Page 23 of Snowed In, Tied Down

To C, O, and T—the rules changed. You bent me exactly how I needed. I love you. All of you. Every dark, perfect inch.

We settled into a sprawling mountain house, floor-to-ceiling windows framing endless peaks, our massive bed still a tight squeeze for four. The stag mask loomed over the fireplace—Oli called it “aesthetic,” but we knew better. Calder and Tony’s masks flanked the stag head like hard-won trophies.

Kai still pinged me sometimes; heart emojis,voice notes that opened with I know you hate me, but… I never replied. Never blocked her. Her method had been dead wrong and batshit insane—but damn if the result hadn’t been spot-on.

I finished the first book four days after the plow cleared out. Penned another before year’s end.

Mornings tangled me in limbs, low growls, and the heady musk of three bodies. Sore in the best ways, I laughed at nothing, intoxicated on being drunk-love, and so bone-deep happy, I’d never imagined it was possible to feel this way.

Some nights when the house was hushed save for their steady breaths, I’d pull up Garland and Sin on my phone and devour it end to end. By the last page, I’d be trembling, slick, and starved. One of my masked men always stirred, sensing the shake in my body, and hauled me atop him wordlessly.

The others roused like predators, sensing what was happening, and fucked me slow and filthy until we dripped with sweat and I was covered in their cum. My shattered moans chased away their gravelly “good girl.”

I’d crash, wrecked and grinning.

I wrote the monsters, and they’d stormed in… reckless, illegal, and so damn perfect.

Happily ever after? I had that. I kept them. They were mine, the same as I was theirs.

Our history was forever snowed in. Forever bound.

And it was fucking perfect.

The End.