Snow Angels

by Sabrina York

  Dampness nuzzled her neck. A suck and then a nip. A shudder of pleasure scudded through her. His hand drifted up, over her cotton-clad waist, her belly, and her ribs. He gently cupped her breast. A soft moan. She wasn’t sure if it was from him or her or from them both. Still half asleep, she rolled over, into him, and found his lips with hers.

  Warm. Damp. Questing. A sweet, sleepy kiss.

  At first.

  But, as they both became aware, it changed.

  His lips firmed, and his body tensed. Intention hummed between them.

  He lifted his head and stared at her, his eyes so close she could see the amber flecks in their brown depths and the ring around his iris.

  His pupils dilated. “Lyssa,” he murmured and then he lowered his head again.

  This kiss was not sleepy in the slightest. Not slow or questing. It was a rampage of hunger. Wild, crazed, and frantic. His lips raked over hers, his tongue scorched her mouth. He fisted her hair to hold her still, and he consumed her. Fed on her. And fed her.

  She arched closer, though there was no room between them, pressing her body against his, reveling in its hardness, the strength, and tenderness vibrating in every muscle. She wrapped herself around him and stroked his hair, his neck, his back.

  It had been so long since she’d had any intimacy, any passion. It felt so good. So right.

  Men awoke to passion. She knew this. She and Wade had promised to be friends, and she should stop him…but she couldn’t.

  Besides, he didn’t seem to want to stop.

  He made his way over her cheek to nibble on her ear—which made her gasp and writhe—and then he nested in her neck, where the nerves were sensitive. He nuzzled her until her body screamed with delight.

  He found her breast again, and this time his stroke was deliberate. Sparks showered through her as he stroked a swollen crest. “Yes.” She huffed. “Yes.” And he did it again. He made his way down her neck and over her collarbone, pulling down the blankets as he went. When his mouth closed over her nipple and sucked, she nearly came out of her skin. Pleasure blinded her. He continued to torment her, toying with one peak and then the other, until she couldn’t bear it any more. She raked his back with her nails, and he grunted then chuckled. He peeked up at her with a mischievous smile and scooted lower.

  He slipped his hand under her shirt, but didn’t head for her breasts. Instead, he slid downward, tugging the band of her yoga pants as he went.

  Lyssa stilled.

  Was he…? Oh! God! He was.

  Drawing her pants to her knees, he shifted her legs apart and dipped his head between them. A breath. A mere huff, and she clenched. Something inside her melted. When he touched her and traced her slit, she warbled.

  Her muscles locked as he delved deeper, sliding his finger over her engorged nubbin, circling it…teasing her.

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  He didn’t hesitate. His tongue took over. Warm, soft, and exquisitely placed. He lapped at the underside of her bundle of nerves. She winced, and then sighed. Good. So goo—

  He sucked.

  A gentle suck, but it sent snarls of electricity shooting through her body. He lapped and nibbled and flicked her button as he eased two fingers deep inside. The sense of fullness—one she hadn’t known in far too long—overwhelmed her. She came. It was a little orgasm, a precursor, but a flood of rapture nonetheless.

  And bless him, he didn’t stop. He moved inside her, stroking her, searching her until he found that secret spot, buried deep within her folds, and sent her flying again.

  Pulse pounding, she quivered, and wailed as she rode the wave.

  Like a ravenous creature, given a taste of heaven, her soul howled for more. When he crawled back up her body to kiss her once more, his mouth damp with her arousal, she reached for him, stroked him through his sweatpants. He hissed and arched into her caress.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  She wanted… needed….

  She eased beneath the band of his sweatpants and took a hold of his hard, smooth cock.

  Ah. Yes. This. This was what she wanted.

  He collapsed back on the bed as she stroked him, eyes closed tight, and groaning in pleasure. “God, Lyssa,” he sighed. “God.”

  She knelt up and yanked his pants down and stared.

  As wonderful as he’d felt in her palm, he was even more exquisite to look at.

  His cock was large, rampant, and adamant. She could see his pulse pinging in the bulging vein. The head was full, engorged. A milky tear beaded at the tip.

  She licked her lips and bent her head. But he stopped her. “No.” A strangled cry.

  No? She shook her head. Nothing, but nothing was stopping her. She wanted, needed, to taste him.

  So, despite his feeble attempts to dissuade her, she bent her head and licked.

  Salty. Sweet. The musk of man. This man.

  Another shiver took her—surely not an orgasm, simply from the taste of him—but maybe so.

  He fisted the sheets. A whimper escaped from his throat.

  Emboldened, she parted her lips and took him in.

  God, she loved this. The feel of him in her mouth; pulsating, hard, and ready.

  She sucked and he growled, lifted his knees, and braced himself against the mattress. Breathing through her nose, she sank deeper, taking him in, enrobing him. He thrust up, just an infinitesimal surge, as though he didn’t want to but couldn’t stop himself.

  She eased back and started a relentless rhythm, plunging deep and working him with her fist as she had in her massage. He panted, groaned, writhed, and flailed—but not too much. Not so much she lost her momentum.

  To her delight, his cock swelled. He stiffened and let go a ferocious howl, and erupted.

  She swallowed every delicious drop and licked him clean for good measure.

  Before she finished, at least as much as she could have liked to, he took hold of her shoulders and yanked her up over his body, melding them together, chest to chest. He kissed her. It was a savage kiss. In it, she tasted his relief, liberation, and his desperate gratitude.

  “God, Lyssa.” He tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder and held her as he shook with reaction. “God.”

  He said nothing more, but then, there was nothing more to be said. They simply lay there in the shambles of their bed and held each other, each enjoying the lingering trails of magnificent release.

  When his chest wobbled she tipped up her head to glance at him. His handsome face was wreathed in an unholy grin.

  “What?” she asked.

  He nodded to the foot of the bed.

  When she looked, she couldn’t stop her answering grin.

  Biby and Bo lay side by side, watching them with matching disgruntled expressions on their furry faces.

  Chapter Six

  He wasn’t sure why he felt so magnificent as he made breakfast that morning. If it had been last night’s massage…or this morning’s, but Wade hardly cared. His body felt renewed. And perhaps his spirit as well.

  Hell, he didn’t even care that the power was still off and the cabin was cold and that he had to start the stove using matches.

  Granted, it had been a damn long time since anything like that had happened to him. Partly by choice—because whenever he met a woman who interested him, his crushing guilt would raise its ugly head—and partly because, most of the time, he hurt too bad to allow release.

  At the moment, he didn’t hurt at all.

  Nothing. Nowhere.

  It was as though she’d performed a miracle on him.

  A sexual miracle.

  He chuckled a little at the thought.

  “What’s so funny?” Her warmth surrounded him as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He wanted to sink into it, wallow. Her hand roved over his chest, and then skated beneath the hem of his T-shirt. The touch of her palm on his skin sent prickles along every nerve.

  Unbelievably, his cock stirred.

  He�
��d thought he was sated. Utterly and completely. Apparently, he’d thought wrong.

  Turning into her embrace he kissed her. “Nothing.”

  She pulled back and gazed up at him. Dimples broke on her cheek. “I like when you smile like that.”

  “Am I smiling?”

  “You are.” She thumbed his lips. Then traced the scar on his temple. “Even your eyes are smiling.”

  He pulled her closer. “Maybe I’m happy.”

  She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, a gentle buss, with a hint of hunger. It lit something in his gut. She was so tiny. So perfect. So sweet. And she wanted him.

  God knew, he wanted her. He deepened the kiss, dipped in his tongue, teased her inner cheek. She made a sound, deep in her throat, something wild, and held him tighter.

  What was it about her touch? Her presence?

  It lifted the dark veil that had separated him from the world. Made him feel alive again. Made him want to be part of something again. Part of this.

  He backed her up against the wall and lifted her so he wouldn’t have to dip his head so far to reach her delectable mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed against him…right where it counted. Groins sealed, they rubbed against each other as he tasted her, consumed her.

  God, she was glorious. His passion, which had never been far away, arose. The pressure, the heat, and the need between them maddened him. Her scent goaded him. The taste of her breath. Everything about her settled within him, cradled him, and healed him. He wanted, needed—

  She wiggled. “Put me down.”

  He lifted his head. Blinked. “What?”

  “Something’s poking me. Put me down.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, he released her. As her feet touched the ground, she turned to glance behind her.

  Shit.

  He’d backed her up against the wall without a thought. Plastered her against the light switch, a fat, round dimmer. “That can’t have been comfortable.”

  He needed to remember. She was fragile. He needed to be more careful….

  She laughed, scuttling his chagrin. “It’s a good thing the electricity is off.”

  “What?”

  “I have this vision of us going at it…turning the light on and off with each thrust….”

  A glint—a hungry glint—lit her eye. Her voice stuttered on the last word. As though she were envisioning just that. Her, plastered against the wall. Him, buried deep.

  God. He wanted to be buried in her.

  The energy between them shifted. Sizzled. Crackled.

  Oh, it had been hot before, but now…but now….

  They stared at each other, reveling in the rising passion, the simmering connection. The anticipation.

  He was going to fuck her.

  They both knew it. They both wanted it.

  Bad.

  She wrinkled her nose, which surprised him. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “What’s that smell?”

  Wade froze as the hideous odor of burning sulfur suddenly registered.

  “Shit. The eggs.”

  He rushed to the stove and pulled the pan off the flame. The omelet was charred.

  Why she doubled over with laughter, he didn’t know. There weren’t many eggs left in the fridge. He was sure she was hungry. But he loved the sound of her guffaws. She held her belly and howled and before long, he couldn’t help but crack a smile. Then laugh with her, hysterically until tears streamed down his cheeks.

  He hadn’t laughed in…years.

  It felt good.

  So good.

  When they finally came up for air, they made breakfast together with the last of the eggs. Then they built a fire to cut the chill, curled up together on the couch, and shared a plate, Biby skulking over Lyssa’s shoulder hoping for a tidbit, and Bo drooling on Wade’s thigh.

  It was nice. Warm. Comfortable.

  And if not for his aching cock, he could have remained curled up with her all day, doing nothing. The vision, the thought, the prospect of making love with her, truly and completely, had nested in his brain. He could think of little else.

  So when their plate was empty, he set it on the floor. Both Biby and Bo went for it. But Wade ignored them. He wrapped his arms around Lyssa and pulled her more fully onto his lap, and kissed her.

  The kiss started soft and gentle, but it wasn’t long before hunger rose in both of them. He loved her responses, soft sighs, gentle nips, and tentative caresses. As she became bolder, so did he.

  He eased a palm up her thigh, over her belly, and then cupped her breast. Ah. How magnificent. That tantalizing curve, the pert, pouting nipple. When he raked her with a thumb, she whimpered.

  So he did it again.

  He left her mouth, made his way over her cheek to nibble on her earlobe, and then dipped in to nuzzle her neck. She smelled fantastic there. He wasn’t sure what it was, the scent. It was probably just her. But it lit a fire in his gut.

  His fingers tightened on her nipple. It was probably a purely reflex action, a response to the sheer delight curling through him, but the result was delicious. She arched and moaned and rubbed against him.

  “God, I want you, Lyssa,” he murmured.

  “Mmm.”

  Was that consent? He was certain it was.

  He shifted and eased her back onto the sofa, not breaking contact with an inch of her. Then he covered her.

  The sofa was too short. He’d have to talk to Val about that—later. For now, he didn’t care. He arranged himself on it, over her, as best he could. Even then, he had to brace himself with one knee on the floor.

  But his hands were free. As he kissed her, he caressed and explored.

  Because he couldn’t resist, he nibbled his way over her collarbone to her chest. Then, catching her gaze, he lifted her cami and—

  Holy God.

  Her breasts were perfect. Small, but full. Round and firm. The engorged nipples, pink and pert, snared his attention. He swallowed the drool collecting in his mouth and cupped her, one mound in each hand.

  She watched, eyes glittering and lips parted.

  He squeezed, gently, and then massaged the tips in tandem. Her breath caught. Damn, she was a tantalizing sight. Unable to resist any longer, he tasted her. His tongue rasped over one beaded nipple. Then the other. He held her still as he lapped and sucked and nibbled.

  When he caught her between his teeth, she cried out and writhed beneath him, her thigh massaged his aching cock. Was she aware her thigh was massaging his cock?

  Shit, he didn’t care. It felt fantastic. He nudged against her and rubbed harder. There was nothing between them but a pair of sweats and Yoga pants. Yet it was too much. Far too much between them.

  With a growl, he yanked down the elastic band of her pants. Tore them off and tossed them away. She helped, in a fashion, wriggling madly to be free of the restriction. He could have done without her help, but he managed and—

  His heart stalled at the vision before him.

  Lyssa, her hair wild and rumpled, lounging on the sofa with her shirt bunched above her breasts and her lower body bare. His attention fixed on her nest, and even as he watched, she parted her legs.

  His pulse jack-hammered. His cock thrummed. Lust howled through him like a hot and hungry wind.

  He yanked her knees further apart—there was no time for persuasion, no capacity for civility—and buried his face. He’d tasted her before, but this was better. This felt like coming home.

  Reveling in her moans and coos, he explored her, licking her outer lips slowly, nudging the swollen nub at the crux of her sex, circling it, and lapping it, teasing.

  “Wade!” A command. She fisted his hair, scored his scalp with her nails in her determination to control his seduction.

  He didn’t allow it.

  He worked her mercilessly, toying with her clit, nudging at her opening with two fingers, until she was a wild woman, thrashing and snarling and begging. And then he drew her between his lips. She stilled and stared d
own at him. Trembling.

  He sucked.

  And at that exact moment, he thrust his fingers inside. Filling her.

  She came with a violence that stunned him, her body clenching around him with an intensity that made the little hairs at his nape stand on end.

  Holy God. He nearly came himself.

  But he didn’t.

  Because he wanted to come inside her. Lose himself in the insanity of that wicked grip.

  He couldn’t wait. It had been too long. And he wanted her too much. Ached too deeply.

  Later, he couldn’t recall ripping off his pants and kicking them away. But he did remember, he would always remember, the first kiss of her cunt. He fisted his cock and set the tip against her opening.

  Hell. Hell. Hell.

  He gritted his teeth and bit his tongue as a reminder to take it slow.

  She was tiny. He was huge.

  Or at least, he looked huge, poised there, ready to sink into heaven.

  “Wade.” She wiggled impatiently. The slick, tight muscles of her channel sipped at his sensitive glans. A red tide descended over his sanity as need possessed him.

  “God. Lyssa,” he groaned. And he lunged in.

  Forgotten was his vow to be careful. Forgotten was his concern at her fragility.

  All he knew, all he felt, all he was—pleasure. Bone-deep, soul satisfying, heart-mending pleasure.

  She was tight, slick, and warm. She quivered around him and hummed like a bow string drawn tight. It was exquisite. It was divine.

  It was torture.

  He clenched his balls to keep from releasing with the first stroke. He wanted this to last. He wanted this to last forever.

  Slowly he withdrew, gazing into her eyes.

  Her lips parted. A breath escaped.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, grunted, hissed. It was all he could do to form the words.

  His universe was shrinking, imploding, and becoming nothing more than this moment, on this sofa with this woman. In this woman. He wanted, needed, nothing more.