by Lush, Tamara
“What? Why?” My stomach twists at his words. Horrible? I jerk up my hand and with it, my pole. A blob of snow flies from the tip of my pole and hits Oliver in the leg. This is going swimmingly. “Sorry.”
“Because you were fifteen and I was seventeen. You were a kid. And because my dad caught us.”
“Yeah, that was awkward when he came hauling ass down that boardwalk. But you shouldn’t have felt bad.”
“I did, though. I felt weird about it. You were in high school. I was going to college. I figured it would be kinda perverted if I liked a high school girl. And our dads did business together, and he’d told me not to break your heart. I meant to talk with you about it, but I don’t do social media.”
What? Not break my heart? “I know. I’ve looked for you.”
His eyes widen, as if he’s surprised by that fact. “I wanted to talk to you when I came home on break that year, but you were away that Christmas, then you were at camp the next summer. I went to London to study for a year, and after all that time, I figured I should just let it go.”
He lifts his pole and jabs it into the snow repeatedly, like he’s stabbing something. His eyes do this squinty thing. “But I haven’t been able to let it go.”
“Oh. Really?” That’s the snappiest comeback I can think of. I’m surprised he sounds so regretful. A little happy about it, actually.
“I liked you. So much, Sharkie.”
I straighten my spine as a zing of awareness goes through my spine. My eye has stopped leaking. “You did?”
“Obviously. I kissed you. I didn’t go around kissing a lot of girls back then. I was kind of a dork.”
“I didn’t think you were a dork.”
He smiles, and suddenly the forest seems lit with his happiness. “You were the coolest girl I knew. One of the reasons I liked you so much back then.”
“Liked? Past tense?”
He shoots me a smoldering look, and even though the snow’s falling hard, my face flashes hot.
“Present tense. Very present. Like right this minute. I’ve always adored you, still adore you. You’re so my type, Sharkie. I’ve tried and tried to find someone like you, but I haven’t. I’ve compared everyone I meet to you. I—”
It’s the sign I’m looking for. I let my poles fall into the snow. With a little hop, I’m next to him, my stance wide, my snowshoes straddling his.
I take his face in my pink mittens and put my lips against his. The hitch of his breath, and the need in his eyes, give me all the answers I need.
His lips are soft. Sensual. Scorching. Something inside me lifts, as if I’m flying. The snowflakes coming down land on our faces, and they melt on contact from our shared heat. I break away, let my hands slip to his chest, and grin.
“Oh,” he says in a soft voice. “Oh, wow.”
We pause, staring at each other through the falling snow. There’s a sparkling feeling of sweetness and desire in the air. A heady combination.
“I interrupted you. Sorry.” My voice is almost drowned out by the wind. It’s kicked up, as if another onslaught of sideways-whizzing snow is on the way.
“Don’t apologize for anything. I wanted to say that you’re my type. You’ve always been my type. You’re smart and fierce and gorgeous. You also don’t give a fuck what people think. I love that about you.”
Oh God. I imagine my heart becoming so hot that it bursts and melts the snow all around us. No one has ever said anything like that to me. Ever.
I lean in for another kiss. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon, and I want to lick his entire body. We press our foreheads together.
“Do you really want to go to the lodge still?” his voice is hoarse.
He wants to go back to the cabin. With me. All of the possible things we could do together dance through my head. Like get naked next to the fireplace on that fuzzy white rug.
I’m sweating in my snowsuit as my imagination runs wild. I shake my head, and he rubs his nose against mine.
“No. No lodge. We’ve got cocoa back at the cabin,” I murmur against his mouth.
He laughs and wraps his arms around me. Another gust howls through the trees and between that, my rubbery snowshoe leg muscles, and the shock of finding out that he adores me, my knees buckle. I wobble to my right, and he tries to steady me. But can’t.
We tumble into the snow together, a nervous, giddy, tangle of arms and legs and snowshoes. Of laughter. Of kisses. Of anticipation of what’s to come.
Chapter 8
OLIVER
I don’t think two people have ever snowshoed so fast. Watching Charlotte trek ahead of me, in her white snowsuit, is adorable. Adorably sexy.
It’s hard not to grin when I watch her. Jesus, she wants me. She kissed me. It’s also difficult not to think about how damned nervous I am. In a few minutes, we’ll be back at the cabin and…
And then what?
This is my one chance. Don’t fuck this up, Menendez, my brother would say.
I’m not experienced sexually. Definitely not as experienced as she is. Which is okay, because I’m not one of those guys who thinks women must be pure, pristine virgins. It actually turns me on to think about Charlotte taking charge.
But I also don’t want to disappoint. All my life I’ve exceeded people’s expectations. My parents, my professors. I want to exceed Charlotte’s expectations of me in bed. Which could be difficult, since I’m a virgin.
We’re at the cabin now, and we stop near the front door. She’s out of breath. Her normally pale cheeks are flushed pink.
“Hang on, I’ll get those for you.” Shucking off my poles and gloves, I bend down and unstrap her boots from the snowshoes. As I’m undoing the last strap, she rests a mittened hand on my head. I look up and practically stop breathing. The snow sparkles in her hair. Jesus, she’s so beautiful it hurts.
As I’m untying my boots, she leans her snowshoes and our poles against the side of the house. I follow, and then I’m seized by a crazy, giddy feeling.
Without saying a word, I pick her up, hoisting her in the air by the legs. She yelps and wraps her arms around my neck. I take the few steps to the door, press the key code, then carry her inside.
The door shuts behind us, and I let her down. She slides down my body, slow and close.
She pulls off that silly, cute pink hat and throws it to the floor. And that’s when I kiss her. Claim her. I’ve never been this forceful when kissing a woman. I press her into the door and take her with every ounce of lust that’s in my body.
She breaks away, panting. “You’re such a good kisser,” she murmurs. “You know I’ve never forgotten that first kiss.”
“Me neither,” I say, picking her up and carrying her into the living room.
* * *
CHARLOTTE
“The fire,” I say between kisses, pointing. “I was fantasizing about us by the fire, on that rug down there.”
Oliver holds my face in his hands and looks at me with big eyes. “You were? Fantasizing about us? When?”
“Last night. I was hoping you’d kiss me during the movie. After the movie.”
He rolls his eyes. “God, I’m such a loser. I wanted to, so bad. But I wasn’t sure if I should. And I was sore and exhausted and then I fell asleep.” He presses a soft kiss to my mouth. “I’m sorry. Oh, wait. Fire.”
He springs over to the coffee table, where the remote that controls the gas fireplace is sitting, and pushes a button. The flames roar to life. “Better?”
I glance at the fire, at the falling snow out the window, at the giant Christmas tree.
And then to him. “Perfection.”
He sits on the sofa and undoes his boots. I sink in a chair nearby and watch as he extracts one foot, clad in a blue sock, then another. I pull my boots off and get the impression that he’s waiting for me to make the next move.
While holding my hand out to him, I walk to the rug and kneel. My skin is feverish, possibly because I’m still in my snowsuit, or because desire’s
coursing through my veins. Not sure which. Then it occurs to me that I probably look like a giant marshmallow, and I giggle.
He lowers himself to his knees so we’re facing each other. We’re only inches apart. Everything is still and quiet, and for the first time since we kissed back there in the snow, I’m feeling the weight of this. Of us. Of what we’re about to do.
I stop giggling and stare into his eyes. He reaches toward me and unzips my snowsuit, starting at my neck. By the time he gets to my bellybutton, I’m trembling. He slides the fabric off one shoulder, than the other, and I free my arms.
Underneath I’m wearing white silk long johns. No bra. My nipples are hard, and his eyes flicker to them. Then quickly back up to my face, as if he’s embarrassed at being caught staring.
“You can look,” I whisper. “And touch.”
I reach for his hand and put it on my breast. My breath hitches because he’s caressing softly, circling my nipple with his palm.
He leans in and puts his mouth on mine. I press myself more firmly in his hand, wanting more contact. He squeezes, tentative at first, then harder.
“Like that,” I whisper in his ear.
“Sharkie,” he murmurs, then removes his hand. I almost whimper in protest, but he slides his fingers up my neck and on my jaw, tilting my head upward. “I have to tell you something.”
“What?” My heart’s pounding now. Is he going to say that he really has a girlfriend? What could be so important that he needs to stop what he was doing?
“I need you to know that I’m not that experienced.” He bites his lip, and a shadow of a frown comes to his brow. “I thought I should be honest with you. I was going to try to be all macho and channel my brother, but I just can’t.”
My fingers go to the top button of his plaid jacket, and I undo one.
“Oh. I see.” I undo a second and grin. “I don’t see that as a bad thing at all. Not even a little.” I’m debating telling him that it excites me even more to think about teaching him all the things that turn me on, telling him dirty sexy things that I’ve never told anyone else, when a thought crosses my mind.
I stop on his third button and narrow my eyes. “You don’t mind that I’m not a virginal lamb, do you? Is it going to be a problem?”
“No. Why would it be?”
Relief floods my body, and I undo two more buttons. “Some guys get weird if girls are more experienced than they are.”
He licks his lips. “No. I actually think it’s kind of sexy. Real sexy.”
Is he perfect or what? I finish the other two buttons of his shirt and push it off him.
Somehow that touches off a frenzy of stripping off my snowsuit, his snow pants, his shirt, and our socks. When his shirt’s finally off, I stop and stare for a second at his smooth, hard chest and arms. I give his bicep a squeeze.
Hello.
We end up lying on the furry rug in just our thermal underwear. I’m on top of him, my legs straddling him. One hand’s up the back of my shirt, and the other is down my pants, squeezing my butt.
“I like the no underwear situation,” he says.
“I do, too.” I sit up and strip off my shirt.
His eyes go big. “Holy fuck.”
“You like?” I rock slow on his erection while he cups my breasts.
“I love. Come here.” He rolls me onto my back, kisses me, then trails his lips down my neck, all gentle and soft. While pulling my hair.
“Yes,” I hiss, when his mouth covers one nipple. I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of his lips, of the heat coming from the fireplace, of clutching fistfuls of his thick hair in my hands.
He runs a big hand down my ribcage, then over my stomach, then back up. I want him to touch me, to give me an orgasm. I’m wet and desperate.
“Come here.” I tug him up by the hair. “Lie next to me.”
He stretches out on his side, a concerned look crossing his face. “What? Did you not like that?”
“I loved it. But I want to show you something.”
“What?”
My head’s turned, and we’re looking at each other. “Put your palm flat on my tummy.”
He does, and I cover his hand with mine. “I want you to touch me.” I move his hand under the waistband of my long johns then let go.
The look on his face is priceless. I can tell he’s turned on and shocked and maybe a little terrified, too. His fingers reach my pussy, and his middle finger slips between my lips.
“Oh. Oh. Wow. You’re wet.”
I nod and open my legs wider.
He drags his finger through my wetness. “So wet. So amazing. Christ, this is making me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.”
I allow my eyes to flutter shut as he plays with me while kissing my face. It feels good, don’t get me wrong. But I can tell he’s never given a woman an orgasm before. Which isn’t surprising—I don’t think I’ve met a guy who truly knows what to do with a woman down there.
The difference is, I’ve never wanted to teach a guy how to get me off, until Oliver. I usually finish on my own, giving them a show, or do it later when I’m alone with my vibrator.
I open my eyes. “Take off my pants,” I whisper.
Hurriedly, he sits up and strips my long johns off . Now I’m naked, and it’s a huge turn on to be this way while he’s still partially clothed.
I open my legs, wide. The look on his face makes me giggle. “You look shocked.”
“I am, kind of. You’re so fucking perfect, everywhere. And you’re just so, I dunno. Open about your body.”
I beckon him with my finger. “Come back down here. I want to tell you something.”
He takes one last, long, look between my legs, then slides astride me.
I kiss him softly. “I don’t think sex is something to be ashamed of. I wasn’t raised that way.”
“I’m really glad you weren’t.”
I shift to the side and pick up his hand. Taking a finger into my mouth—the finger that was inside me—I put it in my mouth and suck. He groans. I tease him like this for a while, then let go.
“I’m going to show you how to make me come,” I tell him. “You’ll be able to impress women with your skills from now on.”
As soon as I say that, I regret it. The idea of him touching another woman leaves my stomach feeling queasy.
“The only woman I want to impress is you.”
Oh God, my heart is melting. And I’m getting wetter by the second from this mix of heat and kindness. Once again, I stretch out on my back and open my legs really wide.
“Give me your hand.” He does, and I guide him down. With my index finger on his left hand, I guide him to my clit.
“This is where it all happens. My clit. It’s where I orgasm. I’ve never come from peen in vag alone.”
He grins. “Peen in vag?”
I giggle as I guide his finger inside me. He looks astonished, and I wonder if I should remind him to breathe. I squirm toward him so my head’s resting on his muscular right bicep.
“Like this.” I slide his finger out of me to circle my clit. “Right there. Use a little pressure.”
I remove my hand. “A little less pressure. Oh. Oh! Like that.”
I offer him my finger that’s still covered in my wetness, and he eagerly accepts, sucking as he fingers me. I pull out and trace his lips, and then something in his touch connects and I’m…BOOM. Near the edge. On the last few inches of the orgasm cliff. Losing my footing, rocks crumbling underneath.
“Ohhh. Oliver?” I say in a pleading voice, shifting my hips into his hand. “Just like that.”
“That feels good, doesn’t it?” His pace picks up, and he seems to have an instinct for what I want. What I need. My body’s on fire now, a light sheen of perspiration on my chest.
I nod and moan. Shutting my eyes, I tilt my head toward the crook of his arm, inhaling the musky man-deodorant smell of his underarm. I feel his mouth and nose in my hair, a gesture that’s passionate and tende
r.
And when his finger circles my clit once more, I explode.
Chapter 9
OLIVER
“Ohh!” Charlotte lets out a throaty cry and rolls herself into me.
She’s trembling; I’m trembling. All I can do is hug her tight. I don’t think I’ve ever been this emotionally or mentally overwhelmed. My dick is so hard it practically hurts. My emotions are a swirl of pride and shock that I gave Charlotte an orgasm. I can still feel how she pulsed and spasmed against my fingers, and it was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.
I want to do it again. Every day, for the next thousand years.
She lifts her head. “Now it’s my turn to say wow.”
I smooth back her hair. Now the air smells like sugarberries and her pussy, and I’m practically fucking blind with need. Like I can’t see straight. “I did okay?”
“You did more than okay.”
She kisses me, then leans all her weight into me. Which isn’t much since she’s so little next to me.
I hope to God she’s planning to jerk me off or blow me or something. Anything. I’ll take anything at this point. She could probably look at me and I’d come.
I allow her to roll me onto my back. I can feel the heat between her legs through my thermal underwear. She’s straddling me, rocking in a sexy slow rhythm.
“Your body. My God, Oliver. I love your chest.” She runs her hands over my body, caressing my skin with a feathery touch that makes me shiver.
Leaning down, she bites my neck. Soft-like, but with enough sting that I groan and grab her hair.
“Too much?” she asks.
“Not at all.”
“Mmm. Good.” She bites me again, then alternates kisses and bites down my neck, across my pecs, and down my stomach. I shudder with pleasure.
She kisses around my bellybutton, little flutters that are so sweet and feminine that I feel like I’m going out of my mind.
Then, thank the universe, she lowers my thermal underwear. I’m also wearing boxer briefs, but she slides those down at the same time. My dick springs free, hard as a rod.