Page 33 of Snowbound

“Gabe,” she says quietly, interrupting me. “Don’t apologize.”

“No, I should. I didn’t mean to overstep a boundary.”

“Stop,” she says more firmly, freezing me in place. “Stop and do that again.”

As if she just commanded it to, my heart seems to stop in its tracks, but I don’t question her. Instead, I put my bowl on the floor, slide back across the sofa, and as soon as she’s put her bowl down too, I sweep her into my arms, pulling her closer, her breasts pushing against my chest.

When our lips collide this time, fireworks explode inside my rib cage. It’s been a long while since I’ve been with a woman, and even longer since I would go as far as to say I liked one.

But with Carly, something feels different. Something feels like it’s clicking. Something about her sweet lips feels so good against mine.

Her hand slides around my back, tracing my shoulder blades, and I let my own hand slide a little further down, suddenly desperate to touch her skin, needing her like I’ve not needed anything in a long time. It almost burns to pull away, but I have to, for a second.

“Carly,” I say, my voice cracking. “I want you. I want to take you to bed. I want to taste you.”

She shivers and kisses me again. I don’t want to, but I pull away one more time. I have to make sure that she’s clear about what’s happening here. “This isn’t a relationship,” I say firmly. “I’m not looking for that.”

“Me neither,” she says quickly. “Does that mean we can’t have fun?” She wilts a little, and I can only imagine she’s thinking that I’m a traditional kind of guy, but I shake my head.

“It doesn’t mean that at all. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I don’t want you to think this is something that it’s not going to be.”

“Stop talking and kiss me again,” she demands, and I can’t do anything but give in.

Her lips are so soft, and her tongue tastes of tomatoes and garlic, and I need to taste more. I need to have her.

I wrap my arms tighter around her waist and encourage her to stand. She barely releases my mouth as she does, her hands shamelessly sliding down to my ass, playing with my belt as if she wants to be let in.

“Steady now,” I growl. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”

We barely get into my room before she’s pushing me up against the door, her hands making quick work of the buttons of my flannel shirt. She takes a second to stare at my chest, and a flash of self-consciousness hits me.

I’m not the kind of person who’s embarrassed easily by what I look like, but I’m not exactly the slender young model of a man I’m sure she’s used to being with. I’m hairy and thickly built and strong, but she’s looking at me with such greedy eyes that it makes me feel wanted in a way I never have before.

She does my belt and pulls down my pants before I can stop her. She’s met with undisputed proof that I’m aching for her, and she slides down my body, flashing me a smile before her lips wrap around my hard length.

This connection is something I didn’t realize I had been missing. Everything she does with her mouth is so magical that I can’t do anything but grip her shoulders and groan.

She doesn’t stop until I find my release, and when I drag her back up to kiss her, her lips are salty with the taste of me.

Without a word, I rip off her T-shirt and unclasp her bra, at last letting her breasts fall into my hands. Her skin is soft and warm, and when I throw her down onto the bed and kiss her stomach, she giggles, ticklish. Something to take advantage of later, I think. Assuming there will be a later.

Who cares about later, though. Right now, all I want is her.

I settle between her legs, and the noises she makes are like music, like a symphony, like a song I’ve never heard before but fallen in love with enough to loop on repeat, and the salt of her wetness is making me hard all over again. I have to be inside her.

I have to make her mine.

When she comes, it’s with a squeal, her thighs clamping around my head. It’s a moment I could lose myself in forever. A moment I know I’ll never forget.

I guide her through the waves of her climax, then dizzily get up onto my hands and knees and crawl over to my nightstand.

If God is kind, the condoms that live there will not be expired. But before I can get there, she grabs my shoulders and stops me. “Where are you going?”

“Condom,” I say, confused about what she’s confused about.

“I’m on the pill,” she says. “I’m clean. Unless you want to, you don’t need to.”

My heart jumps into my mouth, and a pulse of blood rushes to my hardness. The idea is tantalizing, and she’s giving me permission. I can’t say no to that.

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