Page 36 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
I can only stand there, wrecked, as his release spills across his hand, the firelight making every second brutally, agonizingly visible.
Dominic leans his forehead against his arm, breathing raggedly, still facing the fire.
His other hand slowly drifts down his side, loose and spent.
Slow. Leisurely.
He drags a hand over his abdomen, a lazy caress that makes my breath catch. Then, he tugs his pants back up over his hips, muscles flexing with every movement.
I can’t look away.
Every inch of him—still flushed from release, hair mussed, skin gleaming in the firelight—brands itself behind my eyes.
I choke on a sound, a desperate, aching gasp, and bolt.
I back away, silent and shaking, the echo of my name still ringing in my ears. I climb the stairs, legs trembling, my skin too tight for my bones. I slide under the covers, but there’s no safety there.
No distance.
No forgetting.
Not when every pulse inside me is still beating to the rhythm of his rough voice, his aching need.
I want Dominic Mercer.
I want his hands. His mouth. His weight pinning me down.
I want everything he promised without words.
I lie perfectly still beneath the heavy quilt, every muscle locked tight, straining to stay silent.
The only sound is the slow creak of floorboards as Dominic moves through the house.
The hallway light clicks off.
Darkness envelopseverything—thick, endless, electric.
The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs into bed. The covers shift. The space shrinks. His heat soaks into the space between us.
I hold my breath, every inch of me hyperaware of him. I squeeze my eyes shut. The scent of him—woodsmoke, cedar, male heat—wraps around me like a noose.
For a few seconds, I think maybe—maybe—I’ve gotten away with it. But Dominic doesn’t offer mercy. He turns his back on me, and his voice cuts through the dark.
Low. Gravelly. Brutal.
“I can hear you breathing.” His voice shatters the silence, low and unrelenting.
I freeze, my pulse hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear that too. He shifts slightly, but not toward me.
“I could feel you.” A pause. The air thickens between us, chokingly dense. “The second you stepped onto the stairs… it was like striking a match in the dark.”
My breath hitches.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I press a hand against my stomach, trying to quiet the riot inside me, but it’s useless.
I’m burning alive.
