Page 50 of Snowbound

And I love it.

“Oooh fuck,”I cry out on a moan. I still want impossibly more.Him.

I swear I see stars with every thrust. My body bows, my back arching off the rug, but he just presses me down and drives harder, fucking me mercilessly. The sound of his skin slapping against mine fills the cabin, filthy and hot. I go to reach for him, but the garland bites into my wrists, holding me back. He presses the restrained wrists above my head again, and heat surges through me.

“That feel good, baby? He pants, his voice low and brutal. This feels so fucking good, I never want him to stop.

I nod, moaning. “Yes. Yes, Owen,please.”

He bends his mouth to my ear. “You’re mine. You know that, don’t you? This pussy? This body?All fucking mine.You were always mine, Emma.”

“Yours,” I choke out, because it’s true and always has been. My cheeks are damp with tears.

He drives in deeper, harder. Spasms of ecstasy rip through me. Each thrust sends shockwaves of sensation and bliss, coiling another orgasm deep in my belly. My legs are shaking, spread as wide as I can, as he fully takes everything.

His mouth finds my nipple again, teeth grazing, tongue circling as he pounds into me. I feel like I’m breaking apart. I want more. I wanteverything.

And then he reaches between us, rough calloused fingers scraping against my clit, but I push into him, needing the pressure and release. “Come again. Right fucking now, Emma. Come for me, baby.”

My eyes roll back. I fall apart on a scream, boneless beneath him. My walls clamp around his cock, and he curses, slamming into me, once, twice, three times before pulling out, gripping his massive cock, red and swollen and slick with my heat. He strokes himself hard and fast, grunting.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself come again while I do. I want to watch you come when I mark you.”

He growls my name, and I whisper his, my hands moving harder and faster as I claim my own release. My head falls back and my hips rise, consumed in ecstasy. He comes across my belly, thick and hot, spilling across my skin in messy streams.

We collapse together, tangled and panting.

I don’t want to be anywhere but here… with him.

A few minutes later, he’s cleaned us up, and we’re wrapped again in damp towels, lazing by the fire.

“You look like you’re ready for a nap,” he says, sounding proud of himself.

“Mmm. Trying to decide between that and another word session.”

“How about both? Close your eyes and get a little cat nap, then up and at ’em for your words.”

My eyes are already closed.

I wake up aching.

Not sore, exactly. Just… empty. Like I need him inside me again, need to be reassured that he wants me. I liked how hot it was when he marked me and all, but… I need himinme.

Now.

I need it again. Deeper. Rougher.

The fire’s burned low and ember-red. A pine candle flickers somewhere close—warm wax and smoky sweetness curling through the air like incense.

He’s behind me, propped against the couch—long legs stretched toward the fire, his bare feet flexed against the hearth. His bare arms are crossed, lean muscle and old scars, as he watches something on the TV like he belongs here. Like he's always belonged here.

What is it?

I haven’t even turned the damn thing on since I got here.

Then I hear it—the sound before the screen catches up. Booby traps, screaming, that stupid, perfect Christmas chaos.

Home Alone.