Page 78 of Love Under Snowfall

I’m sorry.

Forgive me.

God, I need you.

His mouth slanted feverishly over hers, pushing hard as though he had the power to will the words from his mind to hers. His fingertips pressed into her waist and firmly dipped to the small of her back. Benjamin whispered an oath of gratitude for whoever designed her dress because the high slit at the front allowed perfectaccess to reach through and cup her ass. Effortlessly, he lifted and Francesca settled her bare legs around his waist, hooking her ankles at his back.

He didn’t mean to crash her so violently into the entryway wall, but her satisfied groan doused any worry that he’d hurt her. Her needy fingers gripped at his hair, now fully out of sorts and rumpled, as she did her part to pull him even closer.

This woman.

Francesca.

He was drowning in her: her lavender scent, the soft prickle of her goosebumps under the drag of his teeth. The realization that he might never come back up for air again—and the fact that he took pleasure in the notion—made him rumble a quiet laugh.

Pulling back, she looked at him quizzically. Her eyes filled to the edge with expanding pupils and questions. “What is it?”

The hesitation in her voice burrowed into his chest and flattened his heart—so much subtext in those three little words. The loudest concern centered around whether they were making a mistake. So badly he wanted to offer her everything. Promises and vows to touch and protect and care for her until the day he died, but they would be empty. Because odds were, he would destroy her in the end. In his experience, things like love and commitment did not last, and despite the joy and happiness in the beginning, the very display he’d witnessed mere hours before, he knew deep down that there was no truth inhappily ever after.

“I can’t give you what you want—”

“Give me tonight.” Her words came out raw and vulnerable. “That’s what I want.”

His flattened heart split down the middle. He should have set her down, straightened his jacket, and marched to his room, but Benjamin was a weak man.Shemade him weak. And so, despite wishing for the strength to do the virtuous thing, herolled his hips into hers, pressing her more firmly against the wall. She shuddered and dashed her fingers down his shirt, frantically unhooking buttons until his chest was bare.

“Are you sure?” he croaked, legs shaking as she pressed against the erection that stiffened against her core.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, practically groping his pecs, nipples, and abs with her hungry eyes.

“Francesca,” Benjamin chided in his most convincing professor voice. “Focus, please.”

The blaze of desire emanating from the golden rim of her irises nearly knocked him back. Straight white teeth worried her plump bottom lip playfully before she said, “Yes, professor. I’m sure.”

Groaning in relief, he nipped at her jaw and followed down the length of her neck, all the while pressing his hips against hers. The silky roughness of her velvet dress abraded his bare chest, scraping against his nipples with every single shift.

Too much clothing; she was practically swimming in the heavy fabric. Gripping harder with one hand to ensure she stayed in place, Benjamin slid his other up her side then slowly cupped her breast. She trembled as he curled his fingers around the edge of her neckline then grazed her nipple with his knuckles as he pulled the dense fabric aside. The lace of her bra matched the darkening swell of her pupils as they edged out the lingering amber ring.

Still, it wasn’t enough. The tiny glimpse ratcheted his lust, and he feared his own demise if the torture continued.

“Hold onto me,” he demanded.

“Aren’t I already?”

He slapped her ass in warning, the muted clap making her giggle, but she obeyed, clamping her legs harder against his waist. Pushing off the wall, he marched her to the bed and landed on top of her. He pushed up onto his hands so hehovered above her. She reached for him, and he casually swatted her hand away. Sweat glistened on her collarbone and just between her breasts. The flush of her cheeks and the heaving rise and fall of her breasts announced her response to his gaze, his touch.

“What do you need, Francesca?” He teased his tongue along her collarbone, and she arched in response. “What do you want me to do to you?”

He couldn’t have missed her cheeky grin if he tried. What crossed her mind? Whatever it was, anything, all she needed to do was ask, and he would do it to her. For her.

“I’m the boss,” she said as she giggled.

“Oh, are you now?” he teased, tracing along the black straps of her bra.

“That’s what I want.” She propped herself up on her elbows and arched a challenging brow. “I want you to do as I say and only as I say.”

Intriguing.

Benjamin swirled the idea around in his head for a moment. It was not an outlandish request, but he tended to prefer being the one in control. In all aspects of his life. And typically women were happy—thrilled even—to oblige. Francesca had done just that in the cabin. But something about the idea of being her willing plaything had a certain appeal.

---