Chapter 16
CLARA
His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me away from the porch light and around the side of the lodge.
The snow muffles our footsteps, the world gone silent except for the low thrum of the hot springs pump.
Steam rises in gentle plumes against the dark, the air tasting of minerals and cold pine.
He leads me to the secluded spa, a natural stone basin built into the mountainside, half-sheltered by overhanging firs. Enchanted lights, the kind Pippa must have strung, pulse softly beneath the water’s surface, casting shifting cobalt and silver patterns over the steam.
He turns me to face him, his hands coming up to frame my face. His thumbs stroke my cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle for a man of his size. “Clara.”
My name is a quiet prayer on his lips. I nod, a silent permission I’ve never given anyone.
He undresses me with a slow, deliberate focus that steals my breath.
His fingers are deft on the buttons of my dress, pushing the fabric from my shoulders until it pools at my feet.
The cold air pebbles my skin, but his gaze is a physical warmth.
He kneels to remove my boots, my tights, his hands skimming my calves with a reverence that makes my throat tight.
He stands, shedding his own clothes with an efficient grace. The sight of him, fully revealed in the shimmering light, is a punch to my gut. He is power and beauty, all carved muscle and intent. He steps into the water, the heat swirling around his hips, and holds a hand out to me.
I take it. The water is a perfect, searing embrace. He draws me into the center, into his arms, until we’re chest to chest. The steam curls around us.
His mouth finds mine, not with demand, but with a deep, searching hunger. His hands roam my back, my waist, learning the shape of me as if committing it to memory. He kisses a path down my throat, his lips hot against my skin, and I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He lowers us until I’m cradled in his lap, the water buoying me. His cock, hard and thick, presses against my thigh. He reaches between us, his fingers finding my wetness, stroking me with a slow, circular pressure that has me gasping into his shoulder.
“Please,” I whisper, the word torn from me.
He shifts me, his hands gripping my hips, and guides himself to my entrance. He pushes inside with one long, relentless stroke that fills me completely, stretching me to the point of exquisite tension. I cry out, the sound swallowed by the steam and the night.
He stills, buried deep, his forehead pressed to mine. His breath is ragged. “Clara.”
He begins to move, a slow, deep rhythm that is entirely his. Each thrust is measured, intentional, a claiming that feels less like possession and more like devotion. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. The water sloshes around us, a counter-rhythm to the furious pounding of my heart.
His pace builds, the intensity coiling tight in my belly.
His mouth is on my breast, his tongue laving my nipple before he suckles deeply, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to my core.
I clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, riding the wave of sensation he’s building inside me.
“Let go,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice a rough vibration. “I have you.”
And I do. The world fractures into light and heat and the feeling of him moving inside me, relentless and perfect. My climax crashes over me, a silent, shattering wave that pulls a broken sound from my throat.
He holds me through the aftershocks, his own rhythm stuttering as my inner muscles clench around him. A low groan rumbles in his chest, a sound of pure, undiluted pleasure. He doesn’t stop. He shifts his grip on my hips, his thrusts becoming deeper, more purposeful, chasing his own release.
The water sloshes against the stone edge, a steady, wet rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart.
He buries his face in the curve of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.
His cock slides in and out of my slick, sensitive pussy, each stroke reigniting a low, building heat deep within me.
His hands slide from my hips to my ass, lifting me slightly to change the angle. The new position sends a jolt of pure sensation straight through me. He drives into me, nailing a spot that makes me gasp and dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his back.
“Again,” he murmurs, his voice thick and strained. “Come for me again.”
His command is a dark promise. He fucks me with a steady, relentless pace that steals my breath. The pleasure builds again, a tighter, sharper coil than before. I can feel the tension in his body, the rigid control he’s exerting to hold back. He’s waiting for me.
I surrender to it, letting the second climax tear through me with a force that leaves me trembling and boneless against him. The feel of me pulsing around him is his undoing. His control shatters.
His thrusts become frantic, deep, and possessive. He drives into me one last, final time, his whole body shuddering as he spills himself inside me with a guttural cry that is swallowed by the steam and the night.
The water stills around us, the only sound our ragged breathing and the gentle lap of waves against stone. He holds me against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum against my ear. His hand strokes my damp hair, his touch so tender it makes my own chest ache.
He shifts, his lips near my temple. He draws a breath that feels heavy, significant. “Clara, I…”
I go perfectly still, waiting. The words hang in the steam-thick air, a promise half-formed.
But he stops. The sentence dies, replaced by the press of his lips to my forehead. It’s a kiss of apology, of retreat. The moment curdles, the unspoken thing settling between us like a weight.
I pull back, forcing a lightness into my voice I don’t feel. “Better get back before Pippa sends out a search party. She’ll assume a yeti got me.”
He watches me, his dark eyes unreadable. “A yeti would be a fool to try.”
We climb out of the water, the winter air a shocking slap after the heat.
We dress in silence, the earlier intimacy replaced by a stiff, careful distance.
He helps me with the zipper on my dress, his knuckles brushing my spine, and the touch is like a brand.
I step away before he can say anything else he might not mean.
“You go ahead,” I tell him, nodding toward the lodge. “I’ll… I need a minute.”
He hesitates, a protest forming on his lips, but then he just gives a curt nod. “Don’t linger. It’s cold.”
He disappears around the corner, his broad shoulders swallowed by the shadows.
I stand alone for a moment, the ghost of his touch on my skin, the ghost of his words in the air.
I smooth my dress, run a hand through my tangled hair, and try to reassemble the person I was before I followed him out here.
I walk back to the party alone. The music and laughter hit me like a wall.
I slip through the back door, blending into the crowd, a smile fixed on my face for anyone who looks.
I see him across the room, already holding a glass of whiskey, listening to old Mr. Henderson with a look of polite interest. As if the last hour never happened.
He doesn’t look at me. I grab a glass of punch I don’t want and wonder what the hell we’re doing.