Chapter 5
The morning air was sharp with the scent of diesel and frost as I lined up with the other staff for the mandatory avalanche drill. The resort’s safety protocols were no joke—Eclipse Mountain took its reputation seriously. And today, that meant standing in the cold with a group of other hosts, our breath fogging in the air as Gunnar, the head of ski patrol, barked orders.
Gunnar was a wall of muscle and beard, his voice rough as gravel. He moved through the group like a man who owned the mountain itself, his presence commanding, his gaze sharp. His eyes flicked over me, lingering for a fraction of a second on the silver necklace at my throat before moving on. The silver necklace felt heavier against my skin, the tiny mountain peak charm a stark contrast against my collarbone. My body knew what was coming before my mind did.
The drill was straightforward—simulate a rescue, practice the protocols. I was paired with Gunnar. My pulse jumped.
We moved through the motions, the cold air biting at my lungs, the snow crunching beneath my boots. Gunnar was all business, his voice sharp, his movements precise. He didn’t waste words, didn’t waste time. He was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and he expected the same from everyone else.
The drill ended as abruptly as it had begun. The other staff dispersed, their laughter bright and easy, their voices a low murmur. Gunnar didn’t move. He simply stood there, his eyes on me, his expression unreadable.
“You,” he said, his voice a low growl. “With me.”
I followed, my heart pounding in my chest, my fingers trembling. He led me toward the snowcat garage, the large metal structure looming before us. The air was thick with the scent of gasoline and frost, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the metal walls.
Gunnar didn’t hesitate. He pushed open the door, the hinges groaning as we stepped inside. The garage was dim, the only light filtering through the dirty windows, the air thick with the scent of oil and metal. The snowcats were parked in neat rows, their large forms casting long shadows.
He spun me, his hands gripping my waist, his body pressing against mine. His gloved fingers traced the curve of my hip, his touch possessive, testing. I could feel the heat of him through his uniform, the roughness of his beard against my cheek. His hands slid up, his fingers finding my breasts over the fabric of my puffer jacket. He squeezed, his grip firm, his touch assessing. My body responded without thought, my nipples hardening beneath his touch, my pussy clenching with need.
Gunnar wasn’t a man who asked. He took—and expected you to be ready.
He yanked down my shorts and pinned me against the cold metal wall before I could gasp. No easing in. He thrust hard and deep, filling me in one stroke. I cried out, my hands gripping the metal, my body trembling. The cold metal was a shock against my exposed stomach, the sensation sending a fresh wave of pleasure through me.
This was nothing like Harold. Harold had been transactional—a service provided. Gunnar was different. He wasn’t paying for access. He was taking what he considered his. And my body, traitor that it was, loved the difference.
He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t praise me. He didn’t speak at all. He simply used me, his grunts the only sound as he fucked me from behind, his gloved hand gripping my hip, his body pressing against mine.
I came with a scream, the orgasm ripping through me—not soft, not gentle.
Gunnar didn’t stop. He kept fucking me, his pace relentless, his grip on my hip bruising. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he buried himself inside me.
He pulled out, his gloved hand guiding his cock to my lips. I opened for him, my tongue sliding over the head, my lips sealing around his shaft. I swallowed, tasting him—salt and something darker—before he pulled away. He tucked himself away, his uniform falling back into place, his voice a low growl. “Good,” he said, his tone gruff. “You can handle pressure.”
He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He simply turned and walked away, his boots echoing against the metal floor, leaving me breathless, my pink shorts still bunched around my thighs.
I slid down the wall, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His cum dripped down my thighs, warm against the cold air. I should have felt degraded. Instead, I felt tested. And I had passed.
I touched the silver charm at my throat. The metal was warm now. The Alpine Code didn’t say anything about being gentle. It only said yes. And I had said yes with my body before my mouth could form the word.
Gunnar’s contemptuous approval was more rewarding than any sweet talk. I was exactly where I belonged.