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His hands were now heated against my skin. His thumbs skated over my cheeks, causing my toes to curl and my body to shudder. All he’d done was touch my cheeks. His damn, talented thumbs had me about to mewl like a cat in heat.
And to think that I’d convinced myself that I could lie beside him, alone in this hut, and it would have no effect on me.
“No one else is here. No vineyard accounts, no banks, no exes and no sisters meddling in business they had no right to.” Tom nudged my nose with his. “It’s just us now, and whatever you want.”
This hut was a cocoon from our problems and the reality of our lives. It really was a fantasy: snowbound with Tom in a shepherd’s hut.
“And, Rosie, if you don’t want this, that’s fine too. I mean it.”
I shook my head slowly, relishing how I gained more of his touch with the movement.
“I want the fantasy,” I breathed. “Will you give me that, Tom? Please.”
“Yes.” His voice broke on the tiny word. “Yes.”
“Will you kiss me?”
His lips were featherlight on mine. Both of us with eyes open, not quite believing we were doing this. Within seconds, our kiss became feverish. My hands sought his skin. Our bodies stirred against each other.
This moment had been coming for weeks, years. Perhaps this attraction had never waned. It had been there simmering in the background as we’d tried to move on and find this passion with others.
I pulled back, breaking the kiss, with Tom swaying forward.
“I want all of you tonight,” I implored.
“Sex.” Tom’s voice was low and rough, and I nodded. “You’ve got me. All of me.”
He kissed me again, heated, our breaths heavy.
I broke our kiss, yet again. “I had a condom in my pack but—gah.”
“I have one. A spare was in my toiletries bag and I just kept it in there.” His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. “If you really want to do this.”
“I do.”
Tom let go and went to his pack, pulling out spare clothes and uni materials, and then his toiletries bag. He upended the bag with a grunt, spilling everything on the prep bench. Toothbrush and toothpaste fell out. Deodorant rolled to the floor.
He held up a single foil packet, triumphant.
“Get into bed, Rosie.”
I moved fast before any of us changed our minds.
He slipped off his flannelette sleeping pants, his arousal obvious. I shimmied his fleece pants from my hips and down my legs.
This was happening.
Tom climbed back into our sleeping bag with the condom, and faced me, unable to stop his erection jutting into my hip.
“I’m nervous,” he said suddenly.
The Campus Rake looked so unsure, vulnerable.
I cupped his cheek, and he leant into it, his day of growth making my hands tingle. “Were you nervous the first night we slept together?”
Tom huffed a laugh. “No, I was … full of bravado and too horny to even think of being nervous.”
“Why is this different?”
