Page 21 of The Snowflake Effect

He shakes the strap off his wrist and drops the thing over the side, not bothering to watch it fall. He reaches between my thighs, and I wiggle on the chair, rocking against the movement of his hand, but it’s not enough. “Unzip my pants, Kolton. Please.”

He steals another kiss and seems about to make his move but pulls back. “First admit I rocked your world last night.”

Cheeky bastard. “What if you didn’t? What if I’m that good at faking it?”

He presses his hand exactly where I’m aching for him, the rhythm and heat and dampness too much, then he scoots away, taking those skilled fingers with him. “Then I guess we’re done here.” But his dark eyes flash with hunger.

I try to hold out. Really, I do. I replay every stupid argument: how he comments on my eating—even though his tone is teasing, not rude—his know-it-all jabs. The phone call that had him leaving me in the lurch. But I’m not that strong, and needs are needs, so…

Since I can’t grab his hair or straddle him to rock against the hard-on he’s sporting, I drag the poles from under my thighs and let them join his in the abyss below. I scoot right beside him and palm his erection over his ski pants. “You still annoy me, and talking to you is up there with memorizing Shakespeare, but last night? I’ve never come so hard, so if you don’t stick your hand down my pants, I’m sending you after those poles.”

He grins. “Knew it.”

He removes his glove, shoves it into his jacket, then his mouth crushes mine as he undoes my zipper and wiggles his hand beneath my long underwear.

“God, you’re wet,” he says against my lips, the most delicious sounds humming from his chest.

I clutch the safety bar and roll my hips into his fingers, the circling and rubbing making it hard to sit still.

He presses his helmet to mine, whispered words floating between us. “Last night,” he says. “That red lingerie and those boots.” Two thick fingers plunge inside of me, finding the spot that’s been neglected far too long. “I had to fuck you. I couldn’t stop.” He changes the angle of his fingers and my insides clench, my calves so tight they cramp. “Does this feel good, Shay? Do you like it?”

His thumb strokes harder, and I whimper. “So good. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, baby. I won’t stop. I want to feel you explode around my fingers. I want to hear you scream my name this time.”

I place my hand over his, increasing the pressure. One stroke later, my hips buck, my movements no longer voluntary. Electricity ignites my nerves. Air traps in my throat.

“Come for me, Shay. Let go.”

“God, Kolton, yes.” The second I say his name, waves of pleasure rush through me on repeat.

I keep my hand on his as my hips jerk, and he whispers, “Yeah, that’s it. So fucking hot.”

When the tremors subside, I release my hold on him. He slowly eases out his fingers…and what does he do? He slips those fingers past his lips and sucks on them like they’re a Shay Popsicle.

“That was…” At a loss for words, I zip up my pants.

“Mmhm, yeah.” He nods and puts on his glove. “I guess we don’t have any poles.”

We both look down, our equipment long gone.

What do poles cost these days? Fifty? A hundred bucks? Two? That credit card of mine is getting a workout this trip.

I glance at Kolton, the outline of his cock still pressing against his pants. If we weren’t near the end of the lift, I’d lean over and wrap my lips around those thick inches. I should be hitting the regret stage of this incident, but I still haven’t seen Kolton in all his naked glory—those shoulders, that backside. His rock-hard chest.

My no-men motto might have to wait until after this trip.

He adjusts his new Oakley goggles, the cost of which alone would put my account into receivership. “Now you owe me a pair of goggles and poles,” he says. “If you don’t get that hostility in check, I’ll have to keep a running tab.”

He smirks as though congratulating himself for his clever wit.

“When you admit you ran me off the hill, I’ll pay for the goggles.” My tone isn’t as sharp as before, but I feel my hackles rising. The Dick left his mark on me, all right. One hint someone’s bending me to their will or trying to tame me, and my defensiveness ignites.

“I was joking, Shay. You know, those lines said to cause amusement or laughter in others?”

“Ha ha,” I force out. “I wouldn’t quit the hair cutting job for standup.”

His expression sours as he huffs out a breath. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”