Page 44 of Snowbound
Her eyes drop, but she doesn’t argue. She trusts me. That’s all I need.
“Come here, Emma.”
The bath is steaming, pine-scented soap already swirling at the surface. It smells like something comforting, something intimate.
I bring her close to me slowly. I lift her thin sweater up and over her head, revealing the small frame beneath. She’s wearing yoga pants and a bra, simple and soft. Still, she shifts on her feet.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispers. “I look terrible.”
I smack her ass, quick and sharp. Not hard—just enough.
“Stop that. I don’t want to hear that again.”
“What?” she says, startled, her eyes wide and cheeks brightening.
“I’m just—” She looks down at herself.
“This is nothing,” I growl. “You heard me, Emma. Did you already forget what happened this morning?”
She bites her lip. “No, sir.”
That’s better.
I spin her gently and unclasp her bra. It falls away like silk, her small breasts exposed, soft and flushed. I take my time and cup them in my palms, savoring the weight of her. I bend, suck each nipple into my mouth, one at a time, while my hand teases the other.
“Oh god,” she moans. “That feels good.”
“Good.” I pull back just enough to speak. “I told you—I have all kinds of ways to unblock you. You ready to write that next scene?”
She nods. “I think I could write the whole damn book.”
I push down her leggings next, then her panties, dragging them down her thighs like I’ve got all day. Like there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Into the tub,” I say.
I help her step in, my hands steady on her hips. She lifts one foot hesitantly, then the other. I crouch, guiding her in.
“Relax. Let me do this.”
I pull over a rough-hewn stool and sit. From here, I can take my time with her. Worship her.
I love this.
I love Em.
I want to memorize every second I get with her.
I start with her feet—washing slowly, reverently. My fingers trail up her calves, her knees, and then her thighs, where I linger just long enough for her breath to catch.
She starts to speak. “Let me?—”
“No,” I cut in, my voice like a command. “You don’t get to rush this. Let me take care of you.”
I reach for the cloth again, warm and waiting, and I slip it between her thighs.
She gasps. I lean in.
"You smell like Christmas now.”
