Chapter 1 #2
When we pull apart, she whispers, “Forever someday?”
“Forever someday,” I vow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll make sure of it.”
The door opens with a soft chime. Inside, the air smells like pine cleaner and cocoa. A woman behind the counter looks up from her knitting. Her gray hair is tucked under a Santa hat, and she beams when she sees us.
“Well now, aren’t you two a sight,” she says. “Snow’s picking up fast. You’ll be glad to stay in.”
“That’s the plan,” I tell her, fishing my wallet from my coat.
She checks her ledger. “Reservation for Dorian James?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Cabin twelve. Fireplace works.” She winks and slides a key across the counter.
Norah’s cheeks are pink as we head back outside and toward our cabin.
It’s the same route we took years ago, me half-carrying her when she could barely stand from the heat overtaking her body. My chest tightens remembering it.
I unlock the door, and warmth greets us. The fireplace crackles low, and soft amber light spills across the bedspread.
Norah steps inside, shaking snow from her hair. “It’s so nice,” she says, running her hands over the quilt. “And warm.”
“I’m glad you like it. Now, are you ready for your surprise?”
“I thought this room was the surprise.”
“Part of it,” I tell her, hanging my coat.
She turns toward me, smiling in that way that undoes every bit of restraint I have. “Then what’s the rest?”
“This.”
I steady my breathing, unbuttoning my shirt beneath it. Her gaze follows the movement of my hands. Her breath catches when the fabric slips from my shoulders.
“Dorian…”
The ink curls along my arm, up toward my shoulder—her favorite flowers. White lilies, pink peonies, and little bursts of lavender woven between.
Her eyes widen, pupils dark. “You—holy fuck!”
“Do you like it?” I ask quietly.
She moves closer, her fingers trembling as she touches the tattoo. Her voice wavers. “You said you’d never get one. Remember? You called tattoos bumper stickers on a Bentley.”
“I changed my mind.”
Her thumb traces a petal. “Why?”
I cup her cheek. “Because we fight. Because we’re stubborn.
Because I want to carry a version of you with me.
For eternity. You’re it for me, Norah. I went to visit my dad in New York, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
So I found this artist in Brooklyn and told him exactly what I wanted. Your flowers. Your kind of wild.”
Her head bobs, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love it. I love you. You’re crazy, you know that?”
“I’m crazy for you.” I kiss her, and everything inside me unravels.
The taste of her mingled with the crisp bite of winter air still clinging to her skin, the sound of her breath catching against my mouth, the way her hands slide up my torso—it’s all heat and home and something holy.
My fingers tangle in her hair that’s been driving me insane since we stepped into this room, and I pull her closer, deeper into the kiss.
Norah moans softly into my mouth, her body pressing flush against mine. She’s still in that thick wool coat she wore against the snow, the one with the faux fur lining at the collar that brushes my jaw as I tilt her head back.
But beneath it, I know what she’s wearing—the fitted sweater that hugs her curves, the miniskirt that clings to her hips like a second skin. I’ve been imagining peeling it off her all night.
My hands move to the buttons of her coat, working them open one by one, the fabric parting to reveal the soft turtleneck underneath, dotted with tiny snowflakes that are already melting from her warmth.
“Dorian,” she whispers when I break the kiss just long enough to shrug the coat from her shoulders. It hits the floor with a soft thud, and then my mouth is back on hers, hungrier now, nipping at her lower lip until she gasps.
She drags her nails down my bare skin, light at first, then harder, leaving faint red trails that sting in the best way. The sensation shoots straight to my cock, already straining against my jeans.
I groan against her lips, backing her toward the bed. The fireplace crackles beside us, casting flickering shadows that dance across her face, highlighting the flush creeping up her neck.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rough. “Let me see you—all of you.”
Her hands tremble slightly as she tugs at the hem of her sweater, but I stop her, covering her fingers with mine.
“Let me.” I pull it up slowly, savoring the reveal: the smooth plane of her stomach, the lace edge of her bra peeking out—black, delicate, the kind that makes my mouth water.
She lifts her arms, and I slide it over her head, tossing it aside. Her hair tumbles back down, wild and tousled, and I can’t resist burying my face in it, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—roses, mixed with something uniquely Norah.
She’s breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling, and I trace the line of her collarbone with my lips, down to the swell of her breasts. The bra is a front-clasp, thank god, and I flick it open with one hand, the lace falling away to expose her.
Her nipples are already peaked, pink, and begging for attention, and I don’t make her wait. I take one into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder, my tongue swirling around the tight bud.
Norah arches into me, her nails scraping down my back now.
“Oh—Dorian, yes,” she pants, her voice breaking on my name. She’s touching me everywhere—palms flat against my chest, thumbs brushing my nipples, nails raking over my abs.
I’m rock hard, aching for her, but I want this to be about her first. I want to make her come undone before I lose myself.
I guide her down onto the bed, the quilt soft and worn beneath us, warm from the fire. She kicks off her boots, and I help her with her skirt and tights, sliding them down her legs.
I take my time, kissing the inside of her knee, then her calf, her ankle. Underneath, she’s in matching black lace panties, already damp at the center. The sight of her like this—spread out on the bed, firelight gilding her skin—nearly undoes me.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and tug them down, exposing her completely. She’s bare for me, her pussy glistening, folds pink and swollen with need.
“Fuck, Norah,” I breathe, settling between her legs. “You’re perfect.”
Before she can respond, I lean in and lick her, long and slow, from her entrance to her clit. She tastes like salt and sweetness, like everything I’ve been craving. Her hips buck, a cry escaping her lips, and I do it again, flattening my tongue against her core.
My hands grip her thighs, holding her open as I devour her, sucking her clit into my mouth and flicking it with the tip of my tongue.
Norah’s fingers thread through my hair, pulling hard, her nails scraping my scalp in a way that makes my cock throb.
“Oh fuck, don’t stop,” she moans, her voice high and desperate.
I won’t.
I can’t.
I lap at her relentlessly, circling her clit, dipping inside her to taste how wet she’s getting. She’s dripping now, coating my chin, and I love it—the mess of her, the way she’s falling apart under my mouth.
I slide one finger into her, then two, curling them against that spot that drives her crazy. She clenches around me, her thighs trembling against my shoulders.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” I murmur against her skin, the vibration making her whimper. I suck harder, pumping my fingers faster, and she shatters, her back bowing off the bed, a keening cry tearing from her throat.
Her pussy pulses around my fingers, soaking them, and I keep going, drawing out every wave until she’s gasping.
I pull back, licking my lips, and crawl up her body. She’s flushed, but she reaches for me, dragging her nails down my chest again, over my ribs, leaving marks that I’ll feel tomorrow.
“Your turn,” she says, voice husky, but I shake my head.
“Not yet.”
I kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue, and she moans into it. My hand drifts back down, fingers circling her clit lazily as she recovers. She’s still slick, still sensitive, but I need to talk to her before we go further.
“Norah,” I say, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. My fingers slide lower, teasing her entrance. “Are you on birth control? I mean, with everything... your heat, my... situation.”
I don’t say knot, not yet, but we both know what I mean. It’s been years since that first time, but the memory hangs between us.
We’ve had several hookups since then, but they’re always rushed, and I never get to knot her. But I also know it might trigger her into heat.
Neither of us can handle that, not when she has to be back to work tomorrow morning. I’m surprised her aunt is even allowing her to be out so late.
I want her so fucking much.
I need her.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
She bites her lip, nodding, her hips rocking against my hand. “Yes—fuck, yes. The pill. And I got the suppressants from Miss Thea for heat. I’m safe.” Her words dissolve into a moan as I push two fingers inside her again. She’s so wet, so ready, but I want her drenched.
“Good,” I whisper, kissing her neck. “Because I want to feel all of you. No barriers.” I crook my fingers, rubbing that spot inside her, and she clenches, nails digging into my arms.
We’re reminiscing now, the words tumbling out between gasps. “Remember your first heat? In this very cabin? You were burning up, couldn’t think straight. I stayed with you, held you through it.”
Her eyes flutter shut, but she nods, moaning as I add a third finger, stretching her gently. “You rubbed my clit for hours. Made me so messy—coming over and over until I couldn’t anymore. You were so gentle, even when I was begging.”
I smile against her skin, my thumb circling her clit in tight, firm strokes. “I couldn’t leave you like that. You were my best friend. Still are. I’d do anything for you.”
She’s soaking my hand now, and I can’t wait any longer.
Norah’s hand slides down my body, fumbling with my belt. The leather is worn, the buckle heavy, and she gets it open with trembling fingers.