothes. The sight of her in my clothing does something primitive to my insides. Like I've marked her somehow.

"What?" she asks, catching me staring.

"Nothing." I poke at the fire, adding another log. "Just thinking you handled today better than most locals would have."

---