Chapter 9
Nate
Ally’s tucked into my side, the duvet a warm, shifting weight over both of us, with her thigh draped across mine like she’s claiming territory. The fire is low, the room honey-dark, and her fingers trace slow, idle lines down my stomach in a way that’s putting my nether regions on standby.
“Nate?” she murmurs.
“Mmm?”
She hesitates, and that alone makes me look at her. Ally hesitating is always the beginning of something interesting and honest.
“Earlier,” she says softly, “when you… You know. When you went down on me.” She flushes, eyes flicking away. “You really like doing that, don’t you?”
Something in my chest loosens. “Understatement of the century.”
She searches my face, like she’s trying to read the space between my words. “Why? What is it about that that you enjoy so much?”
I could tease her, but she’s asking sincerely. There’s vulnerability in the question, and I respect it.
“Well. It makes you feel good,” I say. “That’s half the appeal.
” I brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
“The other half? It’s… the honesty of it.
No performance. No pretending. Just you, and a direct line to how your body responds to me.
I love being that close to you, and knowing you trust me enough to let go.
And to be honest, even if getting eaten out did nothing for you, I’d still beg you to let me do it anyway.
It’s just… my thing. I’ve always been this way, since I knew going down on a woman existed as an act. It’s just pure fucking joy to me.”
Her breath catches, a subtle, beautiful shift. “So it’s not just-”
“It’s not a kink about control for me,” I cut in gently.
“Though again, that’s a factor, getting to deal out your pleasure to you in my own time.
But mostly, it’s a devotion thing.” I swallow, my thumb tracing her bottom lip.
“Pussy worship, like its name suggests, is always gonna be about worship, yeah. But not in some weird, pedestal way. More like… I think you’re incredible.
And I want you to know that. With my mouth.
With my hands. With all the time in the world.
” I kiss her lips gently. “It’s like kissing your soul. ”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away this time. Instead, she holds my gaze as she quietly asks, “Would you… do it again?”
The question is like a jab to the solar plexus. The best kind.
“Fuck, yeah. Any time you like. Come here.”
Ally shifts, slow and deliberate, lying back against the pillows the way I’ve pictured a hundred thousand times since the moment we met.
The firelight glows along her skin, turning every inch of her warm gold.
I move between her knees with a reverence I don’t bother hiding, not now that she knows what this act does to me.
She watches me at first, with curiosity, nerves, anticipation all mixed together in her eyes.
But when I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, she exhales like I’ve released her from bonds.
“I want you to tell me if anything feels too much,” I murmur.
“I will,” she whispers. “Just… stay with me.”
Always, if you’d let me.
I kiss a path along her thigh, not rushing, letting her feel the intention before anything else.
When I finally lower my mouth to her, I do it the way I told her: slow, steady, and reverent.
Not devouring, not frantic, just present.
Giving her space to feel. Giving myself space to feel her respond, to me, and to know this act I’ve wanted all my adult life is really happening.
Her back arches gently as her breath stutters. “Nate…” she whispers, voice breaking open.
I look up at her from where I’m settled, breath warm against her, and say quietly, honestly, “You’re beautiful. Let me show you.”
And she does.
She lets me, her body softening, opening, trusting me again.
Relishing her unique taste, I lick her soft lips, the sensitive patch of skin just under her clit, and grin the moment I feel her give in and comb her fingers through my hair.
The sounds she makes take on a delighted quality, like she finally accepts that she is fucking beautiful and this is her due; and that, more than anything, is the hook for me.
This is the ultimate act of sensuality.
There is nothing better on this earth than the way Ally Montrose whimpers, moans, clutches her own breasts and pinching her nipples to increase the intensity.
And when she groans and arches her back as she reaches the apex of the pleasure I’m giving her, once, twice, three times…
This is a late Christmas gift I wasn’t expecting, and it’s the very best one.
If there’s anything in the world sexier and more powerful than Ally’s cunt, I haven’t seen it.
***
We are too warm. Too loose-limbed. Too entangled.
Let it never end.
Yesterday, with its snow angels, shower steam, cabin rules, the kind of hungry, completely-connected-to-each-other sex I didn’t realize was possible, and the lazy intimacy I’ve spent twelve years pretending I didn’t crave, has done something strange to my insides.
I keep waiting for the crash. For Ally to panic, or regret what we’re doing, or the moment she looks at me and decides we made a terrible mistake.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, she steps into the bathroom as I’m running the big claw foot tub for a morning bath, steam curling around her ankles, and says, casual as coffee: “Share?”
My brain bluescreens. “Share?” I echo, trying not to stare at the way the hem of my towel clings to her thighs.
She lifts a brow with a smirk. “Unless you’re suddenly shy.”
Shy? I would spend the rest of my life naked in this cabin with her. But sure, let’s call it shy.
“Nope,” I say, voice lower than intended. “Just checking you actually want that.”
Her smile curves slow and wicked. “Get in the tub, Woodruff.”
I obey with a dirty grin.
The water is nearly scalding, delicious on sore muscles. I sink in with a groan, the tub huge enough for two if we sit close. Very close. Deliciously close.
She drops her towel without ceremony, and my brain short-circuits again.
Ally really does have a body to die for, tight and supple in a way that speaks of discipline and devotion to her sport rather than adherence to beauty norms; I know that any pleasing aesthetics are secondary for her, coincidental, and that if her sport demanded she weigh four hundred pounds, she’d do it. And I’d love her body just as much.
Stepping into the water, she eases herself down between my legs, her back to my chest. My arms move around her automatically, drawing her in, like my body is reacting on reflex. I can feel her skin against my dick, and it’s… God, it’s some kind of wonderful.
She lets out a sigh that dissolves directly into my bloodstream. “Unnnfff, this feels good,” she murmurs, stretching her legs along the porcelain, head tipping back onto my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say, kissing the damp skin just below her ear. “It does.”
We sit like that for a long, lazy while.
My hands drift under the water to her stomach, her hips, the curve of her thighs; nothing urgent, just longed-for connection.
She traces the veins on my forearm, the shape of my wrist, my ribs, the scar on my shoulder from a horseback stunt that went wrong in season two.
It feels unreal. Too tender. Too… easy.
“This doesn’t feel like a mistake,” she says suddenly, surprising both of us.
Darling, you read my mind. I tighten my arms around her. “It really doesn’t.”
“But it should,” she goes on, kicking up a little wave with her foot. “We’re stuck here, we’re technically former family, we’re absolutely going to get judged into next year, and everything about this is… messy.”
“And?” I murmur against her neck.
I feel her relax as she smiles. “And I can’t bring myself to care right now.”
I smile into her skin. “Cabin rules.”
She laughs softly. “Cabin rules.”
I think about kissing her shoulder again. Letting my fingers wander to her wet, soapy nipples…
But the universe has other plans.
Because that’s when the front door opens.
I hear a voice, followed by the unmistakable rustle of coats.
“Oh shit,” Ally breathes.
I sit up fast, sloshing water over the sides. “Did you lock the door?”
“No!”
“Why not?!”
“I didn’t think anyone would show up in a blizzard!”
My entire body tenses. “Stay here. I’ll -”
“Hello? Mr. Woodruff? Mac sent me to check on the cabin generator - oh my GOD.”
Ally and I both freeze, my arms covering as much of her as I can, her body blocking and preserving my own modesty.
Standing in the open bathroom doorway is Taranne, Mac’s personal assistant. A long suffering woman who has seen far too much of my father’s chaos, and apparently now too much of mine.
Her eyes go from Ally, to me, to the two-person bathtub full of swirling water that we’re both still sitting in, unsure what to do next.
She drops the folder she was holding. “Oh my GOD,” she says again, hands flying to her mouth. “You… you two - Nate - Ally - oh my GOD.”
Ally makes a sound somewhere between a squeak and a threat.
“Taranne,” I attempt, “we can explain -”
“No you can’t!” she shrieks. “You’re naked! You’re wet! You’re - oh my God, I’m going to faint.”
“You’re not going to faint,” Ally snaps, reaching for a towel.
“Oh, trust me, I might!” Taranne fans herself wildly. “Nate, Mr. Woodruff said you were in Montana to rest! I thought maybe at worst you’d frozen to death and I’d find a corpse! I was not emotionally prepared to walk in on - on whatever - THIS!” She gestures at us like we’re a crime scene.
Nerves kick in. Adrenaline surges. Heat drains from my body in a cold rush of holy shit this is real now.
“Taranne,” I say again, calmer this time. “Please. Breathe.”
She inhales like she’s drowning. “Does Mac know?”
“No!” Ally and I say in unison.
“Oh, God,” Taranne moans. “He’s going to absolutely… He’ll combust. Explode. He’ll -”
“Taranne,” I cut in sharply, “you can’t tell him.”