Page 46 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men

CAMRYN

The storm was as endless as it was unrelenting.

It raged and roared and covered everything in sheets of glimmering ice that I couldn’t help but marvel over.

Whenever there was a lull, we went out and shoveled.

We ran the snowblower as well, but it took a more refined, manual touch to keep things like the power array and the Marauder from being totally buried.

When there wasn’t a lull, we occupied ourselves with feeding the fire. In fact, we fed it so generously that the cabin was actually hot at times. So hot that we were stripping off clothes every chance we got — and not just while playing poker.

Eventually, cloudy skies limited the power draw and we ended up shutting certain things down.

The internet was already out, and we’d been reduced to viewing select titles from Sarge’s testosterone-fueled VCR collection.

It was interesting, watching the guys laugh over the raw inaccuracy of certain war movies that were considered classics before they were even born.

Every now and then though, we found a gem.

One action movie was particularly sweet and romantic, and even said so in the title.

Romancing the Stone became a new favorite of mine, among the rougher cut gems of Commando , Predator, and The Road Warrior series.

All of which, I learned, were very, very Sarge.

Each day I checked the dry erase calender, and found one or more of the boys had put something down.

The requests were always fun and playful, but sometimes more sexually adventurous.

I was guilty of jotting down my own naughty little requests too, and the boys always took care of me.

In turn, of course, I never denied them either.

Yet while the snow kept us inside, making us stir crazy, it also brought us closer together.

We bonded over the games we played and the conversations we had, some of which — thanks to wine and liquor — went deeper than I would’ve imagined I’d let them go.

I was baring my soul to these men, whether I liked it or not.

And to my pleasant surprise, the boys were opening up just as much to me.

There were one-on-ones, where I lay in bed with each of them until the wee hours of the morning.

Lazy, naked piles of flesh, where we’d all sprawl together, spilling our secrets.

I learned about their pasts, their present, their hopes for the future.

The bonds they shared — fueled by the chaos of combat — ran deeper than normal brotherhood.

It superseded their jealousy, making it comfortable for them to have me, take me, and share me in front of one another.

There were no walls between these three warriors; no barriers, no obstacles, no hidden secrets.

There was only their small, closed circle of trust and love.

A circle that had once included Sarge, God rest his soul.

And a circle that, perhaps, now included me.

It was then that I realized I loved them, and not in the normal ‘new boyfriend’ puppy-love kind of way.

No, when it came to these men I loved their very souls .

I worshiped them physically, with both body and mind, just as I adored them emotionally, investing in every aspect of their hopes and dreams.

I loved Oakley’s warm heart, and stubbled smile.

Ryder’s raw strength and unapologetic presence; the one that so frightened me at first, until I saw the boyish affection that lay beneath.

I loved the depth of Jaxon’s complexity; from his brooding outer shell to the kind, overflowing heart at the center of his being.

I loved them, sure. That part was easy. But there was another part, too. One I could no longer hide by pushing it down, and suppressing my rising feelings.

I was in love with them.

Fuck.

And not just one, but all three of them.

Triple FUCK.

The very presence of these men filled my heart with warmth and love, just as they nudged my thighs apart and filled me in other ways, too.

Our days were laughter. The nights were love.

I drifted off to sleep cocooned in the heat and mess of our never-ending lovemaking, spooned from both sides, buried beneath a pile of arms and legs and corded, steel-like muscle.

I’d never felt so happy, so safe, so utterly desired.

My thirst for them was unquenchable. Their hunger for me, unending.

And through it all, the storm kept raging… the snow falling, blowing, sweeping contentedly over us. It buried the cabin, buried the mountain, buried our very lives. An unstoppable force of nature, it created a perfectly untouchable bubble. Our own sacrosanct little world.

In every way, freezing us in time.

And so I loved and cherished and devoured them, every chance I got.

And the boys did the same to me, engulfing me in their strong arms, pinning me down, taking me at will.

They took turns loving me in countless new ways I’d never been loved before.

Which of course was bittersweet, because I knew in my heart that in a million, trillion years…

I could never hope to be loved like this again.

Which is why it was so terrifying, when the snow finally stopped.