Page 74 of Snowbound

“Come for me, Emma.”

He buries his mouth against me again, his tongue working in perfect, devastating pressure until the wave breaks.

I come hard and loud, shaking.

My back arches off the bed. My cry echoes off the cabin walls. But he doesn’t stop, just keeps licking me through every pulse, every aftershock, until I’m wrecked.

When he finally pulls back, his mouth is glistening, his eyes molten.

He crawls up my body, kisses my throat, my cheek, my mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

And for once, I believe him.

“No more rules tonight, Emma,” he says, holding me to him. “Just me. And you. And how fucking good it feels when you’re mine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Owen

The fire’s low,just red coals and pulsing heat. My god, I know the feeling.

Emma’s asleep on my chest, her breath warm against my skin, lashes fluttering with dreams I can’t see. I want to wake her, just to hear her say my name again. But I won’t, not yet.

Because something is clawing up my throat, heavy and sharp—something I haven’t let myself feel in years: fear. Not for me, but for her.

Two men. Two fucking men, in this cabin with her. If I’d been just a minute later?—

I don’t finish the thought. I can’t.

She screamed forme. God, Emmascreamed my name.

It did something to me. Ripped something open and rearranged it, like the storm outside wasn’t the only thing howling.

I press a kiss to her hair. She stirs, but doesn’t wake.

She still trusts me. After all this. After the years and the distance and the things I’ve done to keep her here.

She chose me tonight. But for how long?

Because those men weren’t the worst thing out there. Not even close. I know what’s out there—the predators in pressed suits and shiny shoes. The ones who don’t need axes. The ones who smile while they ruin you.

Fucking husbands who use you and convince you you’re worthless, only to fuck around behind your back.

I’m the one who brought her here. Who’s kept her, lied to her, and held her while she cried, telling myself it was love and not possession.

But it is. It is possession.

Because I want to take that manuscript she’s writing and lock it away somewhere no one can ever find it. Not because it isn’t brilliant, but because it’ll pull her back into a world that will eat her alive.

And I want her here. Safe.

She shifts again, murmuring something.

I tuck the blanket higher on her shoulders. My voice is gravel when I speak. "Emma. Wake up."

She blinks at me, barely awake. Her hair is tangled, eyes soft. "Hmm? What’s wrong?"