Page 34 of Snow Much Trouble
Dylan gives a strangled laugh. “You’re killing me. But it’s called drawing the moment out, not stalling.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” I’m practically squirming in anticipation.
“Trust me,” he says. Then he moves and is fully inside me.
We both moan in unison.
“Fuck, Lauren. You feel incredible.”
“So do you,” I breathe. I grip his firm ass and let my knees drift further apart. I want more of him. All of him.
Dylan strokes inside me, slowly, his eyes locked on mine. We move together in the firelight, the only sounds our breathing and the crackle of the logs. It's unhurried, intimate, perfect.
The tightness is building inside me again and I easily come for the second time, marveling at how locked in on me he is, how natural and amazing this all feels. He immediately follows with his own orgasm, which tells me he wanted to make sure I did first and was holding back.
We lie tangled together under the blankets, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. I take a deep breath, inhaling the woodsy scent of him. I’ll never be able to see a wood burning fireplace again without thinking of this moment.
"That was…" Dylan trails off.
"Yeah," I agree. "It really was."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Stay here tonight? In the blanket fort?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
We lie there for a while, watching the fire, not talking. My mind is spinning, trying to process what just happened. What it means. What happens when we leave tomorrow.
But I push those thoughts away. Right now, I'm warm and satisfied and happy. That's enough.
"Lauren?" Dylan's voice is quiet in the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"I'm really glad Jolene and Chance double-booked this cabin."
I smile against his chest. "Me too."
Outside, I can hear the wind picking up again, but in here, wrapped in Dylan's arms by the fire, I've never felt warmer.
He kisses the side of my head.
“Did you know that you’re sexy, and you’re intelligent, and you’re funny, and you’re talented?”
Now I really feel warm, from the tips of my toes to my still wet inner thighs, to my flushed cheeks. It feels so right that it’s almost too much. I try to lighten the mood out of pure self-preservation. I can’t fall any harder for Dylan than I already have.
“How do you know I’m talented?” I say lightly. “I could be a total hack. Though I’ll agree with the rest of what you said.”
Dylan takes my chin with his hand and turns my head toward him. "I know you’re talented. "It's the way your face lights up when you talk about writing songs."
My cheeks flush again, and it's not from the fire. "How does my face light up?"
"Like you're talking about something sacred. Like the rest of the world disappears when you're creating."
"That's exactly what it feels like," I say softly. "When I'm writing, when I find the right words or the perfect melody, it's like everything else just... stops."
“You’re good with words, too,” he says. “You’ve got the whole package.”
“You’re not so bad with words yourself.”
