Page 57 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
I move without thinking, guided only by instinct, by the low flicker of firelight spilling from under the door at the bottom of the stairs. The scent of him threads through the air—smoke and heat and wildness—and it pulls me like a tether, dragging me forward into the night.
The house creaks softly around me, old wood settling in the cold, but the sound barely registers. Every step I take feels weightless and perilous, like walking a tightrope across an abyss. By the time I reach the living room, my whole body is shaking—not from fear, not from the cold, but from the unbearable intensity of wanting him.
And there he is.
Chapter 14
Dominic stands by the fire,a living sculpture of shadow and flame. The low light licks across the powerful lines of his body, illuminating every hard ridge of muscle, every tense, straining tendon. One hand braces against the rough stone of the mantle, his fingers splayed wide, grounding himself. The other wraps around the thick, heavy length of his cock, stroking himself in slow, devastating pulls that leave nothing to the imagination.
He doesn’t turn when I step inside the room.
He doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t even flinch.
He knows I’m here.
Every long, lazy stroke of his hand is an invitation and a challenge. A raw, brutal display of need that makes my blood roar in my ears. His head tips back slightly, baring the long, elegant column of his throat. I watch, helpless, as the muscles there flex with the force of the pleasure he’s taking, the control he’s barely holding onto. A low, wrecked sound breaks free of him—a sound so raw and beautiful it cutsthrough me like a blade.
I hover just inside the doorway, frozen by the sheer, devastating intimacy of it. My breath comes in shallow, broken pants. My hands curl into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for him, to keep from moving closer, even though every fiber of my body is screaming to cross the room and touch him, taste him, surrender to him.
The fire crackles and pops, the scent of burning wood filling the air, sweetened by the lingering traces of the wine we drank hours ago. The heat rolls off the hearth in slow, pulsing waves, wrapping around me, wrapping around us, until the whole world feels small and breathless and waiting.
Slowly, Dominic turns his head, his gaze dragging over me like a physical touch. The firelight catches the brutal cut of his jaw, the shadowed hollows beneath his cheekbones, the hard line of control etched deep into every muscle of his body. His hand never stops moving, the slow, relentless stroke a devastating counterpoint to the stillness locking the space between us.
His eyes find mine—dark gold, burning, unflinching—and in that single searing look, I know that he sees everything. Every tremor. Every ragged breath. Every terrified, desperate piece of me that came downstairs because I couldn’t bear the empty bed, or the empty ache, for one more second.
When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, dragging across my skin like velvet and fire, and the force of it nearly brings me to my knees.
“You came down.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as I drink in the sight of him, every slow, ruthless stroke of his hand ratcheting the heat coiling low in my belly tighter and tighter. The hunger inside me sharpens until it’s a physical ache, until it feels like I might tear apart if he doesn’t touch me, if he doesn’t take this decision away from me the way he promised he would if I just stepped over the line.
And he waits. He holds himself in brutal check, letting me stand there, feeling the full weight of the moment, the full consequence of my choice.
I open my mouth, but the words tangle in my throat. Fear and hunger crash inside me, battling for dominance, neither strong enough to drown the other. My hands tremble at my sides, my legs locked in place.
“I don’t know what to do.” The confession is raw, terrified, and true.
Dominic’s eyes burn hotter. He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t reassure. He lifts one hand from the mantle and gestures lazily, almost tauntingly, toward the threshold I’m still hovering behind.
“You don’t have to do anything.” His voice is low, lethal, and patient. “All you have to do is cross that line.” The words drop like a stone into the charged silence, rippling through me, daring me to move.
I suck in a ragged breath, my whole body strung tight, every nerve screaming. His eyes stay locked on mine, unwavering, unrelenting, giving me no shelter, no mercy. Only truth. And choice.
My legs feel boneless, but somehow I force them to move, to bridge the last impossible distance. Step by step, breath by breath, until the tips of my toes inch over the threshold and land on the other side.
The second my foot crosses, Dominic is on me.
He moves faster than thought, faster than fear, a blur of predatory intent that leaves me gasping. One rough hand fists in my hair, wrenching my head back, the other clamps around my waist, dragging me into him so hard I lose my balance and slam against his chest.
His mouth crashes down onto mine in a kiss that isn’t a question, isn’t a plea. It’s a taking. Brutal, raw, merciless. His teeth catch my lower lip,biting just hard enough to make me whimper against him before he soothes the sting with the hot, demanding sweep of his tongue.
He backs me up, walking me backward across the rug, across the hardwood, until my spine collides with the rough timber of the wall. The jolt knocks the breath from my lungs, but before I can gasp, he’s already stripping me, tearing the buttons of the borrowed flannel shirt open with impatient hands.
The fabric falls from my shoulders in a rush of cool air, baring me to the fire’s heat—and him.
His mouth never stops, never gentles. He kisses like he’s starving, like he’s waited forever and won’t be denied a second longer.
