Chapter 4
Nick
I'm losing my mind.
It's been a day since the moonlight ski, and I can't stop replaying the moment Daria told me she felt invisible. The vulnerability in her voice, the way she leaned into my touch like she was starving for it—it's haunting me.
I almost kissed her. I came so close I could taste it. But something held me back. Maybe the age gap. Or the power dynamic. Probably the fact that once I start, I won't be able to stop.
Now she's booked for an intermediate lesson this afternoon, and I'm checking equipment with shaking hands like some nervous teenager.
"You've got it bad," Devon observes from the doorway.
"Shut up."
"I'm just saying—I've never seen you like this. It's kind of adorable."
I throw a glove at him. He catches it, laughing.
"For what it's worth," he says, "she's into you too. Everyone can see it."
"That's the problem."
"Why is that a problem?"
Because I'm thirty-five and she's twenty-three.
I'm staff and she's a guest, and Kelly already sent another reminder email about professional boundaries.
If I let myself have this—have her—and it ends badly, I'll have to see her around the resort for the rest of the week, watch her smile at someone else, know I screwed it up. Worse, she doesn’t live here, and I would have to let her go.
But mostly because I'm falling for her, and that's terrifying.
"Just be careful," Devon says, more gently. "I'm rooting for you, man. But don't do anything stupid."
Too late for that.
Daria arrives at one o'clock, cheeks flushed from the cold, wearing that green thermal again. My mouth goes dry.
"Ready for a challenge?" I ask.
"Always."
We take the lift to an advanced slope, one that requires more technical skill. The afternoon sun is brilliant, but storm clouds are gathering on the horizon. We've got maybe two hours before the weather moves in.
I walk her through the run, pointing out tricky spots. She listens intently, asking smart questions. When we ski down the mountain, she handles it beautifully—confident, controlled, only one small wobble near the bottom.
"That was amazing!" She's breathless, glowing. "Can we do it again?"
We make three more runs. Each time she gets better, more assured. I watch her transform from the uncertain woman at orientation into someone who trusts her body, trusts the mountain, trusts herself.
On our fourth run, the temperature plummets. Wind picks up, clouds rolling in faster than forecasted.
"We need to head down," I call. "The storm's moving in early."
We're halfway to the base when the wind intensifies, visibility dropping. Snow falls—not the gentle flakes from earlier this week, but hard, wind-driven pellets that sting exposed skin.
"Nick!" Daria's voice is tight with fear.
"I've got you. Stay close." I move beside her, guiding her down. But the conditions deteriorate fast—whiteout conditions, can't see more than a few feet.
I make a quick decision. "There's a warming hut about a hundred yards east. We're going there."
The hut materializes through the snow like a mirage. A small stone structure with a metal roof, built for emergencies like this. I usher Daria inside.
It's basic—one room with a fireplace, emergency supplies, a bench that converts to a narrow cot. But it's shelter, and right now that's everything.
"Are we safe?" Daria asks, shivering.
"We're safe. The storm will pass. Might be a couple hours." I build a fire with the stocked wood. "Get those wet layers off before you get hypothermic."
She strips off her jacket and outer layers. I do the same, hyperaware of the small space, the intimacy of it. The fire catches, warmth filling the room.
We sit on the bench, shoulders touching. Outside, the wind howls. Inside, there's just us and flickering firelight and the weight of everything unsaid.
"This is cozy," Daria says softly.
"Emergency shelters are not anyone's first choice for cozy."
"I don't know. I'm here with you. That makes it better."
I gaze at her. Her hair's fallen from its bun, curls wild around her face. She's watching the fire, profile outlined in gold. She's so beautiful it hurts.
"Daria."
She turns to me, and the want in her eyes mirrors everything I'm feeling.
"We shouldn't," I say, even as I'm leaning closer.
"Why not?"
"I'm twelve years older than you."
"So?"
"I'm your instructor."
"Not right now you're not." She shifts to face me. "Right now we're just two people in a warming hut, and I want this. I want you."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Don't I?" Her hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my beard. "Nick, I've spent my whole life not asking for what I want. Not believing I could have it. But I want this. I want you. And I think—I hope—you want me too."
"God, Daria." My control is fraying. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you."
"Then stop overthinking."
She kisses me.
It's tentative at first, testing. But when I respond—when I angle her face and deepen the kiss—it ignites. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat that destroys me.
I break away, breathing hard. "If we do this—"
"I'm sure." Her voice is steady, eyes clear. "I've never been more sure of anything."
That's all I need to hear.
I stand, pulling her up with me. The bench converts into a narrow cot, barely wide enough for one person, definitely not two. I don't care.
I lay her down, following her onto the cot. She's soft and warm beneath me, curves pressing against my harder planes. I brace myself on my elbows, looking down at her.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur.
She shakes her head. The automatic denial I'm learning is her default. But I stop her with a kiss.
"You are," I insist between kisses. "Every single inch of you."
I peel her thermal top off, revealing a simple bra underneath. Her hands go to cover herself instinctively, but I catch her wrists.
"Don't hide from me."
"I'm not... I mean, I'm not like—"
"You're not like anyone." I kiss her collarbone, her shoulder. "You're you. And you're perfect."
I worship her with my mouth—the swell of her breasts over her bra, the soft skin of her stomach, the curve of her hips. Every place she's been taught to hide, I claim with lips and tongue and whispered praise.
"Nick." My name is a prayer and a plea.
I remove her bra, and she's gorgeous—full breasts, dusky nipples already tight. I take one in my mouth and she arches off the cot with a gasp.
"More," she whispers.
I lavish attention on her breasts while my hand slides down her stomach to the waistband of her ski pants. "Can I?"
"Yes. Please. Yes."
I strip her pants and underwear off, drinking in the sight of her. Full thighs, the soft swell of her belly, dark curls between her legs. She's real and feminine and everything I want.
"You're staring," she says, blushing.
"I'm memorizing." I kiss her inner thigh. "Every soft place. Every curve. I want to remember this forever."
When I put my mouth on her, she cries out. I explore her with my tongue, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hips buck. She's responsive and unguarded, no performance—just honest pleasure.
"Nick, I'm going to—"
"Let go. I've got you."
She comes against my mouth, beautiful and abandoned, my name on her lips.
Before she can catch her breath, I'm kissing my way back up her body. She fumbles with my belt, my zipper, hands shaking.
"Help me," she whispers.
I strip off my remaining clothes and her eyes go wide. "Oh."
"Second thoughts?"
"No. Definitely not." She reaches for me, wrapping her hand around my cock. I groan at the contact.
I take a condom from my wallet—thank God I’d packed it. After our first lesson I bought a whole box. My hands shake as I roll it on and settle between her thighs.
"Look at me," I say.
Her eyes meet mine. They’re dark, trusting, and full of want.
I enter her slowly, watching her face. She's tight and wet and perfect, and I have to pause, overwhelmed.
"Okay?" I manage.
"So okay." She rolls her hips experimentally and I nearly lose it.
I move with slow, deep strokes. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. The cot is too small and creaks with every thrust, but I don't care. There's only this. Only Daria beneath me, around me, her hands in my hair, and her breath in my ear.
"Harder," she whispers.
I oblige, chasing the edge. She meets me thrust for thrust, body arching, nails digging into my shoulders.
"I'm falling for you," I confess against her throat. "I'm falling so hard."
"I already fell." Her voice breaks on a moan. "Nick—"
She comes again, clenching around me, and I follow her over, her name a shout in the small space.
We collapse together on the narrow cot, tangled and breathless. I smooth her hair back from her damp face.
"You okay?"
"I'm perfect." She traces the tattoo on my shoulder—a mountain peak with coordinates underneath. "What's this?"
"The first mountain I ever climbed. Did it after a nasty breakup, needed to prove something to myself."
"Did you prove it?"
"I thought so. But I think I was just running." I kiss her forehead. "I'm not running anymore."
She snuggles closer, fitting against me like she was designed for it. Outside, the storm is passing. Inside, everything has changed.
"What happens after the retreat ends?" she asks.
"I don't know." Honesty is all I have. "But I don't want this to end."
"Neither do I."
We lay in the firelight, stealing time while the mountain settles around us. Eventually we'll have to get dressed, ski down, face the real world and all its complications.
But for now, there's only this. Only us. Only the certainty that I've found something I didn't know I was looking for.
And I'm not letting her go without a fight.