Snowbound

Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Owen

The fire pops. Wind claws at the windowpanes, and a delicate swirl of frost blooms across the glass.

I’m waiting for a reaction.

But there’s no scream. No frantic tapping of keys. No gasp, no sharp cry, no angry slam of the laptop.

Just silence. Good… I think?

I take my time getting dressed, tugging on a pair of sweats but no shirt. She likes it when I walk around half-dressed, even if she tries not to look. Always has a peek, that one.

I watch the way her eyes widen, the way her neck flushes. When she’s in bed, I see how her thighs shift under the covers. It reminds me of the way she looked when she was off-limits, only now, we’re two consenting adults who can do whatever the fuck we want.

I know exactly what that means.

I dry my hair slowly, deliberately. No rush.

I have no regrets about the jobs I do. The work I’ve done. The only thing I’d change is how I treated Emma.

I let her go.

Would I have chosen a different path if I knew the two of us had a chance? Yeah, of course. But now? I’m in too deep.

I drag the towel across my scalp, slow, rhythmic, my eyes closed. And just like that—I’m back there.

Back home. Back in the woods behind the house, where the creek ran cold even in the dead heat of summer.

Five years ago

“Let’s go for a swim,” she said, her eyes dancing.

Her mom was working. So was my dad.

It was a lazy summer afternoon. She’d just graduated. I didn’t have a shift until nighttime.

“Aye,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I swallowed hard when she stepped out in that one-piece black bathing suit. Modest as hell and covered way more skin than the tiny scraps the girls at the town pool wore.

But still—she was beautiful.

And I loved her.

I noticed the curve of her hips. The soft swell of her breasts. The strip of bare skin where her back arched.

Untouchable.

And I wanted her so fucking bad.

I turned away, but not before I saw the way she looked at me.

I was bare-chested, wearing just swim trunks. My body was cut—hours in the gym, training like it mattered.

At nineteen, that’s what a guy did. Muscle meant something. I had a few tattoos then.

And the abs.

And the arms.

And she knew it.

She came downstairs and stopped cold. Eyes wide, mouth parted.

Might’ve been the first time she ever really saw me like that.

“Why is it,” she asked, hands on her hips, “that women get screamed at for not covering up, but men walk around all summer half-naked, and no one says a damn thing?”

“Fucking double standard,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“It is a fucking double standard—”

“Hey,” I cut her off, snapping a little. “Mind your tongue.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? You’re telling me not to swear? When we’re literally talking about a double standard? Owen, listen to yourself.”

“I don’t fancy it, you swearin’ like that,” I said, my voice low.

“I don’t like it when you tell me what to do.”

I twirled the towel into a rope and gave her a quick snap to the backside. She squealed, her cheeks turning pink. “Yes, you do. Now fetch your towel—we’re off to the creek.”

She rolled her eyes, but she went. I grabbed a plastic grocery bag and tossed in some basic food I’d pulled together—sandwiches, grapes, and a bag of chips.

We were still pretending then. Still playing at brother and sister, and it was my job to keep her safe and fed.

Harmless.

I hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t said one thing out of line.

But it was there—the tension, radiating off both of us.

The fucking longing. I wanted her so damn bad it was killing me.

I sat on the bank, eating half a sandwich, watching her swim through the water.

Smiling to myself.

Hard as hell.

And she didn’t even know it.

Everything about her was graceful. She was funny. Smart.

She knew me better than anyone ever had.

“Are you coming in or what?” she called, splashing water toward the shore. “You don’t want me to be all alone out here.”

“I don’t think you want me to come in,” I muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because if I do, I’m going to fuckin’ dunk you.”

“There you go with your language again.”

God, she was so fucking cute.

Hair in her eyes. Lips parted. This girl—half woman, half innocent—called to me in a way no one else ever had.

“Fine,” I said. “But you better start swimming.”

She let out a high-pitched squeal and took off in the water like she had a chance.

She didn’t. She was terrible. Kept herself afloat, but just barely. Slow as hell.

Me? I swam varsity in high school until they got too good for me.

Or maybe I got too distracted.

Didn’t matter. I still loved it, and I was damn good.

I stood, then walked to the edge of the creek…

And dove.

I wasn't even sure if she was just a shitty swimmer or if she was hoping I'd catch her. But when I did—when I got my hands on her—I did exactly what I promised.

I flattened my hand on top of her head and shoved her under, though I let her up just as quickly. Was only meant to be a tease, not meant to scare her.

She screamed just before her mouth went below the surface. Bubbles burst up around her, breaking on the surface in loud pops.

“Oh, you asshole!”

She splashed water into my face, grabbed at me, and pushed me under in retaliation.

“Hey!” I shouted, laughing through the water.

I could barely touch bottom there, but she couldn’t. She was in well over her head. I splashed her again, grabbed her around the waist, pulled her close—and dunked her again.

And fuck, I wanted to kiss her.

God, I wanted to kiss her so fucking bad.

I could practically taste it—the sharp mineral of the creek water, the warmth of her mouth underneath it, the way her wet lips would part for me.

I imagined how she’d feel in my arms. How she’d moan into my mouth. Maybe even startle a little.

I'd fantasized about this too much. Way too fucking much.

Too many late nights thinking about her, one hand braced on the tile wall of my shower, the other wrapped around my cock. Imagining her breath, her gasp, her name on my lips.

I couldn’t help it.

I wanted her. I wanted her so damn bad.

“Okay, okay,” I said, breathless. “No more pushing each other under.”

I was treading water at the surface.

“You started it,” she accused, splashing me again.

“Aye, I did,” I admitted, and laughed, but it came out thin. Too sharp.

“That’s enough now, lass. Christ, would ya hold still? You’ve got something on your head.”

She shrieked. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. Seaweed or something.”

“There’s no seaweed in the creek, Owen!” she cried, laughing.

“Well… then it’s something else. A leaf, maybe.”

“Alright, fine, whatever. Science isn’t my favorite subject, okay? I think it must be a leaf.”

I reached for her again, grinning, when I heard it—my dad’s voice—low, sharp, and furious.

“What the hell are you two doing down there?”

My stomach dropped.

My dad was a force to be reckoned with. That voice could snap bone.

He’d warned me about Emma. He didn’t like what he saw building between us. Didn’t like the looks, the tension, the way we gravitated toward each other.

I turned, facing him.

“We’re swimming,” I said.

He didn’t look at me. Not really. He looked past me, his eyes locked on her.

“Emma,” he barked. “Get your ass out of that water.”

It pissed me off that he aimed it at her—like she was the problem.

I was swimming right there with her. Right fucking beside her.

“Hey,” I snapped. “She was only swimming.”

“You gettin’ smart with me now, boy?” he said, that voice dropping to something darker. Something that hit in the gut.

It made my stomach flip, even though I was taller now, broader.

He hadn’t laid a hand on me in a couple of years, but it looked like he might today.

“All I’m saying is—we’re just swimming.”

“Right,” he said, his voice scathing. “Just swimming. Half-naked. Together.”

He looked at us like we were something filthy.

“Get the fuck out before someone sees you,” he snapped. “If your mother saw you, Emma—”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. She climbed out, dripping, small. Ashamed.

Right then, I decided I'd take whatever punishment he wanted to throw.

I’d protect her. I’d carry it.

She’d be half-eaten with guilt, but I’d take the full weight.

“It was my idea,” I lied. “I told her to come. I thought it’d be fun. Nothing happened.”

He rounded on me, his fist raised.

“Stop being a fucking gobshite,” I said before I could think.

The swing came fast. I ducked, blocking it. Ducked another.

I wouldn't hit him.

I couldn’t.

He was still my father.

But I wouldn’t let him hit me, either.

“You absolute bollocks—”

“Stop!” Emma screamed. “Stop! Please, don’t fight! We were just swimming!”

He grabbed her by the arm, and something in me snapped. Red. Blinding. Final.

I’d never raised my hand to him. Not once.

But if he hurt her—

“Let her go,” I growled. “Let her go, or so help me, we’ll have a fuckin’ problem, you and me.”

He stared at me. Took only seconds to process he was in over his head, but he let her go.

That’s all that mattered.

“Get your stuff. Get back to the house. Put some fucking clothes on,” he barked and stormed off.

Emma stood there in the mud, dripping, looking young and terrified.

Heartbroken.

“Don’t be listenin’ to him, Em,” I said, stepping closer. I put an arm around her shoulders, tried to warm her with my body.

“It was harmless,” I said. “You’re just my sister, right?”

I ruffled her hair and tried to make her laugh. Tried to make it not hurt.

“We were just swimming.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Just swimming.”

Why did she look so sad?

And now—

Now I wait to hear her scream. A gasp. A slap. Something. Anything.

But there’s nothing.

I finish drying my hair and glance at the mirror. My hair’s sticking up—just like it did that day by the creek, the last time we ever swam together.

I was hers that day, even if she didn’t know it. Hell—I didn’t even know it. Not really. But I loved her then, and I love her now. I was so ready to tell my father off, to make a move… and then fucking Jake.

I brace myself to walk back out, expecting her to be gone.

But she’s not.

She’s on the couch, her legs tucked under her, the laptop closed. Firelight paints her in gold and red, shadows flickering across her skin.

She didn’t open it.

She lifts her eyes to mine—calm and trusting.

My god. What I wouldn’t do to keep that look in her eyes forever.

“I didn’t look,” she says.

My throat goes tight, but I just nod slowly.

“I trust you, Owen,” she says again, softer now.

“Come here, Emma,” I say, my voice is low and rough. I’m not asking.

She stands. Her bare feet whisper across the wood floor as she crosses to me, her body soft and warm from the fire.

That’s when I see it: She’s wearing my hoodie. It swallows her whole, draped over her like a claim I didn’t even ask for. And then she steps into my space, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

I hand her the slip of paper from my hand. Her eyes flare. Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.

“You cashing in another coupon?” she asks, breathless.

“You’re fuckin’ right I am.” I unfold it slowly.

She goes still, then flushes. That gorgeous, dangerous red blooms all the way down her neck, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“What was I thinking when I made these?” she says with a giggle. “Do you have anything in mind? Any kind of music?”

My fingers slide along her jaw. I tilt her chin up.

“Maybe I do.”

I cross the room, walk over to the old speaker on the shelf, and scroll through my playlist. I tap my phone and find the one I saved just for this—the perfect Christmas song. The one she could make sinful: “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”

My mouth goes dry. She tugs the hem of the hoodie and lifts it straight over her shoulders.

Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker. She’s wearing nothing underneath, not even a scrap of panties or a hint of a bra.

She climbs into my lap as the first notes play, straddling me slowly. Her knees spread wide over my thighs, framing me like a gift.

I really should go…

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“Is this okay?” she murmurs.

I grab her hips. “Christ, you’ve no idea.”

The hoodie falls. Her body moves in slow, perfect rhythm with the beat, like she was born for this. Small deliberate circles. Just enough friction to keep me on the edge of snapping.

Her eyes drag up my chest and into my hair.

She whispers the lyrics, pretty and soft, while I kiss her cheek and chime in.

I sing the lyrics, convincing her to stay.

And we become them—the song’s lovers.

Me trying to keep her, while she gives every excuse to leave.

I kiss her cheek as her voice trails off. We both know where the song goes next… about there being “talk tomorrow.”

I don’t care.

And her body’s still moving, slow circles and teasing friction—keeping me at the edge.

Her hands drag up my chest, into my hair. Then her mouth dips to my ear. “I thought about this,” she whispers. “Back when we were younger. Sitting across from you at that awful family dinner…”

My pulse stutters.

“I thought about riding you like this. What your hands would feel like. What your voice would sound like in the dark. If it was just the two of us…”

“Emma,” I growl. My grip tightens on her hips. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.”

She rolls her hips harder, and my cock strains against my jeans. “Then die,” she whispers, teasing, “but die happy.”

The music plays behind us, their voices merging. Ours becomes one.

I chuckle low. She giggles as the fire crackles, the storm howling just beyond the window. Snow slams against the glass.

And in this room? There’s only her… grinding against me like she owns me. Tasting like danger… tasting like Christmas.