Snow Angels (6 page)

Wishing.

Wishing he could be another man and wishing he didn’t have to sleep alone.

If only for a night.

***

He woke up in the dead of night, with a shiver of trepidation. The little cabin was cloaked in a hush, but his instincts screamed.

Something was wrong.

Senses alert, he leaned up on his elbows and scanned the room. His door was open. A small shadow huddled in the frame, shrouded in a thick blanket.

“Lyssa?”

“The power’s out.” A small voice. “The heat’s off, and I’m cold.”

Yeah. It was like an icebox.

Without thinking, he lifted his duvet. She padded across the room, cuddling her cat in the crook of her arm. She handed him her blanket, and then slipped into the bed beside him, facing away. He arranged the extra layer over them both and then edged into her warmth.

She sighed.

“Better?” His voice cracked. He couldn’t help it. She smelled terrific, like powder and flowers and woman.

“Mmm.” She nestled into the pillow. Wiggled around. Her bottom brushed against his groin and it was all he could do to hold in a hiss. It was one thing wanting her from across the room, or lying in his lonely bed aching for her. It was another entirely having her within reach, soaked in her heat and besieged by her scent.

He thought about leaping from the bed and going to sleep on the sofa, but his nose, which was poking out from the nest of blankets, was a frosty nub. He couldn’t imagine foregoing this cozy nest for a frigid couch. With Lyssa on one side of him and Bo on the other, he was a toasty sandwich.

So he gritted his teeth, clenched his fist—so it wouldn’t creep over and snake around her waist as it wanted to do—screwed his eyes shut, and pretended he was asleep. But he didn’t sleep.

Not for a long, long while.

His raging cock wouldn’t let him.

***

What a delicious dream.

Lyssa fought off wakefulness and snuggled deeper into the blankets, enjoying the warmth baking her. In her dream, a heavy arm draped down her flank. Long fingers reflexively caressed her hip, and fragrant breath skated over her cheek. Soft murmurs and burbles of sleep, rumbled in her ear.

Dampness nuzzled her neck. A suck and then a nip. A shudder of pleasure scudded through her. His hand drifted up, over her cotton-clad waist, her belly, and her ribs. He gently cupped her breast. A soft moan. She wasn’t sure if it was from him or her or from them both. Still half asleep, she rolled over, into him, and found his lips with hers.

Warm. Damp. Questing. A sweet, sleepy kiss.

At first.

But, as they both became aware, it changed.

His lips firmed, and his body tensed. Intention hummed between them.

He lifted his head and stared at her, his eyes so close she could see the amber flecks in their brown depths and the ring around his iris.

His pupils dilated. “Lyssa,” he murmured and then he lowered his head again.

This kiss was not sleepy in the slightest. Not slow or questing. It was a rampage of hunger. Wild, crazed, and frantic. His lips raked over hers, his tongue scorched her mouth. He fisted her hair to hold her still, and he consumed her. Fed on her. And fed her.

She arched closer, though there was no room between them, pressing her body against his, reveling in its hardness, the strength, and tenderness vibrating in every muscle. She wrapped herself around him and stroked his hair, his neck, his back.

It had been so long since she’d had any intimacy, any passion. It felt so good. So right.

Men awoke to passion. She knew this. She and Wade had promised to be friends, and she should stop him…but she couldn’t.

Besides, he didn’t seem to want to stop.

He made his way over her cheek to nibble on her ear—which made her gasp and writhe—and then he nested in her neck, where the nerves were sensitive. He nuzzled her until her body screamed with delight.

He found her breast again, and this time his stroke was deliberate. Sparks showered through her as he stroked a swollen crest. “Yes.” She huffed. “Yes.” And he did it again. He made his way down her neck and over her collarbone, pulling down the blankets as he went. When his mouth closed over her nipple and sucked, she nearly came out of her skin. Pleasure blinded her. He continued to torment her, toying with one peak and then the other, until she couldn’t bear it any more. She raked his back with her nails, and he grunted then chuckled. He peeked up at her with a mischievous smile and scooted lower.

He slipped his hand under her shirt, but didn’t head for her breasts. Instead, he slid downward, tugging the band of her yoga pants as he went.

Lyssa stilled.

Was he…? Oh! God! He was.

Drawing her pants to her knees, he shifted her legs apart and dipped his head between them. A breath. A mere huff, and she clenched. Something inside her melted. When he touched her and traced her slit, she warbled.

Her muscles locked as he delved deeper, sliding his finger over her engorged nubbin, circling it…teasing her.

“Please,” she whimpered.

He didn’t hesitate. His tongue took over. Warm, soft, and exquisitely placed. He lapped at the underside of her bundle of nerves. She winced, and then sighed. Good. So goo—

He sucked.

A gentle suck, but it sent snarls of electricity shooting through her body. He lapped and nibbled and flicked her button as he eased two fingers deep inside. The sense of fullness—one she hadn’t known in far too long—overwhelmed her. She came. It was a little orgasm, a precursor, but a flood of rapture nonetheless.

And bless him, he didn’t stop. He moved inside her, stroking her, searching her until he found that secret spot, buried deep within her folds, and sent her flying again.

Pulse pounding, she quivered, and wailed as she rode the wave.

Like a ravenous creature, given a taste of heaven, her soul howled for more. When he crawled back up her body to kiss her once more, his mouth damp with her arousal, she reached for him, stroked him through his sweatpants. He hissed and arched into her caress.

But it wasn’t enough.

She wanted… needed….

She eased beneath the band of his sweatpants and took a hold of his hard, smooth cock.

Ah. Yes. This. This was what she wanted.

He collapsed back on the bed as she stroked him, eyes closed tight, and groaning in pleasure. “God, Lyssa,” he sighed. “God.”

She knelt up and yanked his pants down and stared.

As wonderful as he’d felt in her palm, he was even more exquisite to look at.

His cock was large, rampant, and adamant. She could see his pulse pinging in the bulging vein. The head was full, engorged. A milky tear beaded at the tip.

She licked her lips and bent her head. But he stopped her. “No.” A strangled cry.

No?
She shook her head. Nothing, but nothing was stopping her. She wanted, needed, to taste him.

So, despite his feeble attempts to dissuade her, she bent her head and licked.

Salty. Sweet. The musk of man.
This man
.

Another shiver took her—surely not an orgasm, simply from the taste of him—but maybe so.

He fisted the sheets. A whimper escaped from his throat.

Emboldened, she parted her lips and took him in.

God, she loved this. The feel of him in her mouth; pulsating, hard, and ready.

She sucked and he growled, lifted his knees, and braced himself against the mattress. Breathing through her nose, she sank deeper, taking him in, enrobing him. He thrust up, just an infinitesimal surge, as though he didn’t want to but couldn’t stop himself.

She eased back and started a relentless rhythm, plunging deep and working him with her fist as she had in her massage. He panted, groaned, writhed, and flailed—but not too much. Not so much she lost her momentum.

To her delight, his cock swelled. He stiffened and let go a ferocious howl, and erupted.

She swallowed every delicious drop and licked him clean for good measure.

Before she finished, at least as much as she could have liked to, he took hold of her shoulders and yanked her up over his body, melding them together, chest to chest. He kissed her. It was a savage kiss. In it, she tasted his relief, liberation, and his desperate gratitude.

“God, Lyssa.” He tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder and held her as he shook with reaction. “God.”

He said nothing more, but then, there was nothing more to be said. They simply lay there in the shambles of their bed and held each other, each enjoying the lingering trails of magnificent release.

When his chest wobbled she tipped up her head to glance at him. His handsome face was wreathed in an unholy grin.

“What?” she asked.

He nodded to the foot of the bed.

When she looked, she couldn’t stop her answering grin.

Biby and Bo lay side by side, watching them with matching disgruntled expressions on their furry faces.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so magnificent as he made breakfast that morning. If it had been last night’s massage…or this morning’s, but Wade hardly cared. His body felt renewed. And perhaps his spirit as well.

Hell, he didn’t even care that the power was still off and the cabin was cold and that he had to start the stove using matches.

Granted, it had been a damn long time since anything like that had happened to him. Partly by choice—because whenever he met a woman who interested him, his crushing guilt would raise its ugly head—and partly because, most of the time, he hurt too bad to allow release.

At the moment, he didn’t hurt at all.

Nothing. Nowhere.

It was as though she’d performed a miracle on him.

A sexual miracle.

He chuckled a little at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Her warmth surrounded him as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He wanted to sink into it, wallow. Her hand roved over his chest, and then skated beneath the hem of his T-shirt. The touch of her palm on his skin sent prickles along every nerve.

Unbelievably, his cock stirred.

He’d thought he was sated. Utterly and completely. Apparently, he’d thought wrong.

Turning into her embrace he kissed her. “Nothing.”

She pulled back and gazed up at him. Dimples broke on her cheek. “I like when you smile like that.”

“Am I smiling?”

“You are.” She thumbed his lips. Then traced the scar on his temple. “Even your eyes are smiling.”

He pulled her closer. “Maybe I’m happy.”

She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, a gentle buss, with a hint of hunger. It lit something in his gut. She was so tiny. So perfect. So sweet. And she wanted him.

God knew, he wanted her. He deepened the kiss, dipped in his tongue, teased her inner cheek. She made a sound, deep in her throat, something wild, and held him tighter.

What was it about her touch? Her presence?

It lifted the dark veil that had separated him from the world. Made him feel alive again. Made him want to be part of
something
again. Part of this.

He backed her up against the wall and lifted her so he wouldn’t have to dip his head so far to reach her delectable mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed against him…right where it counted. Groins sealed, they rubbed against each other as he tasted her, consumed her.

God, she was glorious. His passion, which had never been far away, arose. The pressure, the heat, and the
need
between them maddened him. Her scent goaded him. The taste of her breath. Everything about her settled within him, cradled him, and healed him. He wanted, needed—

She wiggled. “Put me down.”

He lifted his head. Blinked. “What?”

“Something’s poking me. Put me down.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her. As her feet touched the ground, she turned to glance behind her.

Shit
.

He’d backed her up against the wall without a thought. Plastered her against the light switch, a fat, round dimmer. “That can’t have been comfortable.”

He needed to remember. She was fragile. He needed to be more careful….

She laughed, scuttling his chagrin. “It’s a good thing the electricity is off.”

“What?”

“I have this vision of us going at it…turning the light on and off with each thrust….”

A glint—a hungry glint—lit her eye. Her voice stuttered on the last word. As though she were envisioning just that. Her, plastered against the wall. Him, buried deep.

God. He wanted to be buried in her.

The energy between them shifted. Sizzled. Crackled.

Oh, it had been hot before, but now…but now….

They stared at each other, reveling in the rising passion, the simmering connection. The anticipation.

He was going to fuck her.

They both knew it. They both wanted it.

Bad.

She wrinkled her nose, which surprised him. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “What’s that smell?”

Wade froze as the hideous odor of burning sulfur suddenly registered.

“Shit. The eggs.”

He rushed to the stove and pulled the pan off the flame. The omelet was charred.

Why she doubled over with laughter, he didn’t know. There weren’t many eggs left in the fridge. He was sure she was hungry. But he loved the sound of her guffaws. She held her belly and howled and before long, he couldn’t help but crack a smile. Then laugh with her, hysterically until tears streamed down his cheeks.

He hadn’t laughed in…years.

It felt good.

So good.

When they finally came up for air, they made breakfast together with the last of the eggs. Then they built a fire to cut the chill, curled up together on the couch, and shared a plate, Biby skulking over Lyssa’s shoulder hoping for a tidbit, and Bo drooling on Wade’s thigh.

It was nice. Warm. Comfortable.

And if not for his aching cock, he could have remained curled up with her all day, doing nothing. The vision, the thought, the prospect of making love with her, truly and completely, had nested in his brain. He could think of little else.