Page 73 of Snowbound
Then, he pulls me in… hard. Like he needs me to ground him. As if I’m the only thing keeping him from flying apart at the seams.
I bury my face in his chest, my hands fisting in his shirt.
We don’t speak.
There’s no need.
Outside, the snow keeps falling. Inside, the fire crackles. And in the silence between, I know one thing with aching, terrifying certainty: I don’t want to leave.
Not this cabin, and definitely not him.
“Alright, then,” he whispers, his mouth to my ear. “I’ll let it go this time, but if you ever do something dangerous like that again?—”
I nod, eager for his absolution. “I know,” I whisper.
“Did you get your word count?”
I nod. “And then some.”
“Good girl. That’s my girl. Now go. I want you in the bedroom. Stripped completely naked. Legs spread eagle on the bed, waiting for me.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, “And don’t you ever,everopen the door to a stranger like that again. You hear?”
I nod, my breath hitching.
“Say it.”
“I hear you.”
“Good girl.”
I don’t walk. I float.
The room is cold, but I don’t feel it. My blood is hot, my skin flushed. I strip layer by layer until I’m bare and trembling on top of the covers, legs parted the way he told me, my arms stretched above my head, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale.
He enters slowly, steady, eyes black with hunger, stripped to his jeans and long-sleeved tee, his cheeks still flushed from the cold.
He doesn’t speak. Just kneels at the edge of the bed and drags his palm down my thigh, spreading me wider.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Already soaked.” Shaking his head, he lifts one leg and gives my ass a sharp spank. “Naughty little Emma.”
I moan, my breath catching as he dips his head and inhales like I’m his first meal in weeks. My clit’s throbbing with anticipation.
Then,heat.
His mouth covers me—hot, wet, relentless—his tongue slowly dragging up my slit, flicking over my clit in a rhythm that makes my hips buck. His arms lock around my thighs, holding me open, helpless to the cadence he sets.
He groans against me, like this is the only thing that matters.
I arch, one hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick waves as he sucks harder, slower, deeper, then lifts my legs and gives my ass another sharp spank—one, two, three.
His tongue circles, then presses, then flicks, and my vision whites out.
My legs tremble. My thighs quake. My ass is on fire, and my clit isthrobbing.I’m going to come, and I can’t stop myself. His hand glides over the sting of the spank, just before he gives me another erotic smack of his palm, hard enough to make my thighs quake and a whimper escape my lips.
“Please.” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for.
But he knows. He always knows.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. He cups my ass and squeezes, then lands another spank.
