The Winter Games Box Set

by Rebecca Sharp

  I ground my hips back against his erection, wanting him to be as crazed as I was. My punishment? He pinched my bare nipple and twisted.

  On the edge. Pleasure and pain. Heaven. Hell. Emmett. Only Emmett.

  “No.” His harsh command was the only thing that halted my orgasm.

  I gasped for air—breaths that he graciously let me take without being assaulted by the pleasure of his touch. He wasn’t gracious for very long.

  I watched his fingers bend and tuck underneath the edge of the bottoms of my suit. He bit hard into my neck as his fingers found my wetness.

  “Jesus, Ally…” His body shuddered against mine, knowing how much I wanted him.

  That finger returned inside of me and I felt the waves of my orgasm cresting again. “You’re mine.” His thumb rolled over my clit and my knees wobbled. “Say it.”

  I moaned, “Yours.”

  Another finger pushed inside of me and another brush of his thumb. I was so close. Which is why he froze, waiting just long enough for me to come back down.

  This was torture.

  “Say it.” I felt him rub his erection against me. Hearing I was his was having the same effect on him as his fingers were having on me.

  “Please—“ I tried to arch against him

  “Not fucking yet. Say it.”

  “Yours,” I murmured, ending on a gasp as a third finger stretched me. My muscles clenched around him, at first fighting the invasion and then begging for more. The pressure was too much and not enough all at one. I couldn’t breathe, I needed to come that bad.

  His hand began to knead my breast again. “Look at me.” Groggily, I raised my eyes to the window. “Say it one more time.”

  “Yours, Emmett. I’m—“ Shattered. He’d pinched my nipple and clit at the same time and I came, my body catapulting over the edge and exploding like a firework under his fingers. It was the second time that day that I’d had the wind knocked out of me. The second time my vision had gone black. The second time Emmett held me as my body fell apart and then tried to piece itself back together.

  This time, it was his fault though.

  Vaguely I saw the way my body convulsed in his arms, the way he looked at me with pure fucking possession as my core milked his fingers.

  “Mine,” he rasped into my neck, gently kissing the skin he’d been abusing only a few minutes earlier.

  Eventually, the waves subsided. I don’t know how long ‘eventually’ was, but that was beside the point.

  Carefully, he slipped his fingers out of me and righted my ‘scrap’ of clothing. He moved what could have only been half an inch away from me, but it felt like he’d torn a limb off, the loss was so great.

  “I should go.”

  I spun to face him, my hand reaching for the waist of his pants. “You’re not leaving like this,” I informed him as I palmed his arousal, forcing my eyes to remain steady when I realized just how large he was.

  “Ally,” he growled my name like a warning—or a plea.

  I would have to say it was a plea because he didn’t stop me. I kept my gaze locked with his, afraid if I broke it, he would disappear. I swiftly unbuckled his belt and undid his fly, my hand reaching underneath his boxer briefs to grasp his hard length.

  “Fuck…” His head fell back, eyes shutting briefly with pleasure and pain. When they opened again and met mine, I knew the fire inside of them had burned away whatever resistance he’d tried to hold onto. His hands gripped my face as his mouth claimed mine.

  I pushed his jeans over his hips, freeing his erection and my ability to stroke him.

  “You know how many fucking times I’ve imagined this, Sunshine?” he growled into my mouth. I’d just barely made it back down to earth and his words made my body shift as the pressure built inside me again. “How many times I pictured your face and your hands around me even when it was someone else’s?”

  I fisted him harder—both because I didn’t want to think about anyone else touching him, but also because it was so hot to know he’d still thought of me the entire time.

  He groaned, his fingers pulling at my hair as he bit down on my lip.

  He wanted me to forget Dylan? Well, I wanted him to forget every other woman.

  I dropped to my knees—they were already bruised, what was one more hard landing on the wood floor?—my tongue shot out and licked over his head. “Mine,” I said as I looked up at him, watching his nostrils flare. “Say it.”

  His jaw twitched. I used his words—his torture—against him. But that was how we worked. We pushed because we were afraid to pull. We fought because we were afraid to lose. And then, we gave in because it would have been easier to stop breathing.

  “Yours,” he growled, his fingers digging punishingly into my scalp—not where it was bruised though. I made sure he saw my smile before I rewarded him, swirling my tongue around his tip as my hand pumped him again. The expletives that left his mouth were like little cheerleaders chanting my victory.

  “Again.” This time, I didn’t look up, I looked ahead of me, only now wondering how I was going to fit this thing into my mouth. Channing loved to tell me that I had a big mouth, but I wasn’t equipped for this.

  “Yours,” he swore.

  Here goes nothing.

  My tongue darted out to wet him as my lips pulled closed over his tip. My hand fed more and more of his hard length into my mouth. He was so hot and tasted so salty sweet. He throbbed against my tongue as it explored the length of him.

  He was saying words, but I wasn’t paying attention. All I knew was that a few seconds later, his hips began to move, thrusting his cock deep inside of my mouth. My hands reached for his hips to steady myself as I felt him lose control. Tears welled in the corner of my eyes as his tip brushed against the back of my throat. Delicious suffocation. The faster he moved, the more I needed his release. I needed to know what his wanting me tasted like.

  He yanked my head back. “I’m going to come…” And he clearly wasn’t planning on doing it inside my mouth.

  I watched one of his hands wrap around his length and begin to pump.

  No.

  My hand on top of his stalled his movement long enough for my mouth to engulf him again.

  “Fuck, Ally,” I sucked hard. I sucked so hard that if it wasn’t attached to him, I would have swallowed him whole. And he exploded with a shout—partially a curse, partially a groan—all because of me. The warm jets of his release coated and washed down my throat—salty, complex. He rocked into me and I sucked until there was nothing left.

  Slowly, I drew my mouth off of him and looked up. His chest was heaving. He’d been sweating so badly I could see the stains outlining his muscles through his shirt. His hands dropped from my head limply, pulling his pants back over his still-thick arousal as I stood.

  I met his gaze. The word ‘mine’ silently passing between us.

  He reached for his jacket and I turned to ice, thinking he was just going to leave, until the thing came flying at me. “Put it on.” Really, no please? “We should eat.”

  So that’s what the thing grumbling in my abdomen was trying to tell me. Breathing. Eating. All that fell to the wayside when it came to consuming him.

  “I do live here, you know. I have a room full of clothes,” I said as he washed his hands and my fingers began to unzip the navy track jacket.

  “Yeah? And are your legs going to make it up those stairs right now?” he asked. Unpacking the bag of takeout, he didn’t need to look at me to know he was right.

  Jerk.

  “Well, I’m not really that cold anyway.” Hah! Now what, King?

  I stared at the girl, watching her sass me when just a few minutes ago, those same red, swollen lips—courtesy of me—were wrapped around my dick, sucking on me like I was water and she’d been trapped in the desert for weeks.

  I shouldn’t have come in her mouth, but fuck, if that wasn’t the closest I’d ever been to Heaven. I couldn’t stop myself when it came to her.

&n
bsp; I shouldn’t even have touched her, let alone allow her to touch me. Ally Ryder made me weak. I wasn’t her hero. In fact, I was the opposite of Superman—her sun brought me to my knees.

  Later, when I was home, I would persecute myself and wallow in guilt. Later, I would wonder what Chance would think—would do—if he knew that my dick had been massaging the back of his little sister’s throat? If he knew that I was three-fingers-deep inside of her, inside his own house, watching in his windows as she fractured underneath my touch?

  I’d been fighting this for so long, now that I’d finally lost… well, I might as well enjoy the fucking fall. At least for tonight.

  So, I would think about of my grievances against myself later when the list was complete. There were hours left in the evening. I wasn’t done with her yet.

  I loved her sass. And I loved that she knew I would make her pay for it. I let my eyes slowly drift over the fucking scrap of red she had covering her. Her perfect tits were still hard against the fabric, maybe even hardening more as I glanced over them. And then, the bottoms… well, they were still darker in spots from being wet. And not from the hot tub.

  She held my jacket like she had the upper hand, so I gave her that smirk—the one that said she was provoking the King. Grabbing our sandwiches, I strolled over to her, watching as her eyes widened, glancing down to where I’d only partially done-up my jeans. Moving my arms to the side, I stepped so close to her that if she took a deep breath, her nipples would brush my chest. The fucking thought made my unbuttoned jeans uncomfortable. I bent my head towards her ear, whispering, “I don’t care if you’re cold. I wasn’t asking you to put it on for your sake. If you don’t though, the only thing I’ll be eating for dinner is you.”

  I salivated at the thought—the memory—and I waited there while she put my jacket on, zippering it most of the way up.

  Good. I wanted to save her for dessert.

  It could have been hysterical, the way we ate and talked casually—as though she wasn’t almost naked and I wasn’t completely aroused. I learned more about her parents and her life in Florida, her cousin Tyler; I could really see how much she cared about him.

  I also learned that it was her birthday next week. Her twenty-first birthday. I groaned, reminded again that she was a child compared to my almost thirty-year-old self. I couldn’t even fucking remember my twenty-first—probably because Frost had planned it. Which mean that I was probably drunk, stoned, and suffocating in pussy. It was probably a good thing I didn’t remember it—even though I wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that to his face.

  In return, I told her more about how I’d started my business—making snowboards for the SnowmassHoles. Once we’d starting winning locally and nationally, the word got out, and the rest was history. More or less.

  She asked about my childhood and I told her the sob story that every local knew. I was the son of the druggie who’d been sent here too late to be completely saved from his bad habits. She asked who Miriam was. I told her.

  I didn’t tell her why I wouldn’t see Miriam. Just like she didn’t volunteer why she and Mr. Shithead Surfer broke up. She had a polished view of the ‘bad boy’ that I was. I couldn’t tell her how truly and unforgivably despicable I had been. She was mine even though I wouldn’t be able to keep her and I couldn’t stand the thought of her seeing me the way I saw myself.

  We talked like we hadn’t been about to rip each other to shreds on her kitchen floor—and like we weren’t still ready to do so any second.

  I grabbed the empty foil and dirty napkins, walking to the kitchen to toss them.

  “What happens now?” She looked at me from the other side of the couch. And just like that, we were right back to where we started.

  Walking around the couch, I gripped the back of it on either side of her head. “Dessert.”

  THIS KISS WAS TEASING. EARLIER, I’d wanted her to explode. Now, I wanted to string her up higher and higher and gently let her shatter under my tongue. I pulled her legs around my waist, my jacket riding up as I lifted her.

  “I thought you’d want to see me try to make it up the stairs,” she whispered into my mouth.

  Biting her lip, “For the attitude you’ve been giving me, I should.”

  I didn’t take her into her bedroom. Instead, I carried her into the bathroom and set her on the countertop. “You need to shower.” Her brow furrowed. “Because otherwise you’ll be doing it when I’m not here and I don’t want to have to worry that you’ll pass out and hit your head. Again.”

  “You’re not going to stay?” she asked with sudden and profound sadness.

  Fuck—it killed me when she asked me like that. She might as well have just asked if I was going to stab her when I was done?

  I let go of her and turned on the shower. Even the small amount of space helped to strengthen my resolve.

  I gripped the edge of the countertop on either side of her legs. “I have some things I have to take care of in the morning,” I told her with a tight voice as I kissed her neck, feeling the steam fill the room. “So, no, I’m not staying tonight.” I tasted along the edge of her jaw. “And no, I’m not fucking you tonight.”

  Why the hell did I say tonight? Because that was the new line I had to make sure I didn’t cross.

  I unzipped my jacket, letting my fingers trail along the edge of her bikini, along the swell of her breast, watching goosebumps follow in my wake. “But no, I’m not done with you yet.”

  My eyes rose to hers and I flicked her nipple. “Now, shower.”

  I left the bathroom because that was the only way I was going to keep my hands off of her.

  I strolled into her room like I owned it. I was an ass, but she was mine. And I wanted to know every fucking crevice, dip, and valley on her body and in her life.

  I hadn’t paid much attention the other night, but now I really looked at my girl’s space. Light yellow walls. Of fucking course. White bedspread—not made. One wall taken up by a dresser and a vanity with a huge mirror. Another wall on the other side of the bed held the closet. And the last wall in front of the bed was covered in photos. Which was where I went.

  Her parents outside this house. Her and her siblings when they were younger in front of a Christmas tree. Her and a blonde, surfer-looking kid on the beach—Tyler. Jessa and Tammy. More girls I didn’t know. Her and Channing dressed up at Halloween.

  And then there was a photo of Ally with the blonde surfer and another guy—shirtless, tan, toned, looking like fucking Clark Kent, Superman of Surf. Fucker.

  “Making yourself at home?”

  She walked up next to me. I didn’t have to look before my body informed me that she only had a towel wrapped around her.

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Who?”

  “The photos. Why these ones?”

  “Oh.” She started from the top. “That one was the day that we moved—my parents and I. They wanted a photo outside of the house; they wanted me in it, but I was too angry, so it ended up just being the two of them.”

  “Angry?”

  “They were taking me away from my siblings and all my friends. Not that I wasn’t excited for warmer weather, but it was hard.” She pointed to the next one with the blonde kid. “That’s Tyler, my cousin. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know what I would have done. He was my best friend in Florida. I miss him. I mean, I love my friends here, but I miss him a lot.”

  Was it fucking normal to be jealous of a family relationship?

  “That one,” pointing to the Christmas tree, “was a few years before the move. I don’t know why I picked that one. I think it was the only one of my siblings and me that I could find from when we were younger where I didn’t look like the oddball.”

  “I don’t think ‘you’ and the phrase ‘looking like an oddball’ should ever be in the same sentence,” I said.

  Her blush extended farther down from her cheeks, disappearing beneath the towel. I wondered if the rosy tint reached her equally
-as-rosy nipples.

  “Well, I just mean one photo where they weren’t in snow gear or with snowboards and I just looked like I was trying to fit in—and failing at it.”

  “Why try to fit in? Snowboarders aren’t that cool…” That got a laugh out of her.

  “Says the ‘King’ of the Mountain,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “Then, Jessa and Tammy. That was at a wine tour thing that Jessa got us a Groupon for. Tammy, obviously being the mom and not drinking any more after her first glass.”

  I nodded. Sounded right for Tam. “Who’s this?” I pointed at Superman, tired of waiting.

  Her hesitation told me all I needed to know, but she answered anyway. “Dylan. That was the day the three of us opened up a surf school in Delray. It was mostly Dylan’s idea and his classes, but we helped out a lot.” Pointless information spilled out of her to hide the importance of what she felt for him.

  “Why would you have a picture of your ex on the wall? I would never do that.” Then again, I didn’t have a shit-ton—or any—pictures on my walls.

  “Yeah, probably because you don’t have a wall big enough,” she retorted and I could hear her jealousy.

  I enjoyed it and yet the truth still escaped from me. “I don’t have ex’s, sunshine. I don’t date. I don’t do relationships. I told you, the f-word doesn’t exist for me. In my world, a new day means a new fuck.”

  The sick, twisted part of me hoped I could still send her running.

  Still, she stayed. So damn stubborn. “I keep the picture because things didn’t end on bad terms between us. We were friends before we started dating and… this was an important and happy day for me.”

  What about after you started dating? Were you friends then?

  If she loved him, how could things not have ended on bad terms? Because she loved him still?

  I ripped my gaze from the photo before I chucked the frame across the room.

  “What’s this?” A small, pink leather book caught my eye on the nightstand table.

  Almost losing her towel in the process, she reached around and snatched it to her chest. “My diary. Off limits.”