Page 115 of Major Love

He slides it slowly between my thighs, his forearms flexing as he swallows hard, and then he slips his palms around both of my hips, pushing the pants carefully down my legs.

By the time that they’re at my ankles, he’s breathing so heavily that I’m a little worried for him.

He tugs off my pants and my socks, before getting to his feet and looming over me.

And he envelops a hand around my waist, searching my eyes as he gently squeezes.

“We should probably take these off, too,” he murmurs, referring to the base layer thermals that we’re still wearing, and Inod up at him with pink cheeks, even though I’m so cold that my teeth are chattering.

Jason notices and his mind is instantly back in rescue mode, and he grabs a soft towel from one of the shelves, swiping it behind my neck to start drying me off.

I laugh when he mops it a little clumsily over my forehead and he gives me an apologetic smile, his strong cheekbones staining red.

“Sorry,” he rumbles, letting me take over the drying, and turning back to the shelves so that he can grab an armful of sheets.

“What are those for?” I ask quietly, as Jason grabs every quilt available, and then he takes my hand in his and hauls me gently toward the living area.

“Gonna light the fire,” he replies simply, shoving the coffee table out of the way, before tossing all of the sheets in front of the couch, and caging us in a cosy nook.

I glance up toward the front window and look out at the sparkling snowstorm.

“The snow’s so heavy,” I tell him quietly, and Jason spares the pines a look before nodding down at me.

“Yeah, it’s getting rough.” Then he jerks his thumb at the beautiful fireplace beside us. “I’m gonna get that going. Then I’ll fan out the sheets.”

“I’ll fan out the sheets,” I tell him, smiling softly, and stretching up on my tip-toes to kiss his bristly jaw. And his large palm instinctively splays against my lower back, warming my skin more than any thermal ever could.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs quietly, but I just giggle and shake my head, and I give him a playful shove away from me so that he can get back to ripping my clothes off as quickly as possible.

He hesitates for a second, watching me lean down to shake out the quilts, before breathing in a shoulder-swelling inhale and turning around to deal with the fireplace.

I sneak little glances up at him as I plump up the bedding, sitting on my knees in the middle of the thick quilts like a kid in a blanket-fort – watching him stoke the wood and rip the logs apart with his large bare hands, tossing them in at the edges before swiping his hands against his quads.

Once I’ve finished with the sheets I get to my feet and grab the towel, scrunching it gently through my snow-drenched curls just as Jason finishes up with the wood and turns around.

And he instantly takes over, helping me dry my hair with his large hands, before easing the towel from my grasp and swiping it roughly against his neck.

His biceps bulge in the stretch and I swallow thickly as I watch him, unable to keep my fingertips from his heaving pecs, wanting nothing more than to rip his shirt off.

He rubs the cloth over his jaw, his stubble rasping against it before he tosses it beside the couch, and then his large hands are sliding down my waist, gripping the hem of my shirt as I bite my lip in anticipation.

“Warm enough?” he asks, the crackle of the fire now flickering behind us, casting a stunning glow against his tan skin, so bronze against the shimmering white snow outside.

And my fingers roam up to his swelling shoulders, sliding over the large curves and squeezing firmly.

He exhales quietly and pulls me closer, his eyes half-mast by the time that they meet mine.

“I’d probably be warmer if I wasn’t wearing these wet clothes,” I say huskily, and then I’m giggling as he groans, slipping his big palms up my stomach, and dragging the soft material of my thermal up along with them.

“Arms up, baby,” he murmurs, his chest heaving as he frees me of my shirt, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the kitchen before he grips my waist again. And Jason’s heated eyes blaze against the thin cups of my bra, the soft push-up making his fingers flex as he tugs me closer to his chest.

“You next,” I tease, as he palms my butt and squeezes it roughly.

“Baby, you wouldn’t even be able to reach to get my shirt off of me,” he rumbles, his voice a deep murmur that has my stomach flipping as he looms over me. Flames flicker in his irises before he pushes his thumbs down the waistband of my pants.

He glances down at my thighs for a long moment, before blinking away and exhaling roughly.

He gives the band an experimental tug before murmuring, “We should take these off, sweetheart.”

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