Page 86 of Snowbound

His cock is thick and hard, flushed deep red. My mouth waters.

And when he finally slides it past my lips, slow and possessive, I moan likeI’mthe one getting fucked.

His cock fills my mouth slowly, deliberately. No rush. No mercy either. He watches every second—jaw tight, eyes hooded, his hand fisted in my hair like he’s holding himself back from something worse.

And god, I want that.

He rocks in deeper. I gag once, but I breathe in through my nose and don’t pull back. I fucking take it, take what I want.

“Christ, look at you,” he grits out. “On your knees, love. Wrapped in Christmas ribbon. Mouth full of cock.”

I moan around him. The vibration makes him curse. I cup his balls and squeeze, stroking his cock as I work him over with my tongue.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Fuck, baby, that’s it, just like that.”

His hips jerk forward, faster now. He’s using me, just like I wanted—like I asked for—fucking my mouth, and I’m onfire.

The tie burns a little against my wrists when I shift. But I like the sting… like that it proves I’m his now, kneeling in front of the fire like some twisted holiday sacrifice.

My eyes are watering. My throat’s wrecked. I’ve never been so turned on in my entire fucking life.

“You wanted to ruin me,” he says. “Back then. That night in the dress. The Christmas party. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

He drags out slowly and lets me breathe.

“And now?” he says, crouching in front of me. His thumb traces my wet lips, glossy with spit and heat and him. “Now you’re mine. You hear me?”

I nod, dizzy and drunk on it.

He leans in, his mouth brushing mine.

“You take me so well, sweetheart. So fucking sweet.”

Then he stands and pulls me up by the wrists. The ribbon pulls taut. My arms stretch high above my head, bound.

He walks me backward until I hit the log beam. It’s cold against my spine.

His mouth is on my neck now. My collarbone. My breasts. He kisses them like he owns them, bites them like he’s proving it.

One hand slides between my thighs. “So wet,” he growls. “From just sucking me off. JesusfuckingChrist, Emma.”

I nod, breathless. I’m straining against the ribbon, wanting more. Wanting him.

“You want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, his voice lethal and low. “Tied up. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

He smiles then. Dark. Dangerous.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas.”

He turns me around, pulls my hips back, and takes me, still tied up, the glow of the Christmas lights dancing over our fused bodies.

The fire's gone low,and so has the music.

Owen’s in the bedroom, reading something on his phone. And I should just lie here and let the heat soak in. Let what just happened settle in my bones.

But something’s buzzing. A sound… a light. It’s his laptop that’s still on the table. It’s not locked now… just cracked open and glowing faintly.