The Winter Games Box Set

by Rebecca Sharp

  Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t question. Her hands planted on my chest as her hips began to move, figuring out just what she needed to do.

  My hands went to her breasts that bobbed in front of my gaze, focusing on her swollen nipples as she figured out just how good riding my cock made her feel. Her hips rolled and circled on mine, becoming more frenzied until she moaned my name and I felt her begin to milk my dick.

  That was my cue.

  I flipped on top of her, hooked one leg over my shoulder and thrust deeply into her until I joined her. I groaned into her neck as I felt the warmth of my release seep around me. Thank fuck I didn’t overflow this condom because I was too fucking drained and it felt too fucking good inside of her for me to move. So I lay on her—probably crushing her—for minutes, kissing and sucking on the skin of her neck that was within reach.

  Finally… painfully… I pulled out, tugging the filled condom off of me and throwing it off the side of the bed.

  This time, I gathered her into my arms and held her against my chest.

  “You’ll stay?” she murmured, already falling back asleep.

  I waited until her breathing became soft—until she was sure not to hear me. “Always.”

  “Time to wake up, sunshine.” I’d been up earlier, putting the finishing touches on her present. I’d never been so excited to give someone something that I’d made before.

  She moaned and snuggled adorably into the pillow.

  “I have your birthday present ready.” Well, technically, it was right next to her in the bed. She immediately turned on her side, one arm and leg working in unison to fling the covers off of her only to come crashing down right on top of the snowboard that lay in my spot.

  “Ow! What—“ She darted up. Her mouth fell open as she stared and then looked wide-eyed at me. “Emmett… is this… did you…”

  My first instinct was to pull back.

  Actually, my first instinct was to say screw the snowboard, climb on top of her, and give her that oh-face for a whole different reason.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “I didn’t want you to crack your skull open again on one of those shitty rental boards, so I made this one for you.”

  She looked back at it, running her hand along the coated length. The top was completely white with a faint gray wind-like design on it and right in the center and on the one edge was a giant, bright yellow sun—one of the ones that she’d painted and that I’d seen in her room the other week. It was beautiful. It was her. So, I fucking used it.

  Her hand shot up over her mouth. Fuck, if she cried…

  And then she was in my arms. Naked fucking sunshine. “Emmett, I don’t know what to say…” She pulled her head back; she was teary-eyed.

  “Well, I know how much you like riding long, hard… pieces of wood.” I meant to lighten the moment, instead I’d just made everything heavy with desire.

  “I don’t know how to thank you. It… it’s so beautiful.”

  “I can think of a few ways,” I growled and claimed her mouth, only small amounts of guilt tugging at me knowing her lips were slightly bruised already from my attentions. “But later.”

  “Why?” she whispered against my lips.

  “Because I said so,” I smirked. “Now go shower while I find something for us to eat for breakfast. I don’t want to leave the house unless we have to.” I smacked her ass, letting her go first down the stairs.

  “Much better, huh?” He pulled up next to me at the bottom of the slope. It was my first run down the mountain on my new, custom snowboard.

  “Wow,” was all I could say. And that’s how much of a difference it had made. “I can’t believe… I actually feel like I know what I’m doing on this thing.”

  He chuckled at me. “Well, you do know what you’re doing. It’s just a little bit easier to do it now.”

  “Thank you.” No, Ally, you cannot jump him in the middle of the lesson he is teaching.

  No.

  Absolutely not.

  Stop thinking about it.

  It was all I thought about for the rest of the lesson—aside from the few spans of seconds when I wavered on the board and preserving my life became only slightly more important.

  At first, I wanted the lesson to end. Then, I realized that I had no idea what was going to happen when it did. Was I going back to his house? Was I going home? The weekend had been one thing, but it wasn’t like he asked me to move in.

  “What’s wrong?” He demanded as soon as I unstrapped.

  “Nothing.” Too quiet. Too obvious.

  “Don’t lie to me, little Miss Ryder.” He blocked my path, letting the other kids from the class walk around us, completely oblivious to anything but their freedom.

  “I… Well… what now?”

  My question was vague. Good thing he always listened to my thoughts instead.

  “Well, we’re going to clean our boards and then decide on where you want dinner from.”

  My pulse thundered like it was racing at the Kentucky Derby.

  “I-I don’t want you to buy me food again.”

  “Why not?” Yeah, Al, why not?

  “Let me cook for you.” Every time his eyebrow rose, my panties wanted to drop.

  “You know I have zero food in my house, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, which is why we will need to stop at the grocery store.”

  Large, hot male. In my face. “You’re not trying to turn me into boyfriend material, are you?” I shuddered, the threat only partially real; we both knew that somehow, we were already past that now.

  “Of course, not.” I smirked up at him, adding wryly, “You know I only want you for your body.”

  I was not good at keeping a straight face. We both laughed, making our way to the ski school office so Emmett could lock up. After that, there was no more question about dinner. Well, except when we got to the grocery store.

  “I probably should have asked sooner, but are you a good cook? Because your sister sucks and last I remember, she wasn’t too thrilled about your Chicken Noodle Soup!”

  I gasped. “That was because she just wanted to eat whatever Wyatt brought her! She didn’t even give it a fair chance!”

  I thought he would stay in the car; my assumption: having me cook for him was enough domestication for one evening. But he climbed out with me and insisted on pushing the cart through the store. I tried to ignore the stares that we got, mostly from women that I had to assume he’d slept with at some point. I probably should have been jealous, instead all I felt was the thrill that they saw him there. With me.

  Pushing my freaking shopping cart. BOOM.

  I was high on happy which meant that my shopping didn’t limit itself to dinner. I bought breakfast food, deli meats for lunch, snacks, and ice cream. Emmett didn’t say a word. I felt his eyes on me, curious at first, and then enjoying my subtle take-over of his kitchen and his life.

  “I’m impressed,” he said, setting his empty plate down on the coffee table. We’d eaten on the couch with our plates in our laps because we were fancy like that. I’d picked something simple for tonight—chicken cacciatore on the stove even though it was better slow-cooked.

  “I’m not sure if I should feel complimented or insulted,” I said, glancing at him.

  He sprawled back against the seat and I hated him for taking his shirt off before dinner. Red hair. Red-hot abs. I wanted to finish my meal off of his stomach. “Still hungry?” he asked with a grin.

  Crap. Busted.

  I looked back down, stabbing my veggies with my fork, trying to hide my blush.

  “I know I am.” Stupidly, I thought he was serious until I glanced up and saw the look in his eyes that said the only thing he was having for dessert was me. “Do you cook a lot?”

  I shrugged. “Not so much anymore. Channing and I work either late or such weird schedules that it just makes more sense to get something on the run or delivered.” Purposely not mentioning Chance. “I used to cook in Flori
da for my parents. Not every night, but a fair amount.”

  “What else?” he asked, his penetrating eyes refusing to leave me.

  “What do you mean?” I replied.

  “You sing. You cook. You draw. And you make a mean mocha.” I chewed slowly, wondering where he was going with this. “Is being a barista your life goal? Or are you trying to become the next Taylor Swift?”

  “Ha! No. Definitely not.” I shook my head. “I applied to Colorado State for next year. I just… needed a break from school.”

  “Why?”

  I shivered. Always demanding.

  “I didn’t know what I wanted to do.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Marketing. Maybe take some courses in graphic design.” I shrugged again. “I like to shop and I know just what makes me want to buy something; I’m good at shopping for people, picking out things and presenting them in a way that makes them want to try something that they might not normally.”

  “Like your sister… wearing makeup?”

  Only Channing… “Exactly. So, that’s what I want to do. I want to be able to create a desire for a product that I believe in.”

  “So, you’re saying you’re going to make my boards famous?”

  My fork clattered on my empty plate which I quickly deposited on the table before I made it any more obvious how shocked I was.

  Was he saying that he wanted me to market his company?

  Was he implying our future together?

  “I mean,” I stuttered, “only if you want them to be famous. Although, I think they already are.”

  “I only want you to work for me.”

  Of course. I laughed, “Why so you can boss me around at work, too?”

  “No. So I can be around you—or in you—any fucking time I want.” The words. The smirk. My panties flooded as he leaned closer. “Which is all the fucking time.”

  Was there air in the room? Had someone let all of it out? Because breathing was not happening at the moment.

  “I’ll clean up,” he broke the silence and followed it with a soft laugh.

  “I… I’m going to shower.”

  Although, it wasn’t so much a shower as it was an emergency sprinkler system going off on my body that was currently bursting into flames.

  I expected him to interrupt my shower; he didn’t. I expected him to be waiting, naked, when I got out; he wasn’t.

  Instead, he was relaxed back on the couch with two highballs in front of him and one bowl of ice cream, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace.

  “Dessert time.”

  “Are you eating all my ice cream?” I asked in shock, cinching my towel tight around me, rushing over to the couch.

  Ice cream is a top priority.

  “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll share,” he teased dangerously. He eyed the couch next to him where I sat warily. Only to realize that he’d changed into sweats.

  If yoga pants were God’s gift to man, well, there is that one pair of gray sweatpants—the ones that sit low on the hips and even though they aren’t tight by any means somehow seem to outline everything important—they were God’s gift to women. Yeah, he was wearing those.

  “Alright, Miss Ryder, tell me—surfing or snowboarding? Which one do you like more?”

  A line of questioning I didn’t expect. Picking up the glass of whiskey clearly meant for me, I took a sip, considering my answer.

  “Tough choice.” But the mountain had given me something the waves never could. “Snowboarding.”

  My reward? A bite of ice cream, fed to me by my non-boyfriend.

  “Chocolate or vanilla?”

  Laughing, I answered, “Chocolate. Obviously.” Another bite of the chocolate ice cream. “My turn.”

  “Mmm… tits or ass?” Of course I had to take the conversation into the gutter. He was half-naked. And I’d been expecting steamy sex.

  He made sure to give mine a nice long look over before replying. “Tits.” He reached over and flicked my nipple through the towel. “But I think you knew that already.” He ate the next bite. “There’s only one bite left.”

  “Well, then you better think of a good question,” I replied coyly.

  “There’s only one question left, sunshine.” He held the spoon out to me, giving me the ice cream before his query. “Couch or bed?”

  I look up at him from underneath my eyelids, my body already racing with anticipation over what was about to happen next.

  “Both,” I rasped. “But I think you knew that already.”

  I swore that smile of his could make me come.

  “Stand.”

  Stood. I felt moisture trailing down the inside of my thigh; moisture that wasn’t from the shower.

  He set the bowl down on the table, relaxing back onto the pillow against the armrest, his legs coming up onto the couch where I’d been sitting. “Drop it.”

  Biting my lip, it only took one finger to unhook where my towel was bound, the cloth falling heavily to the floor.

  “So fucking perfect,” he growled. His pants shifted as he thickened.

  “Says the man who was ogled by every woman in the grocery store earlier.” Where did that come from?

  “Come here.”

  Stupid mouth. Now I was in trouble.

  He held out his hand and when I took it, he yanked me down on top of him, gripping my chin as he bit my cheek. “Ally, I couldn’t remember another woman right now even if I wanted to. And I don’t.”

  “They certainly remember you…” I whispered, meeting his eyes.

  “Well, they can remember whatever the fuck they want, but what they won’t forget is that I was there with you. That I am with you.”

  “Are you?” Was I really asking him if he was my boyfriend? Was that what I wanted?

  That was the last thing I should want—just like him. Except, with him, all I wanted was everything.

  “Ally, let me explain something to you. This, right here. I don’t do this. Ever. You are the only woman who has been to my house. You are the only woman I’ve ever made a snowboard for. You are the only woman who I’ve wanted to go grocery shopping with because I know it means you’ll be in my house for longer. You are the only woman who I’ve cooked for—who has cooked for me. You are the only woman I’ve told about my… about Miriam.”

  Crap, crap, crap. I felt like an idiot even though my heart was loving every second of this.

  “And you are the only woman I can’t seem to get enough of. I touch you, I take you, and as soon as I let you go, it’s like I’m starving all over again. Fucking famished even after I’ve just been fed.” His thumb played with my lip; his other hand on my ass, holding me firmly against his erection. “So, what do you think, Sunshine? Am I yours?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good. Because I’m fucking ravenous.” His mouth crushed mine, punishment for questioning him. I didn’t care. I wanted to be bruised.

  There are kisses that make your knees weak. There are kisses that release fields of butterflies in your stomach. And then there was this kiss—the kind of kiss where, when it ended, I would be filing a missing-persons report on myself because I would have zero recollection of just who the hell I was.

  It took me a minute to even realize when he’d pulled his lips from mine.

  “Now, let me eat.”

  Desire spread through my body like a good drink—slowly, warming each cell as it went, and pooling in my stomach. Only later would I realize that I was drunk on him.

  His hands on my waist helped me push myself up, his gaze momentarily taking in my chest as it heaved with need.

  “Up here, sunshine.” He brushed a thumb over his lips. “I want you right here. On my face.”

  On my knees, I slid up his body until I was straddling his head that lay comfortably on the pillow, enjoying its glistening view. Steadying myself, I lowered my sex to the torture that awaited it.

  The first swipe of his tongue through my slit had my knuckles white gripping into the
back of the couch. Tonight, gravity was in my favor.

  At first, I fought to remain still—I fought to breathe—as his tongue and teeth teased over me, sucking and nipping at my clit. My rope of restraint frayed further with every second that passed.

  Soon, I was grinding against his mouth, consumed with finding the climax that would devastate my body. I was probably drowning him with my desire, but from the sounds of it, he seemed pretty content if he was suffocating.

  “That’s it, baby,” his lips teased my clit, “Come all over my tongue.”

  His tongue pushed inside of me and my body moved in a way that probably looked like I had no control over it. I didn’t. His fingers digging into my ass encouraged me as I rode against him.

  I came. Hard. Grinding against his tongue as my orgasm rocked me. And Emmett? The man moaned—and drank—like I’d given him a glass of Dalmore 62, the most expensive Scotch in the world.

  Trust me, the orgasm was worth far more than the $180,000 bottle.

  Before I could remember the basic facts about my life, I was upstairs and Emmett was laying me down on the mattress. Somewhere in the mix, he lost his sweatpants, the hard ridge of his arousal resting against my sex.

  And then, true to his answer, he spent what could have been an hour on my tits—touching, teasing, licking sucking. I couldn’t understand how he was surviving the torture because I—with my hands fisted in the covers—was about to come again.

  I ground my hips up against him, hoping he would get the message. With a sigh, he slowly pulled off the nipple he’d been tormenting for several minutes.

  Swearing, he ripped open the condom wrapper, covering himself. Holding my thighs wide, he slammed inside of me with a shout.

  I cried out—not because it hurt, but because I was teetering on the edge.

  “Hold on.”

  Oh, I was holding on. And all I wanted to do was let go.

  My hips probably would have seized if his hands weren’t grounded in my waist holding me steady and it was a good thing the mattress was on the floor because the way he proceeded to fuck me would have definitely broken something. He thrust into me like each stroke carved his name into my sex. He thrust into me like he was trying to rip from my skin any remnant of anyone else who’d ever been there.