Page 32 of Snowed in with the Grump

Carter's possessive eyes stay locked on mine as his hips slip back and forth, building a slow but steady rhythm. I gasp as pleasure coils inside me, setting my skin alight with desire. His mouth finds mine again, devouring me in desperate kisses.

Strong hands grip my waist, holding me close as we climb higher and higher. We move together hungrily, every thrust sending electric sparks throughout my body.

Exquisite heat builds between us as his thrusts become harder, his rhythm choppy now. I cling to his shoulders as the intensity reaches a peak, and waves of pleasure swell to an inevitable crash.

With one final thrust, I cry out his name and shatter into a million beautiful pieces.

My head falls against his shoulder as he follows close behind me with a guttural groan. He slows the pace until finally, our bodies are still.

We stay like that—his arms creating a protective circle—until our breathing evens out and the lingering heat fades.

What we’ve started in this flour-dusted kitchen won't be a fling. It's something real. Something lasting.

But if he wants to keep fucking me on the kitchen counter, I’d better start buying industrial-grade cleaning products.

* * *

Later the same evening,curled beneath a blanket by the fire, I try to focus on my book. But my eyes keep straying to Carter sprawled beside me, completely engrossed in a paperback. His brow is furrowed, and his lower lip is caught between his teeth.

I crane my neck to see the cover–a romance novel! After a few pages, Carter’s eyes suddenly blow wide. He lets out a strangled cough and snaps the book shut.

I giggle. “Steamy scene?”

“I think it might’ve permanently scarred my brain,” Carter mutters, scrubbing his face.

“Let me see,” I say playfully, grabbing the book.

Carter laughs and holds it out of reach. “No way, it's too embarrassing!”

Laughing, we wrestle over the book. I manage to peek at a paragraph that mentions “throbbing manhood.” One of these days, I need to introduce him to good-quality smut.

“No judgment,” I tease, poking his side. “Maybe you should try a nice wholesome Amish romance next?”

He barks out a laugh at that suggestion. “I might need a palate cleanser after this steamy stuff.”

“Have you read the Jack Reacher series? It’s so slick and suspenseful.”

“I burned through those books while on deployment.”

His eyes take on a faraway look before he shakes it off and goes to the bookshelf.

He rummages around the shelf, eventually pulling out a worn copy of Stephen King's “The Shining.”

He grins. “This should do it.”

I shudder. “I don't know how you can read that stuff. It gives me nightmares.”

Carter chuckles and puts it away, returning with a thick, leather-bound volume.“What about this?”

I squint at the title. “The Count of Monte Cristo?”

Carter nods, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It's a classic. Revenge, adventure, romance. You'll like it.”

I run my fingers over the cover. “I've never read it.”

“I'll read it to you,” he says, settling onto the couch and flipping it open.

His voice is deep and soothing. The way his eyes scan the pages, taking in each word before bringing the story to life, is mesmerizing.

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