“Cabin twelve. Fireplace works.” She winks and slides a key across the counter.
Norah’s cheeks are pink as we head back outside and toward our cabin.
It’s the same route we took years ago, me half-carrying her when she could barely stand from the heat overtaking her body. My chest tightens remembering it.
I unlock the door, and warmth greets us. The fireplace crackles low, and soft amber light spills across the bedspread.
Norah steps inside, shaking snow from her hair. “It’s so nice,” she says, running her hands over the quilt. “And warm.”
“I’m glad you like it. Now, are you ready for your surprise?”
“I thought this room was the surprise.”
“Part of it,” I tell her, hanging my coat.
She turns toward me, smiling in that way that undoes every bit of restraint I have. “Then what’s the rest?”
“This.”
I steady my breathing, unbuttoning my shirt beneath it. Her gaze follows the movement of my hands. Her breath catches when the fabric slips from my shoulders.
“Dorian…”
The ink curls along my arm, up toward my shoulder—her favorite flowers. White lilies, pink peonies, and little bursts of lavender woven between.
Her eyes widen, pupils dark. “You—holy fuck!”
“Do you like it?” I ask quietly.
She moves closer, her fingers trembling as she touches the tattoo. Her voice wavers. “You said you’d never get one. Remember? You called tattoos bumper stickers on a Bentley.”
“I changed my mind.”
Her thumb traces a petal. “Why?”
I cup her cheek. “Because we fight. Because we’re stubborn. Because I want to carry a version of you with me. For eternity. You’re it for me, Norah. I went to visit my dad in New York, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So I found this artist in Brooklyn and told him exactly what I wanted. Your flowers. Your kind of wild.”
Her head bobs, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love it. I love you. You’re crazy, you know that?”
“I’m crazy for you.” I kiss her, and everything inside me unravels.
The taste of her mingled with the crisp bite of winter air still clinging to her skin, the sound of her breath catching against my mouth, the way her hands slide up my torso—it’s all heat and home and something holy.
My fingers tangle in her hair that’s been driving me insane since we stepped into this room, and I pull her closer, deeper into the kiss.
Norah moans softly into my mouth, her body pressing flush against mine. She’s still in that thick wool coat she wore against the snow, the one with the faux fur lining at the collar that brushes my jaw as I tilt her head back.
But beneath it, I know what she’s wearing—the fitted sweater that hugs her curves, the miniskirt that clings to her hips like a second skin. I’ve been imagining peeling it off her all night.
My hands move to the buttons of her coat, working them open one by one, the fabric parting to reveal the soft turtleneck underneath, dotted with tiny snowflakes that are already melting from her warmth.
“Dorian,” she whispers when I break the kiss just long enough to shrug the coat from her shoulders. It hits the floor with a soft thud, and then my mouth is back on hers, hungrier now, nipping at her lower lip until she gasps.
She drags her nails down my bare skin, light at first, then harder, leaving faint red trails that sting in the best way. The sensation shoots straight to my cock, already straining against my jeans.
I groan against her lips, backing her toward the bed. The fireplace crackles beside us, casting flickering shadows that dance across her face, highlighting the flush creeping up her neck.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rough. “Let me see you—all of you.”
