Snowed In & Set Up

by Whitley Cox

  Tears burned the corner of her eyes as she reached for him, a swell of emotion engulfing her. She’d been called smart and funny, creative, and responsible her whole life. But never hot.

  “Please,” she said softly, her hips instinctively lifting up and brushing against him. His quick inhale made her smile. Brazenly, she lunged at his bottom lip with her teeth again, her hands grappling behind him, nails raking his muscular back, eager to feel his weight on top of her again.

  He stilled and lifted up, grabbing the strip of condoms off the nightstand. With a Cheshire cat-like grin, he waggled his eyebrows at her. “We both want kids, but not yet, right?” And like a prophylactic savant he tore open the foil and rolled it on. The sight of him touching himself, holding his big, thick length in his hand, stroking the silky flesh as he brought the latex down to the base, left Juney speechless. Not to mention the fact that he’d used not only the K word but also the H word. He wanted kids. He’d called her hot. There wasn’t a doubt left in her mind that they were matched.

  Rowan lowered himself back down on top of Juney and smiled, their faces mere inches apart. Her arms floated up to rest on his shoulders. He probed her cleft, and she shimmied her hips on the bed to draw him in, eager to feel him inside her.

  Their gazes locked. Desire heated the air in the room, and hunger glowed fierce in his beautiful brown eyes.

  “Please,” she said again, the polite Canadian in her betraying the animal inside, the feral beast that roared to be let free. With a smile akin to a snarl, he drove home hard and swift, sheathing himself to the hilt in one solid thrust that made her eyes fly open and her whole body ignite. She hadn’t been this full, this desired, this content in forever.

  Rowan picked up his cadence. In and out he pumped. Her pussy clenched around him, wanting to feel every thick inch of him as he grazed her walls and claimed her. His pelvis battered her clit relentlessly with each thrust. She let her head tilt back, her eyes threatening to roll into the back and never return.

  “Open your eyes, Juney,” he said, the rough timber of his voice low and commanding. She flashed them wide. He was staring down at her. A cocky grin of triumph floated across his pouty lips. “I want you on top, woman.” With that, he snaked one hand beneath her, rocked them side-to-side a couple of times, and suddenly she found herself on top.

  He peeled away her tank top, letting her breasts spill free, her nipples diamond-hard and aching for his hot mouth. Sitting up, Rowan propped himself up with a few pillows against the iron-barred headboard before drawing one of her crimson buds into his mouth, sucking hard before nipping the tip with his teeth, sending lightning strikes of longing zinging through her body. All the while, Juney continued to move, riding him, bobbing up and down on his lap, feeling the tip of him hit her deep, deep inside.

  “Oh, God,” she cried again, another orgasm brewing inside her like a tumultuous winter storm. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and her breath panted out in ragged gasps.

  Rowan pulled his lips from her, and she groaned. His hands came up, and he buried them in her hair, pulling until the hair elastic that held up her messy bun snapped and her dark brown tendrils spilled across her bare shoulders.

  “I—I’m close,” she whispered, her chest heaving and her blood pumping hot. She hoped she could hang on for a few more moments. She wanted them to come together; she wanted to watch him come undone.

  “Me too, baby, me too,” he breathed. His teeth tugged on the other nipple, and his tongue flicked it until she sucked in a breath from the sudden rush of pain. Feelings raw and real ripped through her. He tugged again and she gasped. Pain, delicious, delicious pain hinting at an edge of pleasure made heat flare in her abdomen and a shudder blitz down her spine.

  “Rowan.”

  He shoved his hands back into her hair and pulled her head forward, hard, demanding, until their lips locked and he drove his tongue forcefully inside her mouth. Plunging rough and quick, twirling around hers in an evocative dance, fucking her as thoroughly as his cock was fucking her pussy. In and out, in and out. She was done for. Her climax was right there. Pounding at the door like a ferocious beast. Demanding to be unleashed.

  Rowan grunted against her lips, then stilled. Juney broke with a sharp cry as the climax speared through her like a javelin, impaling both of them at the same time. Bright lights flashed behind her closed lids. The only sound that seemed to fill her ears was the loud thrumming of her own pulse and Rowan’s feral growls and moans as he spilled himself inside her. She opened one eye briefly to look at him, but their lips were still locked, and he had a tight grasp on her hair, so she couldn’t see much beyond his closed eyes.

  He was holding on to her tight, his grip unrelenting, pulling her hair just hard enough it hurt. But it also felt good, really, really good. He was taking what he wanted, and what he wanted was Juney.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. The orgasm had ended, but her body still hummed alive and on fire. Every nerve ending was awake and screaming for more. Pulling his lips from hers, Rowan blinked his eyes open. He grinned as he twitched his cock inside her. She laughed, shaking against him. He laughed with her, and soon there were tears in both their eyes as they sat, still connected, smiling and shaking with clear heads and full hearts.

  A few moments later, when she felt like he was going to slip out and reality had settled back upon them, she spoke. “Rowan,” she said quietly, loving his name and how much it suited him. His hands were still in her hair and her head on his shoulder. He slowly pulled them free, sweetly tucking a strand behind her ear for good measure.

  “Juney . . . ”

  “Stay the night.” It wasn’t a question. It was a hope.

  He smiled and helped her climb off of him, then she quickly ducked into the en suite bathroom, having been one of the only two people to score a bathroom in her room. Amber had the other one.

  Juney returned to bed a few moments later, and her heart did a little hippity-hop. Rowan was bundled up under the covers, his arms tucked behind his head and a placid smirk on those talented lips. She didn’t bother putting her PJ’s back on and simply climbed into bed, turning the light out as she went.

  She rolled over to face him. A hand came out, wrapping around her waist. Grinning with glee and complete and utter contentment, she went into his arms willingly, resting her head on his chest, his heart beating solid and true beneath his ear.

  “So, can you make Rowarn have a girlfriend or something?” he asked into the dark, his voice a deep and masculine rumble in his chest. “Maybe a super-sexy wine or mead merchant’s daughter. You could name her . . . Junella.”

  She laughed. “Junella?”

  He motioned to switch positions, and soon they were spooning, her naked butt pressed tightly into the crook of his body, right against his cock. His hand came up around her chest, and brazen fingers fiddled and tweaked her nipples. They were already comfortable with each other. It all felt so natural, so right. Juney let out a happy sigh and melted into him. Rowan responded in kind and pulled her more firmly against his chest.

  “Well, I’m not very creative or good at naming things. Junica?” His breath was like a zephyr against her ear. She sighed inwardly from the overwhelming moment of happiness that was forming a mantle around her wildly beating heart.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, still giggling. “You think he needs a girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t think he did,” Rowan said with a yawn, pulling her even more tightly against him. “Mind you, you only just created him. But when I read that passage you wrote about him, he sounded cool. Like a lone wolf. Busy in the castle kitchens. No time to be tied down to a maiden or anything. His days were in the kitchen, but his nights were spent with one of the willing wenches down at Corishwell’s Tavern.”

  She snickered in his arms. His fan-boy was showing again.

  He continued to talk. “But now . . . Now Rowarn definitely needs a girlfriend. And I think a wine merchant’s daughter by the name of Junica wou
ld be perfect.” And with that, he kissed her neck, pinched her nipple and fell asleep.

  Chapter Five

  “Shit,” Will muttered under his breath as he stalked down the dark hallway toward Amber’s door. He hadn’t had this much to drink in months. Maybe years. But he also hadn’t had this much consecutive time off in years, either. And each scotch had tasted better than the last, until before he knew it, the bottle was empty. It hadn’t been all him, though. Little Red finished a glass or two, not to mention the others. Jesus, though, how many had he had? He stumbled half a step but caught himself on the wall, blinking back the spots from his vision, his legs suddenly feeling like lead weights filled with Jell-O.

  Get it together, Colson!

  His eyes flicked across the hall to his own bedroom door, and he quickly ducked inside to grab a condom. Couldn’t be too prepared. And although he couldn’t actually have children anymore, he didn’t know Amber’s history, and she didn’t know his. If things got serious, they could have the chat later. He was clean, but condoms were just a part of the process.

  He ran his hand over his face, took one last look at himself in the mirror. Damn, that forty-eight hour shift he’d finished the night before was hanging on under his eyes in thick bags. They looked more like freaking suitcases. He needed sleep. But Amber was waiting for him. He needed Amber.

  Amber first, then sleep.

  She was petite and feisty, and he wanted every inch of her beneath his lips before the night was over. He wanted to taste her creamy skin, bite those sweet nipples. He bet they tasted like raspberries. The woman had him by the balls, and she didn’t even know it. He vowed to do practically anything he could to get her under him, on top of him, in front of him. Fuck, he would take her any way he could.

  Yes. Amber’s body beneath his first, then they’d curl up together and sleep.

  Yeah, that sounded good.

  He closed his bedroom door, took the two and a half strides across the hall, then pushed her door open, not even bothering to knock.

  Amber hadn’t completely closed her bedroom door when she heard it squeak open. Big warm hands landed on her biceps from behind. He lifted her up and plunked her feet on the bed, spinning her around in the process, bringing the delicious smell of him, manly cologne and scotch. It circled around her like a twister. She swayed slightly, but he held onto her and kept her in place.

  “What took you so long?” She giggled, feeling the effects of the alcohol and enjoying how bold it made her. She wasn’t one to shy away from sex or relationships, and in her thirty-two years she’d had the odd one-night stand. But Will flustered the bejesus out of her, so she was happy about the booze in her system. It was calming her nerves.

  His smile sent a shiver of longing straight up her back and back down again, pooling into a warmth between her legs. She bet most women dropped their panties for that smile, and she couldn’t blame them one bit.

  He didn’t say anything, though, but moved his hands up her back. One grabbed the base of her neck hard and rough, while the other slowly drew the sleeve of her flannel shirt off and down her arm. His mouth fell to her bare shoulder. Her skin was searing hot. Was he going to kiss her?

  No.

  Instead, he dug his teeth into her flesh.

  She moaned and arched into him, her own hands beginning to wander. Down his shoulders to his big biceps and forearms, past the muscular span of his chest, down his abs.

  Holy mother of God, those abs!

  Finally landing on his belt.

  “Little Red,” Will purred, his mouth moving up her neck. She tilted it to the side to give him better access. He moved along her jaw and down the other side to her collarbone, licking along the ridge. His deft fingers made quick work of the buttons on her shirt.

  She pulled his belt free, then started on the zipper and button of his jeans.

  Her body was on absolute fire. Scorching hot for this smoking man, and the heat coming off of his rock-hard body didn’t help. Peeling the soft fabric of her shirt away, he dropped more sultry kisses down her arms and across her chest. Amber pushed his pants to the ground and heard his cell phone and wallet thunk to the wood floor. His shirt was next. She wanted to see, wanted to feel, wanted to lick and taste each one of his abs. Feel the rigid lacing beneath her tongue. She drew the hem of his shirt up his torso, and he pulled away so she could lift it over his head. There he stood, looking like a fucking god in white boxer briefs, with the biggest, most beautiful bulge at the front she’d ever seen.

  She licked her lips, unable to move her eyes away. It . . . he was mesmerizing.

  Will’s chuckle was low and wicked in his throat as he reached for her. The joy he got from flustering her was evident in his smile. Her mouth parted just so, and she swallowed. Dear lord, he was beautiful. So dark, and the way his skin practically glowed from the dim lamp on her nightstand, he was polished onyx in the moonlight.

  He brought his hand up and slipped the strap of her tank top slowly down her arm. The fire in her belly ignited into burning flames from his touch.

  Amber knew she was tipsy from the wine and scotch, but add in the uneven surface of the mattress, and her knees were getting ready to buckle. His lips fell to her collarbone, and her entire core clenched. Her nipples hardened to achy pebbles. Could Will see them? She glanced back at him. His eyes were focused on her chest. Oh, he could see them all right!

  “I uh . . . I’ll be right back,” she blurted out before pulling herself from his grasp as if he’d just shocked her. She moved away from his body, her own body screaming out “why?” so loud she was sure he and everyone else in the cabin could hear it. She stepped down off the bed and ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her maybe a tad too abruptly, cursing under her breath at the loud slam it made and hoping she hadn’t woken up anyone else.

  Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!

  The man wasn’t just sex on a stick, he was pure sex. There was nothing stick about him. Was he a branch? Sex on a branch? Sex on a log? No, log sounds wrong. Fuck, the guy was the whole damn tree. He was a sex tree. And he wanted her. And boy, oh boy, did she want him.

  Hump like bunnies.

  She’d said so herself. Will had chuckled when she’d said that. He said he wasn’t a snowshoer, that had to mean something. Then he’d followed her down the hallway, pinned her against the wall, wedged his leg between hers and kissed her. The man had staked his claim on her for the entire week.

  So, why on earth was she in the bathroom when he was out in her bedroom with the biggest boxer bulge she’d ever seen in her life, and an eight pack of abs that was practically screaming at her to be licked?

  Because I want him so badly it scares me.

  Shaking her head at her foolishness and ridiculous second-guessing, she splashed some cold water on her face, gargled with Listerine, then took a wet washcloth to her downstairs business, just to be considerate. She had no idea what Will planned, but that tongue of his as he laughed and ate tapas earlier that night had mesmerized her. And if he planned on using it, she wanted to be ready. She pulled her hair out of the no-nonsense ponytail she’d been sporting all evening and pinched her cheeks.

  What the fuck am I doing? I don’t do this. I’ve never pinched my cheeks before for a man in my life, not ever.

  But she pinched them anyway, fluffed her wavy red hair down around her shoulders, flashed a big “come hither” grin in the mirror and opened the door, ready once more to be ravished by the hot doctor in tight white boxer shorts.

  Will was lying on her bed, his head up on the pillows and his arms tucked casually behind. His eyes were closed, and his bare chest rose and fell, deep and even. A low, barely discernible rumble filled the room. He was snoring.

  She gaped at him. How long had she been in there? Not too long, it couldn’t have been that long. A minute or two? But long enough, apparently, because the sexy tree who’d barged into her room and made her entire body spark to life like never before had managed to fall asleep h
alf-naked on her bed, still sporting a very impressive tent in his boxers.

  Letting out an exhale of what could only be described as a confusing mix of disappointment and relief, she pulled the dark red chenille throw off the foot of the bed and draped it over his big body. It scarcely covered half. She opened up a couple of drawers and a closet and found another blanket, covering him up with the two from neck to toe. Then, with an ironic huff and quick look of longing at the gorgeous man “in” her bed, she climbed in next to him and flicked off the light.

  The next morning found Juney and Rowan in the kitchen preparing breakfast while the rest of the house slept. It’d only been one night so far, but that night had rocked her world. With both of them used to getting up with the sun because of their busy work schedules, their eyelids had flown open, as if set to a timer, at 5 a.m. They’d made love again—twice, then put on a pot of coffee and cuddled on the couch talking. Juney couldn’t remember a time when a man made her feel this special, this beautiful. And to know she made him happy, too, it was the perfect Christmas present. It was all she’d ever wanted.

  “Saskatoon berries, huh?” Rowan said with a chuckle, whisking pancake batter in a big glass bowl. “Never had ‘em.”

  A smile crept to her lips. “They’re so good. And they make an incredible jam.”

  He came up behind her and spun her around. “Yeah? Do you make an incredible jam?”

  Rolling her eyes but unable to hide how happy he made her, she looped her spatula clad hand around his neck and smiled up at him. “Why yes, in fact, I do.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed, bending his head low and dipping her in the process, his mouth capturing hers, his tongue demanding access. She moaned against him and opened up, welcoming him, dancing with him.

  The faint scuff-scuff sound of slippers coming down the hallway filled the air, competing heavily with the sizzling of the skillet and griddle and quiet gurgle of the coffee maker in the corner.