Page 114 of Major Love

He tucks my helmet beneath one of his biceps, hooks two fingers inside his own, and leashes his free hand through mine, tugging me out from the shelter and into the snow.

He strides effortlessly toward the front of the cabin, his boots annihilating the thick inches of snow, and creating a pathway for me to wade through as I jog quickly behind him.

And rather than let go of my hand so that he can get his key from his pants, he tosses our helmets into the snow, tugging me closer as he rummages for the o-ring.

When he finds it, he thumbs through the keys until he lands on the right one, slotting it easily into the lock, and shoving it forward and opening it up for us.

“After you, baby,” he rumbles gently, as he grabs our helmets and allows me to walk in ahead of him. And then he’s following right behind me, his large frame hulking as he closes the door. His gaze lingers on my dripping curls that the raging snowfall has already started clinging to.

He deposits the helmets beside the rack, not wanting to leave them outside in the wild blizzard, and then he drops his eyes down to my boots as he slowly tugs off his own.

“We need to get out of these clothes,” he murmurs roughly, clearing his throat as he leans down to pull off his socks. “We can hang them in the washroom, dry off, and then I’ll grab what we need.”

I spare a tiny glance at his large tan feet and then I quickly avert my eyes as my breathing becomes shaky.

Because, seriously, how big are those things? Size fourteen? Fifteen?

And what does he mean, ‘what we need’? What are we… what are we going to be doing?

His penetrating gaze searches mine as he gently tugs the zipper of my snow-jacket between his fingers, not yet dragging it down but implying that that’s what he wants to do.

“You’re drenched, baby,” he rumbles, his brow creasing as he glances down at my snowsuit, and I inhale a shaky breath before nodding in acquiescence.

A nod that says,yes, you can get me out of my clothes.

But not before I get you out of yours first.

I settle one hand over his heart as I slide the zipper down the front of his jacket, and he automatically cups my hips in his warm palms, his chest heaving as he watches me.

And I try to bite back my smile as I peek up at him, loving the role reversal – loving how this strong mountain man is more than willing for me to take the lead.

“Is this okay?” I whisper, my tone a little teasing, and he breathes out a quiet chuckle, his pupils dialled out as he towers over me.

“Yeah,” he rasps, walking me backward as I push the soaked fabric over his shoulders, and he quickly shrugs it down his arms as I unzip the next layer.

He all but rips the sweater off his body, stumbling to an unsteady stop outside of the washroom, and I trail my fingertips over his thermal shirt before sliding them down toward his pants.

I look up at him from under my lashes, loving the way that his chest heaves as he looms over me.

His gaze flickers from my face, down to where my fingers are teasing his waistband, and when I slowly tug his zipper, he grabs the doorjamb, groaning quietly.

“Sunday,” he says hoarsely, biceps straining as I push his pants down his quads, leaving him in nothing but his base layer thermals, which are still hiding his skin from view.

But, even through the thermals, I can see the large outlines of what’s beneath just fine.

And in the next second we’re in the washroom, one of his fists hauling me in as he tosses his clothes over a rack, throwing the snowsuit jacket, pants, and his sweater on a line, before turning toward me with heated eyes.

And seeing as I already let him know that he can undress me he doesn’t try to question me again, instantly unzipping the jacket from my body and tugging his Coleson Construction sweater from me next.

His eyes linger on my breasts, completely obscured beneath my long-sleeved thermal, but from the way that his gaze rakes over me I know exactly what he wants.

He throws my clothes on the line beside his, before dropping to his knees and getting to work on my boots.

“These are cute,” he says gruffly, his voice painfully deep as he sets aside my snowshoes, and his large hands hesitate for a second before he finally grips them around my waistband.

“I can dry myself off,” I offer softly, but he gives me a look that has me biting back a dimpled smile.

“Or not,” I whisper teasingly, as he inhales heavily and grips my zipper.

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