Chapter 3
The morning air was crisp and sharp, the kind that made my lungs burn and my skin prickle. I stepped out of the staff dorm, my white puffer jacket open, the bright pink cropped sports bra and matching high-waisted pink shorts a stark contrast against the snow. The white knee-high socks hugged my calves, the beanie with its fluffy pom-pom perched on my head, the colorful ski goggles pushed up onto my forehead. The silver necklace rested against my collarbone, the tiny mountain peak charm cool against my skin. I wore it openly for the first time, the weight of it a constant reminder of what I was now a part of.
Maddie had assigned me to ride the gondola with VIPs today—my first official duty as a guest host. Ensure they have a memorable experience, she’d said, her smile knowing. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but the necklace at my throat felt like a clue.
The grounds of Eclipse Mountain Resort were a maze of polished pathways and manicured gardens, the snow crunching beneath my boots as I made my way to the gondola station. The air smelled of pine and money, the scent thick and intoxicating. The lodge loomed behind me, its windows winking in the sunlight, the mountain stretching out before me, its peaks a stark contrast against the clear blue sky.
I saw him before I reached the queue. Harold. He stood near the front of the line, his wool sweater thick and warm, his salt-and-pepper hair a stark contrast against his tanned skin. A gold signet ring glinted on his pinky finger, catching the light as he adjusted his gloves. His eyes were a sharp blue, his smile knowing. He was older, his body broad and solid, the kind of man who carried his wealth like a second skin.
A staff member near him gestured in my direction. Harold’s gaze followed, locking onto me with the kind of intensity that made my pulse quicken. He didn’t hesitate. He stepped out of line and walked toward me, his boots crunching in the snow.
“You must be Tessa,” he said, his voice a low purr. “Maddie said you’d be my guide today.”
I swallowed, my body already responding to the way he looked at me—the way his eyes lingered on the silver chain at my throat. “Yes, sir,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
The queue moved quickly, the guests chatting and laughing, their voices a low murmur. Harold didn’t return to his place in line. He simply fell into step beside me, his presence a silent command. The gondola car arrived with a soft clatter, the cable creaking as it came to a stop. Harold didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside, his hand gesturing for me to follow. “After you,” he said, his voice smooth.
I obeyed, my body trembling as I stepped into the car. The space was small, the bench narrow, the windows offering a panoramic view of the mountain. Harold settled beside me, his thigh pressing against mine, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold air outside.
The gondola lurched into motion, the cable groaning as we began our ascent. The mountain stretched out beneath us, the snow a pristine white, the peaks a stark contrast against the clear blue sky.
Harold didn’t waste time. He turned to face me fully, his voice low, smooth, confident. “I’ve heard about The Alpine Code,” he said, his finger tracing the silver chain at my throat. “Maddie explained it to me.” His touch was light, but the implication was heavy. “Wear it and you’re available. Take it off and everything stops. Simple.”
I nodded, my throat dry.
Harold leaned back, his smile widening. “I have a proposition. A game. A bet.”
He pointed out the window. “The summit is about fifteen minutes away. If I can make you come before we reach the top, you owe me a night in my suite. No arguments. No running away. You come to my room tonight, and you do whatever I want.”
My breath caught. The idea settled in my stomach like a stone. I was already wet.
“And if I resist?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Harold’s eyes were dark with something I couldn’t name—amusement, hunger, satisfaction. “If you make it to the summit without coming, I’ll double your tip for the week. Cash. Tonight.” He named a figure—generous, more than I made in a month.
I thought about the debt, the power of saying no, the way my body had already started to prepare itself for his hands. But the bet was about more than money. It was about proving myself. About control.
“What’s your answer, Tessa?” he asked, his voice a dark promise.
I met his gaze. “You have a deal.”
Harold didn’t rush. He unbuckled my ski pants with slow, deliberate movements, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet car. He slid his hand inside my shorts, his fingers finding me already wet. He circled my clit slowly, deliberately. He was skilled—he knew exactly how to build pressure without pushing me over.
I gripped the bench, my breath coming in sharp gasps. The gondola swayed slightly, the view of the tree line passing by the windows. I tried to think about anything else—the debt, the cold outside, the other gondolas—but his fingers were too precise.
“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “We’ve only just begun.”
He pulled his hand out, brought his fingers to his mouth, tasted me. “Sweet,” he said, his smile knowing.
Then he pushed me back against the bench, kneeling in front of me. He pulled my shorts down, just enough, and put his mouth on me. His tongue was even better than his fingers. I gasped, my hips lifting off the bench, my fingers tangling in his hair. The gondola creaked as we rose higher, the snow drifts a blur of white outside the windows.
A shadow passed—another gondola on an adjacent cable. I saw faces through the glass, indistinct but close enough to make my stomach clench. They couldn’t possibly see what was happening, but the risk sent a fresh wave of heat through me.
I was close. So close. I clenched my thighs around his head, but he pulled away just before I tipped over.
“Not yet,” he said, grinning.
He stood, pushing two fingers back inside me, curling them upward. His thumb pressed my clit. He watched my face as he worked me. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Almost there. But the summit is still two minutes away.”
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The pleasure was a white-hot coil, tightening with every stroke of his fingers, every circle of his thumb.
He sped up. The pressure was unbearable.
I came—hard, screaming, my body convulsing against the bench. The gondola rocked. Snowflakes smeared against the glass.
Harold withdrew his hand, wiping it on his own pants. He looked out the window. “The summit,” he said calmly. “We’re here.”
I was slumped on the bench, gasping, my legs trembling. My shorts were still around my thighs. My necklace was twisted.
Harold helped me straighten my clothes, his touch almost tender. “I’ll collect tonight,” he said, his voice a low promise. “My suite. 9 PM. Don’t be late.”
He stepped out of the gondola, offering his hand. I took it, my legs unsteady.
The mountain air was cold on my flushed face. I looked back at the gondola, already descending with new passengers.
I had lost the bet.
And I couldn’t wait to pay up.