Snow Day by Shannon Stacey Jennifer Greene & Barbara Dunlop

Author:Shannon Stacey, Jennifer Greene & Barbara Dunlop
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

WHITNEY KNEW SHE was going to get hurt...and didn’t care. Maybe she’d come home hoping to affirm how over him she was. Instead, she seemed to be falling all over again.

But right now, that just didn’t matter. This wasn’t about her. It was about him, thinking about how his whole world had crashed his freshman year, losing his dad, losing his dreams. She hadn’t been there for him then. His choice. But she wanted to be here for him now, even if it was only for a short time during a blizzard, even if she never saw him again.

Maybe she’d never mattered enough to him before.

But he’d mattered to her. He still mattered to her.

Her mouth picked up a tremble. Too much kissing, too much pressure. Too much promise. Clothes stuck and bunched and got in the way. Chilly drafts assaulted bare skin from all directions. But she assaulted those drafts...and so did he. Every stroke, every nuzzle into his neck, his shoulder, against him, created a blast furnace of heat.

He found her breast, cupped it, groaned as if he’d just discovered hunger. That discovery inspired him to explore some more. Even if the couch required him to be a contortionist, he somehow managed to trace the shape of her right breast with his tongue. Then her left. And then he simply nuzzled his face between the two, rubbing his cheek against them, his lips, his tongue...it was a deja vu. But not. He’d always been relentlessly crazy about her breasts.

But he was so much more man now. The look in his eyes was no longer boyish and impatient. It was shiver-provoking. The fire in his eyes burned with knowledge—knowledge that he knew how to please her. Knew how to wring every second of desire and torture from these moments. Knew where and how to touch, in the ways that would make her go wild. Always had. Always would.

Sounds surrounded them. Laughter. Groans. Cries. Yearning moans.

Scents intensified her awareness. The pumpkin and lemon candles. Dust. The shampoo he’d always used, nothing sweet, just a scent she always knew as his. His skin, healthy, warm sweat.

And then there were the textures. His textures. The callouses on his hands. The tough muscle in his upper arms and shoulders, smooth, taut, unyielding. His chest hair, just enough to splay through her hands, to feel that crisp hair fold around her fingers. The throb of his Adam’s apple. The wet-satin of his lips. The impossibly hard, warm, sleek feel of him...right before he stroked, tested and then entered her on a single long, sweet plunge.

She closed her eyes on a gasp of breath. They’d been so young before. There’d been need and desire and excitement, but nothing like this. This was the two of them melding together. Playing off each other’s yearning. Coaxing each other’s vulnerability.

Skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.... She came first, let loose a soar of a cry.

Then Red.

And then all she was conscious of, for a long time, was the warmth and weight of him, the precious stroke of his hand, the tenderness in his gaze.

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