Page 28 of Snowbound
I whimper and nod.
“Get on your back. One more,” he says with conviction, like it’s his personal mission in life to eek every orgasm he can out of me, before he flips me on my back like I weigh nothing. He slides back in with a low groan and starts again—slow, deep, hitting every single nerve in my body.
Possessive.
“I’m going to train you so I can come in your arse,” he murmurs. “You’ll take me, Em. Nowcome with me.”
I meet his gaze—raw, undone, and desperate.Jesus. He kisses me and cradles my face like it’s breakable.
And when we come together, it’s everything. It’s utter fuckingperfection.
CHAPTER NINE
Owen
Later,Emma is asleep against my chest. The fire snaps low in the hearth, and her breath is soft and steady. But I can’t sleep. Not yet. Not when everything I’ve ever wanted is finally curled up in my arms—naked, exhausted.Mine.
I swear if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and she’ll be gone. Like this was all a mirage, something my starving mind conjured in the dark.
Wouldn’t be the first time. I sigh and brush my thumb over the curve of her hip, memorizing it, committing the shape of her to memory. Her skin’s still marked—faint reds and bruises on her ass, on her thighs—where I grabbed her, bit her, spanked her.
Fuck I’m hard again just thinking about it.
“You're so fucking perfect,” I whisper as she sleeps. “You're sofucking mine.”
The quiet hush of snow outside wraps around the house like a secret, and the room smells like sex—thick, warm, and spent. Our skin sticks together where we touch, a sheen of sweat clinging between us. Her hair’s damp and tangled across her shoulders, and I don't give a damn. I've never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life.
I told her to sleep. She didn’t need convincing.
Maybe we should move to the bed. Or maybe… maybe it’s perfect right here with the floor beneath us, a blanket tangled around our legs, and the soft glow of winter light sneaking in through the curtains.
She stirs, and her lashes flutter against her cheeks as her eyes slowly open. Her freckles are scattered across her nose adorably, and her warm brown eyes look sleepy and soft. That mess of brown hair? She used to call it mousy. Thought she was plain.Plain Jane, she’d say.
I thought it was perfect even then.
"Hey, you," she whispers, her voice barely audible. I smile down at her, my throat raw, and my ears ringing a little from the silence. Her fingers trail across my chest, slow and light, almost absent-minded.
"You know," she murmurs, "I think I fell asleep right there." Her lips curve into a small half smile.
I lean down and press a kiss to her temple. She shifts even closer, somehow.
"Aye, I think you did."
"Owen," she says. There’s that tiny furrow between her brows, the one I know like the back of my hand. "I didn’treally know that you were into me. I thought it was… I thought it was one-sided."
She looks away, and something in my chest tightens, pulling my ribs in like a vice. I look away, too, my jaw clenched.
"I couldn’t let you know, Emma. Could I?"
"Why not?"
"You were too fucking young. And I was already half in love with you." My voice is quiet now. "It wasn’t right. You deserved better than some obsessed older boy who couldn’t stop watching you. I knew that if I let it slip—if I said anything—then maybe… maybe I’d ruin it. I didn’t want you to deal with the aftermath. Not with your mom, not with my father, not your friends. No one."
She swallows hard. There’s something behind her eyes—hurt, maybe, or a memory.
"And you let me go," she says.
"Jesus, Emma." My chest aches. "Do you think I wanted to? Do you know what it was like? Watching you drive away with that fucking loser? I remember everything. The letter I wrote and never sent. The silence. The years."
