Page 44 of Snowbound

Her eyes drop, but she doesn’t argue. She trusts me. That’s all I need.

“Come here, Emma.”

The bath is steaming, pine-scented soap already swirling at the surface. It smells like something comforting, something intimate.

I bring her close to me slowly. I lift her thin sweater up and over her head, revealing the small frame beneath. She’s wearing yoga pants and a bra, simple and soft. Still, she shifts on her feet.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispers. “I look terrible.”

I smack her ass, quick and sharp. Not hard—just enough.

“Stop that. I don’t want to hear that again.”

“What?” she says, startled, her eyes wide and cheeks brightening.

“I’m just—” She looks down at herself.

“This is nothing,” I growl. “You heard me, Emma. Did you already forget what happened this morning?”

She bites her lip. “No, sir.”

That’s better.

I spin her gently and unclasp her bra. It falls away like silk, her small breasts exposed, soft and flushed. I take my time and cup them in my palms, savoring the weight of her. I bend, suck each nipple into my mouth, one at a time, while my hand teases the other.

“Oh god,” she moans. “That feels good.”

“Good.” I pull back just enough to speak. “I told you—I have all kinds of ways to unblock you. You ready to write that next scene?”

She nods. “I think I could write the whole damn book.”

I push down her leggings next, then her panties, dragging them down her thighs like I’ve got all day. Like there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Into the tub,” I say.

I help her step in, my hands steady on her hips. She lifts one foot hesitantly, then the other. I crouch, guiding her in.

“Relax. Let me do this.”

I pull over a rough-hewn stool and sit. From here, I can take my time with her. Worship her.

I love this.

I love Em.

I want to memorize every second I get with her.

I start with her feet—washing slowly, reverently. My fingers trail up her calves, her knees, and then her thighs, where I linger just long enough for her breath to catch.

She starts to speak. “Let me?—”

“No,” I cut in, my voice like a command. “You don’t get to rush this. Let me take care of you.”

I reach for the cloth again, warm and waiting, and I slip it between her thighs.

She gasps. I lean in.

"You smell like Christmas now.”