Page 4 of Snow Bound (Odyssey #1)

Her pulse pounding in her ears, rage and lust such a tangled mess inside her she couldn’t tell which was which, she did the only thing she could think of: she kissed him.

The heat was enormous, overwhelming. It felt like she’d been dipped in hot wax, leaving everything pulsing and throbbing and yearning. She stopped trying to kick him, instead lifting her legs to wrap around his hips, and his groan nearly smothered hers.

He lifted his head, panting, and she tried to follow, wanting more. But he was too far away, and she couldn’t use her hands to drag him back down, so she leaned forward and sank her teeth into the thick muscle of his chest.

He muttered a curse and dragged her head back by his grip on her hair. The sting nearly brought tears to her eyes, and her pussy pulsed in response.

“Anna.” He growled it, gave her head a little shake, and she tried to pay attention.

“What?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, here.”

She ground herself down on his dick, digging her heels into his ass for leverage. “ You’re not a gentleman. You’re a no good, rat-dicked bastard.”

His lips were peeled back in a grimace, eyes fierce. “ I’m getting sick of you calling me names.”

“Oh, yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?” she challenged and bit him again, following it up with a steaming swipe of her tongue.

“That’s it,” he growled and spun her around.

She shrieked, off balance, and tried to lift her hands. But he kept them pinned against her lower back, and with his other hand still tangled in her hair, dragged her to the kitchen island.

It was a wide, long slab of granite, smooth and empty but for the bowl she’d grabbed the apples from. It went clattering to the floor when he hoisted her on top of it and climbed up after her.

He’d had to let go of her hands to boost himself up, and she took immediate advantage, shoving them into his hair and giving it a solid yank.

His wince made her heart sing, but it was short lived.

He peeled her hands out of his hair and slammed them down on the counter over her head. “ Don’t . Fucking . Move .”

He was looming over her, his big body pinning her down. With her hands aching from contact with the granite and her body screaming with desperate need, she lifted her head until her nose was pressed to his. “ Make me.”

His eyes flared, and for a heartbeat she wondered if she’d gone too far. Then he moved, dragging her hands up until they hit the edge of the counter. “ Keep them there, or I’ll tie you up and jerk off on your tits.”

She curled her fingers over the cool granite like her life depended on it, and with satisfaction stamped on his face, he reared back on his knees to tear at his belt.

“Just for the record,” she panted while he went to work on his button fly. “ I’m still mad at you.”

He shoved his jeans down and his dick bounced free, hard and thick, the tip gleaming wet in the moonlight. “ Fine .”

She stared at it, fascinated. She wanted to sit up and give it a lick, but was afraid he’d make good on his threat. “ And I don’t forgive you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he reminded her, tearing open a condom and rolling it on.

She wondered briefly where he’d plucked that from, then decided it didn’t matter. “ You should. You were a jerk.”

He put his hands on her thighs and shoved them wide. “ So you’ve said. Repeatedly .”

Her t-shirt was rucked up around her waist, and the cool air tickling her wet pussy made her shiver. “ An asshole.”

He leaned forward, one hand on the counter by her head, the other wrapped around his dick. “ Uh -huh.”

Her breath caught as the blunt, broad head touched her pussy. He felt huge, and she had the panicked thought that she might not be wet enough for this. “ A rat-dicked bastard.”

“Rat-dicked, my ass,” he growled and shoved into her.

Her breath left her lungs in a short scream. He got stuck halfway, her pussy clamping down in an effort to control his penetration. But he just drew back an inch, changed the angle, and thrust in again, and this time he slid all the way to the root.

He gave her no time to adjust, to get used to the feeling of being penetrated by what to her scrambled brains felt like a telephone pole. He just fucked her.

So she tightened her grip on the counter and fucked him back.

Already her pussy felt battered, bruised by the force and size of him, the pain layering on top of desire until they were one, irrevocably intertwined.

The heat and pressure in her belly coiled tighter, grew heavier with every stroke, and the part of her brain still capable of thought marveled at it.

She hardly ever came without direct clitoral stimulation, and never this fast—but she was going to now, and it was going to be amazing.

He must have sensed it because he reared back, going on his knees, and grabbed her thighs. “ Nope .”

“What?” she gasped, not understanding. He yanked, dragging her butt up onto his thighs, taking away her leverage, and resumed fucking her.

But in this position the base of his dick wasn’t rubbing against her clit with every thrust. The back and forth of his dick inside her was no less fierce, no less delicious, but without that contact the orgasm that had been looming faded back.

“Damn you,” she choked out, and let go of the counter to take matters in hand.

Quick as lighting he delivered a stinging slap to the inside of her right thigh. “ Put ‘em back,” he ordered.

She blinked up at him, her fingers twitching. She wanted to rub her clit so badly. “ Why ?”

“Because I fucking said so,” he said and slapped the other thigh.

The heat and the burn had her gritting her teeth. God , she was so close. “ I want to come.”

“I don’t care.” He fucked her harder, yanking her in and shoving her back, her bare butt rubbing against his jeans covered thighs. “ Put ‘em back or you don’t get to come at all.”

“Who put you in charge?” she demanded, defiant.

“I did.” He jerked to a stop mid-plunge, his dick penetrating her halfway. “ Want me to stop?”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t care.” He cocked an arrogant eyebrow. “ Last chance.”

With no choice—it felt like she’d die if he left her hanging—she slapped her hands back on the counter above her head and curled her fingers over the edge. “ There ,” she spat. “ Happy ?”

“Not yet, but I will be,” he assured her and started fucking her again.

Over and over he hammered into her, the thick, heavy length of him dragging against her sensitive, swollen pussy. She writhed on the counter like a bug on a board, pinned and helpless and kept that way by her own desperate need.

She didn’t have to succumb to his ridiculous demands or lay there and let him bang her like a drum. She could push him off and get up, walk upstairs, lock the door and dig out the vibrator she’d brought with her for stress relief and make herself come. She knew he’d stop if she said ‘red’.

The trouble was, she didn’t want to make herself come. She’d been making herself come for nearly two years now, and dammit, she wanted someone else to do it for a change. And right now, that someone else was him.

So she clung to the counter like her life depended on it and worked herself on his dick as much as she could. When he said, “ Pull your shirt up, I want to see your tits,” she didn’t hesitate, dragging the thin cotton up over her bouncing breasts.

“Look at you,” he ground out, hammering, hammering, hammering. “ Spread out like a fucking feast, ready to be devoured. You love this.”

She shook her head before she could think better of it, an automatic denial born of pride.

His answer was a harsh laugh, disbelieving and derisive. “ Yeah , you do. What else do you like, huh?”

She wanted to spit back at him, some pithy response that would erase the cocky look from the smug bastard’s face. But before she could come up with something, he slapped one bouncing breast.

She jerked and gasped, shocked tears stinging her eyes.

He’d caught her nipple with the edge of his hand, and for one brief, panicked moment she thought he might have actually slapped it off.

But almost immediately the pain shifted from stinging burn to simmering heat, and her pussy gave a hard, clenching spasm.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” With an arrogant smirk curling his lips, he switched hands and slapped the other one.

She was expecting it this time, but it was no less impactful. Her pussy clenched again, and through the haze of her own lust she saw his eyes darken in response.

Thrilled, emboldened, she deliberately tightened around him, determined to drive him as wild as he was driving her. Pleasure flashed over his face and he grunted, his hips losing their rhythm, but her triumph was short lived.

Because he lifted his hand and slapped her clit.

Pain and pleasure shot through her, an unholy mix that had her vision going white. Her shocked scream bounced around the room, the echoes mixing with his sadistic laugh.

“Oh, more of that,” he decided and slapped her again.

Her hips jerked and she would’ve screamed again if she’d had breath in her lungs.

The best she could manage was a strangled whimper while her cunt pulsed and throbbed and ached.

She was so close she could all but taste the orgasm, but still, it hovered just out of reach, and when she caught her breath she used it to curse him. “ Asshole .”

“Pain slut,” he fired back and slapped her clit a third time.

And shot her right over the edge.

Pleasure burst through her in a blinding surge, the tension that had gripped her for what seemed like forever releasing in an explosion of sensation.

It went on and on, her body jerking, her pussy spasming so hard she imagined she could feel every vein, every ridge of his cock through the protective sheath of the condom.

He kept fucking her, forcing himself through the clutching, grasping muscles, setting off a fresh round of pleasure every time he slammed into her.

He shouted, the sound dim through the roaring in her ears, and incredibly he grew harder and bigger inside her. Then his hips were jerking and he was coming, setting her off again.

When he finally slumped over her, sweaty and spent, she closed her eyes and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.

She went to bed. When he rolled off her to deal with the condom, she slid off the counter and stepped over the sleeping dog to hurry out of the kitchen.

Ignoring him when he called after her, she dashed up the stairs and into the bedroom to lock the door behind her.

Then she dragged the dresser in front of the door, crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling to contemplate the situation.

Her body was still humming from the orgasm so it was hard to feel regret, but she imagined that would come soon enough.

She had no idea what he was doing here, though she believed his claim that it was his mother’s house.

Now that she knew, the man in the photo on the dresser could be no one else.

The chiseled jaw, the tousled hair and broad shoulders—she should have seen it.

She would have seen it, if she’d been paying attention instead of moping about her mother.

One more thing she could lay at Kimberly’s feet.

She sighed. That was unfair. As many things as Kimberly had to answer for, this wasn’t one of them. Nope , she’d fucked Grant Snow all on her own, and the consequences were hers to face.

But not until the morning—if he was even here in the morning. If the fates were smiling, she’d wake up and he’d be gone, saving her from the awkwardness of a morning after. But his footsteps on the stairs dashed those hopes before they could fully form.

She listened intently, her stomach jittering when the footsteps paused, and she imagined him standing in the hallway outside her room, staring at the closed door.

She held her breath until he started walking again, footsteps echoing past her door and down the hall, and the faint click of a door closing had her breath whooshing out in relief.

And it was relief , she assured herself. It certainly wasn’t disappointment or anything as ridiculous as that.

“Wouldn’t that be foolish?” she muttered and closed her eyes.