I watch it all unfold, leaning against the lodge door, and my chest aches in the best way. Dralgor is at my side, silent, steady, watching too. Children run past us, Pippa swooping low to crown them with frost circlets, Dee chasing behind with her clipboard even though no one is listening. The mayor raises a mug, the whole town toasts, and the sound rolls through the ridge like thunder, only warmer.
“You built this,” I murmur, my hand brushing against his.
“No,” he says, turning his head toward me. “We did.”
And it’s true. We built it. With splinters in our hands, with fire in our voices, with tears and stubbornness and too many near-misses. With trust that felt like stepping off a cliff. With love that still scares me sometimes, because it feels bigger than the mountain itself.
When the music swells, he turns to me, offers his hand. No words. He doesn’t need them.
I take it, and he pulls me into the crowd, into the dancing, into the warmth of everything we almost lost and somehow kept. His hand is strong, his steps sure, and I can’t stop smiling even when I’m out of breath.
The snow may fall again. It will. Silverpine will freeze and thaw, pipes will burst, roofs will need mending, guests will come and go. But tonight, with firelight in his eyes and the whole town laughing around us, I know one thing for certain.
Our hearts are no longer frostbitten.
They’re home.
CHAPTER 30
DRALGOR
The scent of fresh-cut pine and woodsmoke fills the master suite, the fire casting our shadows, long and dancing, against the new log walls. Clara’s skin is warm gold in the flickering light, her smile a quiet, perfect thing I still can’t believe belongs to me. I lower her onto the thick furs spread before the hearth, my hands spanning her waist.
“This is ours,” she whispers, her fingers tracing my jaw. “All of it.”
I cover her body with mine, the weight a familiar comfort, a claiming that needs no words. My mouth finds hers, not in conquest, but in a slow, deep tasting.
Her lips part on a sigh, and I drink her in, the taste of her like coming home. My hands roam, relearning the dip of her spine, the swell of her hips, the incredible softness of her skin. She arches into my touch, a soft sound catching in her throat.
“Dralgor.” My name is a prayer on her lips.
I shift lower, my mouth trailing a path down her neck, over the frantic pulse at its base, to the peak of one breast. I take her nipple into my mouth, laving it with my tongue until she gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair. Her hips roll against mine, a silent, desperate plea. I slide a hand between her legs, findingher hot and slick, already ready for me. A groan rumbles in my chest. “So wet for me.”
“Always,” she breathes, her eyes dark with need. “Please.”
I guide myself to her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her warmth. I push inside, a slow, inexorable slide that steals the air from both our lungs. She is perfection, tight and welcoming, a heat that threatens to undo me. I bury myself to the hilt, pausing there, my forehead pressed to hers, our breaths mingling.
“You feel…” I start, but words fail. They always do.
She answers by wrapping her legs around my hips, pulling me deeper. I begin to move, a steady, building rhythm. The only sounds are the crackle of the fire and our ragged breathing, the soft, wet sounds of our joining.
Each thrust is a promise, a vow sealed in this room we built together. I drive into her, again and again, her body meeting mine with equal fervor. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her cries growing louder, more urgent.
I move inside her, a rhythm as ancient as the mountains outside our window. Each thrust is a deliberate claiming, a reacquainting of my body with the only home I’ve ever known. Her pussy grips my cock like a silken fist, hot and perfect, and a groan tears from my throat.
Her breath hitches, her head tipping back into the furs. “More.”
I hook my arms under her knees, spreading her wider, opening her up to my every movement. The angle changes, and I drive into her deeper, finding a spot that makes her cry out, a sharp, beautiful sound that goes straight to my core. Her back arches off the floor, her fingers scrambling against my forearms.
“Right there,” she gasps, her eyes squeezed shut. “God, Dralgor, right there.”
I focus on that spot, my hips pistoning, each stroke a little harder, a little faster. The firelight plays over her face, catching the sheen of sweat on her brow. I lean down, capturing her mouth again, swallowing her moans. My tongue mimics the thrust of my cock, and she meets me with a hunger that matches my own.
I break the kiss, my breath ragged. “Touch yourself.”
Her eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure. She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slides between our bodies, her fingers finding her clit. A shudder runs through her the moment she touches herself, and her inner muscles clench around me so tightly it’s almost painful. I watch her, mesmerized, as she circles that sensitive nub, her hips moving in time with my thrusts.
The sight of her pleasure, the feel of her coming apart beneath me, pushes me closer to the edge. My control begins to fray. I can feel the tension coiling in the base of my spine, a gathering storm. Her breaths are coming in short, sharp pants now, her movements growing more frantic.
