Page 45 of Snowbound
Her breath breaks off into a sharp little gasp when I spread her thighs and press my thumb to her clit. Her breathing is ragged now, her body betraying her even as she tries to keep some distance. When she shivers, I know it's not from the cold. Not this time.
"Do you remember that holiday party?" I ask her.
"Oh my god," she says. "Owen."
I stroke her clit again. Then again. Deliberate. Unrelenting.
"After this bath," I tell her, "we're going to recreate that night."
She groans. "Owen, that was so embarrassing."
"Embarrassing?" I echo. "No. Heartbreaking."
She doesn't respond. I know she's remembering it too.
"It’s going to be better this time."
She was eighteen years old then. I still remember the way she looked on the porch—her arms crossed, eyes glassy, shut off from everyone.
"Why are you out here?" I asked her. “You’ve been out here for an hour.”
“Didn’t know you noticed.”
She looked so small, so utterly helpless.
Like she'd forgotten how to want something for herself.
"Everyone forgets I’m here," she whispered. "Until they need something."
Then she added, softer, "Sometimes I think I’m just… forgettable."
Forgettable.
It hit me like a knife sliding between ribs. I cupped her cheek before I could even stop myself.
"You're not invisible to me," I told her. "Never to me."
She looked up at me. God, she was only eighteen. We were. Not. Related. No matter how many times our parents tried to pretend we were.
But we were still forbidden.
I knew I shouldn't have been anywhere near her. But her lips parted, and I leaned in?—
"Emma!"
A voice from inside. Laughter. Glasses clinking. Our parents.
She blinked and stepped back, shaking her head. Just like that, it was over.
I let my hand fall.
"You’re never invisible to me," I repeated.
She turned and fled.
"I thoughtyou were going to kiss me that night," she says now, laughing quietly, embarrassed. Her voice shakes just enough.
"Of course I was."
