He leans close, his breath brushing my ear. “Come outside.”
I should say no. I should laugh and tell him I’m too busy hosting. Instead, I nod.
The snow is falling again, softer this time, flakes catching in my hair as we step onto the porch. The night is still, the lanterns strung across the eaves glowing golden against the white. My boots crunch against the drift, and I hug my arms around myself as the cold bites my cheeks.
He follows me into the dark, his presence as steady as the mountains, and when I glance back, the lanternlight carves shadows along his cheekbones, makes his eyes gleam like embers banked under ash.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, though the words come out softer than I mean.
“Yet here I am.”
The silence stretches, filled only by the whisper of falling snow. I shiver, though not from cold, and when he steps closer, I don’t move away.
One dance. One moment. And maybe, if the snow keeps falling, one mistake I’ll never regret.
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 kneelsto 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.”
