Page 42 of Snow Balled

His cock twitched when I stroked it. It expanded now that his jeans were open. I cupped my palm over it, and my hand didn’t cover all of it.

Drew’s hips shifted upward, and he dug his thumbs in the waistline of his jeans. “Is it okay if I—?”

“Sure,” I breathed. Then a wry thought occurred. “Just don’t throw them into the fireplace.”

He chuckled, and I cherished the sound. When the cameras were rolling, like for the sex scene I’d shot with Aiden last year, it was all about intensity, passion, and build up. It was all fake, but there was no casual exploring. No mutual play. And definitely not shared laughter.

But with Drew, I wanted all those things.

His skin was warm against mine once his jeans were off. With gentle movements, he grasped my leg, hooking it over his thigh. “God, you feel good.” He stroked his hand up and down my heated skin. “So smooth. Do most women shave their legs during the winter? Not that I’m complaining.”

His touch felt amazing. “I don’t know, but I’ve shaved daily for the last fifteen years. Comes with the territory.”

Strong fingers raked across my skin. “I like your territory.”

I smiled, more than certain about what I wanted to say to him. “I want to play,” I said softly.

“Me, too,” he said. “But… play how?”

“I—I don’t know.” I watched his face, wondering if my admission would bring things to a halt, but he nodded.

“How about we figure it out together?”

“I’d like that.” It was such a relief to be with someone who understood. Of course, he wasn’t a mind reader. I knew that I needed to be brave about communicating, but trust was what had made this possible. And he hadn’t broken my trust yet.

He slid his hand behind me, circling my waist. “Do you want to sit on my lap again?”

It was tempting, since it had felt so good before. But with me in flimsy little panties and his hard cock tenting his boxer briefs, it felt like too much too soon.

“Maybe later,” I whispered.

“Okay,” he said instantly. “It’s not a very flat surface for you to sit on anyway.” He rubbed his cock through the fabric of his boxers, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the rough way he treated it. Unlike me, there was nothing tentative in the way he touched himself.

“Do that again,” I breathed.

He didn’t hesitate. He fisted his cock through the soft material and groaned. “Do you mind if I take it out?”

“Please do.” After all this time, I was dying to see what it looked like.

Then he opened the slit of his boxers and his cock sprang free. I gasped at the size. “Can you show me how you…” I couldn’t quite finish my sentence, but he knew what I meant.

Shivers of excitement rocked through me as he fisted his cock. Did all guys do it that hard? That roughly? But I couldn’t look away. I’d never watched porn—I never thought I’d enjoy it, but I sure as hell was into the show Drew put on.

My hips ground against the cushions below me, and the muscles in my thigh tightened. Since it was still draped over his leg, he felt it. His arm tightened around me, stroking my side. It felt remarkably good, given that he’d tickled me there earlier. But I knew he wouldn’t suddenly do that now—at least, not without asking first.

Drew pressed his head against my shoulder. He groaned against the fabric of my hoodie. Then, to my surprise, he bit down, capturing the thick cloth in his teeth. “I wish this were mine, too, so I could ask you to return it.”

I wrapped my hand around his head, cradling it against me. “You can ask anyway,” I whispered.

“Sierra, would you—”

“Yes.” Before I changed my mind, I pulled away from him and tugged the sweatshirt up and over my head along with the t-shirt I’d had on underneath.

My bra was a mixture of navy lace and mesh. It matched my panties. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere, old habits died hard.

I still shaved every day. I still wore expensive, matching underwear. The only daily habit I’d managed to shed was makeup.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” Drew abandoned his cock and pulled me to him. His mouth was inches from mine, and I wanted to meet him halfway, but I just couldn’t. Kissing was one thing I had done a lot of—nearly all of it on film. And nearly all of it had been unpleasant.

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