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Rosie rolled to the side, whimpering.
“Christ on a jet plane in business class,” I muttered, throwing an arm over my eyes.
She shifted and gave my dick a final lick across the tip, and I called out again. I needed her and I was trapped in this sleeping bag sex sauna. After tugging at the zipper and then twisting around, I settled in beside Rosie, and kissed her. Shit, I could taste myself on her lips, on her tongue.
I was fuck drunk.
I broke the kiss and buried my face against her neck. “That was …”
“Intense?”
Rosie ran her fingers down my back. My body shook slightly, my skin breaking out in goosebumps.
“Amazing.” I nuzzled her neck and kissed her skin, tasting salt. “You’re amazing. Perfect.”
We stayed like that for several minutes until we gained strength to clean ourselves again and pull on some clothes and zip up in our cocoon.
With Rosie lying in my arms, I knew this was beyond a fantasy.
I had given her my heart, again.
* * *
The next morning, the snow granted our fantasy a reprieve.
I radioed in to Ryan, telling him there was too much snow to safely come home. Apparently Ballydoon had snow fever. Tourists everywhere. All muster teams had arrived safe, too, bringing in good numbers of merinos. We were the only team stuck in the snow.
I couldn’t be happier. Rosie and I were in our own little bubble for a few more hours. Maybe another night. We certainly had enough food courtesy of my mother to wait out the snow melt until morning.
And I was more than happy to take every minute I got of this fantasy.
Everything was a brilliant, frosty white. The wind had dropped during the night, and the snow continued to fall. Ice crystals hung off the fascia and window trims. Snow blanketed the roof and had settled on the gum trees, boulders and everywhere.
I used the last of the drone’s batteries to capture footage of the incredible landscape and wildlife: wombats playing in the snow, a wallaby fluffed up, her joey peeking out, and footage of the hut looking like something out of a fairytale. The glow of the fire in the windows and the plume of smoke were a cosy and welcome sight.
And I caught Rosie on camera, standing in the paddock, looking at the mountains and smiling, holding a mug of tea. She gazed upon the snow-covered world with such delight and then laughed and waved. I was a lovesick fool flirting with a drone.
After checking on the horses and sheep, we rugged up and donned our boots and outer rain gear and went on a two-hour hike sticking close to the hut, finding three new burrows, and placed cameras and recorded their GPS locations.
And turned out the homing instincts of Aussie Whites were quite strong. We soon found the other twenty-eight shelter among boulders. Using long sticks, we each gently pushed the remaining flock with the dogs towards the hut, and got them into the holding pen. Ruby was proving herself to be an excellent muster dog, following Rusty’s lead.
“All fifty-four Whites,” Rosie said while I latched the holding pen’s gate.
I beamed. “I can’t tell you just how much I’m happy right now.” She smiled back. “So happy.”
And I didn’t just mean the sheep.
The dogs loved the novelty of the snow but were soon wet through.
Stopping by her destroyed campsite, we excavated enough under the tree to extract another pair of socks and Rosie’s toiletries bag from her pack.
After a final checking on water for the animals and a quick rub down for the horses, we dried the dogs and settled them by the fire, and helped ourselves to more tea, more food, more port and more of each other. More of this fantasy.
Finding another condom in her toiletries bag had us ripping at our clothes, desperate to savour this extra time. Another morning of waking up beside her.
By nightfall, the winter wonderland had turned to slush. The warmer westerly winds arrived, rapidly transforming the landscape again.
Rivulets of melting snow ran off the roof as we settled into the sleeping bag, sated and smelling of sex, ready for sleep.
