Page 35 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
Every gust of wind makes my skin tighten, half-expecting to feel his weight dip the mattress. His hands sliding under the hem of the borrowed shirt I’m wearing. His mouth finding mine again—not with questions this time, but with answers I’m no longer sure I can resist.
I clench the sheet in my fists, breathing shallow, while my whole body thrums with restless, helpless wanting.
It’s not desire. It’s deeper than that. It’s need.
The bed is too warm now, the sheets tangled around my legs, my skin burning. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Taste him.
I shove the covers back and swing my legs over the side, my body moving before my brain can catch up.
Just a glass of water, I lie to myself.
I need air.
I pad down the hall, each creaking board a gunshot in the silence.
When I reach the landing, the firelight flickers below, licking at the walls, casting long, golden shadows.
And then?—
I see him.
Everything inside me stops.
Dominic stands before the fire, one hand braced on the stone mantel, his head bowed, his body?—
My mouth falls open, a soft, shattered sound escaping before I can trap it.
I clamp a hand over my lips, but it’s too late?—
I’m already burning alive.
His sweatpants hang low, shoved to his thighs, the heavy line of his cock thick in his palm. His hand moves in slow, rough strokes, coaxing, punishing, reverent.
The firelight gilds every hard plane of him in gold and shadow—his broad back, the flex of muscle along his shoulders, the sleek lines of his hips.
He’s brutally devastating and achingly beautiful.
And he’s not rushing it.
His head tilts back, the strong column of his throat arching, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest.
It strikes something deep inside me—something dark and aching and desperate.
I should turn around. I shouldn’t watch. But I can’t move.
He says my name.
Low. Rough. Broken.
“Elena.”
It rips from him like a prayer and a curse all at once.
The sound lashes across the space between us, binding me to him.
His hand speeds up, every muscle in his body tensing.
I watch, helpless and aching, as pleasure tears through him, raw and unrestrained, his body shudderingunder the weight of it.
