Page 26 of Snow Bound

“I won’t,” he promised. The sly menace that had colored his voice was gone, calm reassurance in its place. “Take a breath, Anna.”

She obeyed, sucking in air, nails digging into his hand. And relaxed, just a little, when she realized he wasn’t restricting her air intake.

“I’m just resting my hand here. I’m not putting any pressure on your throat, and I won’t. This is as far as I’ll go. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed and, taking another breath, let her hand fall away.

His lips pressed warm and soft against her jaw in reassurance, in comfort. Then his teeth nipped, and when she jumped in reaction, he tightened his grip on her hair. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You were taunting me.”

She swallowed, and this time the flex of her throat against his hand brought an escalating excitement.

“It’s a bad idea to taunt a Dom.” His tongue flicked out, followed by the scrape of his teeth. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

It took every ounce of willpower she had to hold back the moan. “No.”

“Hmm.” Lick. Nip. Scrape. “That’s too bad. I guess you’ll have to learn this lesson the hard way.”

Holy shit. With the panic gone, the way he was holding her was tripping every kinky trigger she had. His arm between her breasts, his hand heavy against her neck. The fist in her hair tight, her head bent so far back she couldn’t see him at all.

But she knew damn well he could see her.

The press of his arm against her torso pulled the sweater tight against her breasts, and he could surely tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see her face, the way the pulse in her throat pounded. He could feel the tremors racing through her, the gooseflesh on her skin.

She couldn’t hide a thing, and the stark vulnerability of the moment brought a flood of fear and lust so strong her knees nearly buckled.

His rough laugh danced across her skin, a sandpaper caress. “You like this,” he said and it wasn’t a question.

She swallowed hard, her hands tightening convulsively on his forearm. The iron strength under her fingertips only added to the lust swimming in her blood. Dimly she realized it was her turn to talk. “What are you going to do?”

His teeth sunk into her neck, just quick enough, just sharp enough to hurt. She gasped, arching under his restraining hands, and she barely heard his answering chuckle over the pounding of her heart. “Whatever the fuck I want.”

The hand in her hair twisted, forcing her head to turn, and then he was kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, stroking and teasing and making her whole body come alive. Pleasure flooded her already befuddled senses, thick as syrup and just as sweet.

He tugged, using his grip to angle her head, and took the kiss deeper. He plundered her mouth, lips and teeth and tongue a delicious torment until she was writhing in his hold, trying desperately to get closer.

His mouth left hers, and she couldn’t stop the faint whimper of protest. She opened her eyes to stare into his, the pale blue so sharp, so bright it was nearly blinding. She opened her mouth to say something—she had no idea what—then the world was spinning and when it stopped, she was staring at his ass.

“Hey!” she shrieked.

His hand came down on her ass with a crack of sound, sending fire blazing through her butt. “Shut up,” he said and started up the stairs.

A little dizzy—and more than a little giddy—she clamped her hands onto his waistband, bouncing against his back as he walked upstairs with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She caught a glimpse of Henry below, watching them with sleepy, curious eyes, and would’ve laughed if she’d had the lung capacity. She watched the stairs give way to the wide planked wood of the second floor landing, then the world was spinning again and she was on her feet in her bedroom.

She shoved the hair out of her face to see him perched on the end of the bed. His eyes were glittering, his expression stone faced. “Strip,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Making me repeat myself will not go well for you, Anna,” he advised. His face was stern, his gaze unyielding. “Strip. Now.”

Feeling terrifyingly, deliciously on display, she reached for the hem of her sweater and lifted it over her head. Her nipples were tight, her breasts heavy. His gaze dropped to study them, his expression impassive, and the anxiety jittering in her belly kicked up a notch.

Then his eyes shifted back up to hers. “The rest.”

Nerves humming, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her leggings and panties and shoved them down. She was acutely aware of her breasts, swaying and dangling as she bent to work the pants down her legs.

Naked, she straightened and kicked her clothes aside. It was unbelievably awkward, standing bare in front of him while he was fully clothed. She’d stripped down at the club, but so many people had been naked there it hadn’t seemed unusual. Plus, there was so much going on—music, other scenes—that it had been easy to find a distraction. But here it was just the two of them, in the quiet, intimate space of the bedroom, and the longer she stood there under his inscrutable, implacable regard, the more uneasy—and aroused—she got.

After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes lifted to hers. “Come here.”

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