Chapter 8 #2
I kick off my boots, hopping from foot to foot. Then, heart pounding, I strip off my coat, flannel, thermal, leggings, and underwear, until the cold hits my bare skin like a slap.
“Holy—” I suck in a gasp, everything goose pimpling at once. “OK. Wow. That’s -”
Nate swears softly, eyes wide, and for a second I forget to be cold.
“Jesus, Ally.” His gaze sweeps me, hungry and incredulous, lingering on my diamond hard nipples. “You’re… incredible.”
“Less staring, more stripping,” I manage through chattering teeth. “We’re on a timer.”
He groans and undresses quickly, driven by self-preservation and, apparently, hormones.
Shirt off, sweats down, briefs gone, until he’s as naked and goosebumps as I am, every hard line and warm muscle exposed to the merciless, glorious air.
Even the cold doesn’t prevent the twitch of his cock in my direction.
The cold steals my breath. So does he.
We look at each other once, eyes wide, and then we both start laughing, half hysteria, half joy.
“This is insane,” he says.
“Three,” I say, backing toward the snow. “Two. One—”
We fling ourselves backward like kids, bodies hitting the powder with a whoomp that knocks the air out of my lungs. It’s so cold it burns, every nerve singing with shock.
“Move your arms!” I gasp. “Angel, angel…”
We scrape out wobbly wings, legs kicking, snow flying. I can’t stop laughing, laughter scraped raw by the air, turning to shrieks as the cold reaches every possible part of me.
“OK, abort mission!” Nate yells, teeth chattering. “I can’t feel my soul!”
We scramble up, slipping, grabbing at each other, and sprint as fast as we can back to the porch, into the cabin, slamming the door behind us. Stumbling, laughing breathlessly and swearing, snow melting in streaks down our skin, we are both damp and shivering and ridiculously alive.
“Shower,” Nate pants. “Nownownow.”
“Can’t argue,” I say, grabbing the towels, tossing one at him and wrapping the other around my shoulders. “Come on.”
We half-run, half-hop to the bathroom, not bothering with modesty now. Not after we just made anatomically detailed snow angels together.
He twists the hot tap full blast, steam billowing fast. Our shoulders bump, feet slipping on the tiles, still laughing as water needles our frozen skin.
“Owww,” I hiss, as my body adjusts from ice to heat. “This might actually kill me.”
“Worth it,” Nate says, voice low beside my ear. His hands slide to my hips under the spray, anchoring me as the water washes away the last of the snow.
We stand there for a minute, just breathing. The sound of the water fills the space. His chest presses lightly against my back. My heart hammers, not from cold now, but from something entirely different.
“Ally,” he murmurs, mouth close to the wet curve of my shoulder. “Are you still OK with… this?” His thumbs stroke over my hipbones, careful. “With me?”
I turn in his hands, water slicking down both of us, and look up into his face. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes dark and open.
“Yes,” I say clearly. “Definitely.”
Relief flickers through him like someone cut his strings. His hand lifts to cradle the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw.
“Then I really hope cabin rule four covers shower sex,” he whispers as he leans in, even as his other hand slides lower to curve around the swell of my ass. I meet him halfway, kissing him hard, the tile cool at my back, the water hot at my shoulders, his body a solid, blazing line pressed to mine.
“Yes,” I murmur against his mouth. “I’m sure it does.”
The second fuck is nothing like the first.
The first had been all urgency, years of hunger finally unbottled. This is slower, lazier, wrapped in laughter and steam and relishing touch and a sense of we’re really doing this, aren’t we?
He takes his time, mapping my body with hands and mouth, tasting me like he can’t believe I’m real. I thread my fingers into his wet hair and pull, drawing a groan from deep in his chest that makes my toes curl.
“Turn around for me,” he whispers against my throat.
I brace my hands on the slick tile, heart pounding, the spray hitting my chest as he presses in behind me, kissing the nape of my neck, my shoulder, the line of my spine.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, sliding a hand between my thighs, finding me already aching, ready. “Tell me you still want it.”
“I want it,” I gasp. “I want you.”
He grazes his teeth along the point where my neck meets my shoulder, making me shiver, and sinks into me slowly, carefully, his hands gripping my hips like I’m the only real thing in the world.
The sound that tears out of me is half moan, half laugh of disbelief.
Outside, the snow lies quiet, our naked angels stamped into it.
Inside, my palms rest flat on the tile, his chest pressed to my back. Every thrust is a slow, deliberate brand, heat wrapped in heat, the water pounding a rhythm we fall into without thinking.
“Ally,” he groans against my ear. “God, you feel -”
“Don’t stop,” I choke out, rocking back into him.
He doesn’t. He holds me so steady that I relax completely, one arm banded around my waist, the other sliding down to where we’re joined, fingers circling, pressing, coaxing exactly where I need them.
I come, hard, with my forehead against the tile, a raw sound scraping out of my throat, everything in me clenching around him and dragging him over the edge right after me. He shudders, burying a groan in my shoulder, hips stuttering, holding me tight until the tremors pass.
For a long moment we just stand there, breathing hard, water cascading over both of us, my legs shaky, his chest heaving against my back.
Finally he eases out, both of us hissing through our teeth at the drag. Then he turns me gently and kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips, like he’s grateful and sorry and astonished all at once. “Rule four,” he says hoarsely, “we definitely don’t forget this.”
We stay in the shower until the hot water threatens to run out, then stumble back to the bedroom wrapped in towels, skin humming, hair damp, bodies boneless.
Outside, the snow keeps our secret. Inside, the cabin feels less like a hiding place and more like a suspended moment in time.
Temporary, I remind myself.
For now.
But as I curl into Nate’s side under the blankets, his hand drawing lazy patterns on my hip, the fire crackling low in the other room, I can’t help thinking:
Whatever happens when the snow melts… Whatever we decide when the roads clear…
This?
Naked snow angels and shower sex and laughing into each other’s mouths like we were always meant to get here?
This is ours.
And no one can take it away.