Page 78 of Snowbound with the Vineyard Owner
"Elena," he breathes, my name a demand and a vow. "I’m not letting you go."
I answer with my mouth, teeth grazing his lower lip, fingers threading through his thick hair as his hands disappearbeneath my sweater. No patience now. No restraint. Just raw need, finally unshackled.
We don’t make it to the bedroom. Dominic doesn’t use beds for this. No, we take the floor of his office, scattering notes on vintages and yield projections, reducing meticulous planning to forgotten clutter. He lays me down like a possession, body heavy and urgent above me. This isn't the slow seduction of our first night.
This is hunger breaking loose.
Clothes vanish. His belt flies. My skirt tears. He doesn't ask permission, but his eyes lock on mine as he pushes inside me with a groan that seems to scrape from somewhere deep in his chest. I cry out, hips rising to meet him, the stretch of him so perfect it almost hurts.
His rhythm is merciless, and I take every brutal thrust like my body was made for him. Fingers dig into my hips, anchoring me, branding me. I meet every stroke with equal fervor, letting go of decorum, letting go of everything but this.
"Look at me," he commands, voice hoarse. "I want to see you break."
And I do. Shattering on a cry, clenching around him as he follows me over the edge with a strangled curse. We cling to each other, trembling, breath sawing in and out, a tangle of sweat-slick limbs and wild heartbeats.
Dominic whispers my name like a prayer as we move together, his eyes never leaving mine, creating an intimacy more profound than the physical joining of our bodies.
I'm not normally vocal during lovemaking, but something about his focus, his absolute presence in the moment, breaks through my restraint. I let him hear exactly what he does to me, how completely he unmoors me from my carefully constructed control.
For a moment, all is still. My head rests on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. The scentof sex clings to us, rich and raw. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back. Papers crinkle beneath us like some ironic reminder of where this began.
"I didn't intend for that to happen," Dominic murmurs against my hair as we lie tangled together, catching our breath. "Though I can't say I regret it."
"That was..." I start, but words evade me.
"Urgent," he finishes, a smile in his voice. "But not what I had in mind."
I lift onto my elbow, meeting his gaze. "Oh?"
The heat in his eyes doesn't fade. It darkens. Focuses. My breath catches.
"What I want to show you requires a proper setting," he says, voice dropping an octave. "And time."
I shiver, pulse quickening again. "I’m not going anywhere."
He rises in a fluid motion, pulling me with him. He grabs his discarded shirt and slips it over my shoulders, the fabric falling to mid-thigh, soft and warm with his body heat. Somehow, it feels more intimate than being naked.
"Good," he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my cheek. "Because I want to teach you about surrender."
I try for levity. "I think I surrendered pretty thoroughly."
His smile is slow and dangerous. "That was mutual pleasure. What I’m talking about is different." His eyes hold mine, steel and silk. "It’s about trust. Letting go completely."
"Show me." Instead of fear, a strange, heady anticipation floods me.
He leads me into the main living area, dominated by a massive stone hearth. The fire is down to embers, but he rekindles it quickly, the flames casting flickering amber light that dances across the room.
"Wait here," he says, voice edged in command that makes my knees weak and my skin prickle in anticipation.
He disappears, then returns with a length of black silk, a satin blindfold, and a small leather paddle. My breath hitches.
"We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with," he says, his voice gentler now. "This is about pleasure. Expanding what you think you know about yourself."
"What do I do?"
"Surrender."
"I don’t know what that means."
