Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best large ereader .txt) 📗

fingers into his sweatpants and shoved them down over his hips, stepping out of them. He could feel his cock bobbing in his boxers, and from the way Kayla’s gaze went hot and soft, her eyes skimming from his face down to his stomach and then lower, he knew she could see. His nostrils flared and he shoved a hand through his hair, letting her look. “Still want me in the bed?” he asked, his voice gritty.

She nodded.

Goddammit.

As he moved around to the other side of the bed and turned off the light, he tried to think of anything and everything that might help him to get a handle on the lust raging through his veins. His brothers. Snowboarding. Knee surgery. Snow. Aerin’s babies. His favorite sushi restaurant in the West Village. But nothing worked, so he simply got in bed, laying on his back, his eyes on the ceiling. For several moments, they laid together in silence, the only sounds the howling wind outside and the crackling fire. He hoped that if he just held perfectly still and closed his eyes, he could forget about the woman lying in bed beside him. He could feel her warmth, smell the soft scent of her skin. He curled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to either reach for her or stroke himself. Anything to relieve the throb of wanting her so damn badly.

Kayla shifted a little in the bed beside him, a shiver running through her hard enough that he felt it.

“Maybe I should’ve left my fleece on,” she said quietly, adjusting the covers around herself, rolling to face away from him. She shivered again and rubbed her legs together.

Shit.

“Come here,” he said, his voice raw, and turned onto his side. With his hand on her hip, he tucked her against him, savoring the soft gasp she let out at the press of his cock against her ass. “Just until you’re warm,” he said, not sure if he was informing her, or reminding himself.

“Okay,” she said, her voice breathless. “Thank you.”

He splayed his hand over her stomach, reveling in the soft warmth of her curves and pulled her a little closer. For warmth. Not because the feel of her luscious, feminine body tucked against his was pure heaven.

She made a soft sound and pressed her ass against him, wriggling ever so slightly. He stifled a groan, the feel of her round ass against his hard cock almost too much.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and then shifted his hips, grinding against her. She whimpered and he did it again. “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about this ass?” He moved his hand from her stomach to her hip, squeezing. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Tell me.”

“At least a thousand. Probably more.”

“Really?” she asked softly. She worked her ass against his cock as she rubbed her thighs together. God, that felt good.

“Really. If you knew the thoughts I’d had about you, you probably wouldn’t be wiggling against me like that.”

She undulated her hips and he moved his hand back to her stomach, his fingers inching upward until they skimmed the underside of her full breast. His thumb traced a path there, back and forth, and for a minute, they stayed like that, wrapped together.

“Do you remember my job interview?” she asked suddenly, and he frowned, not sure where this was going, both hoping and not hoping that it was the bucket of cold water he so desperately needed. They shouldn’t have sex. It was a colossally bad idea. And yet he was about ten seconds away from rolling her under him and spending the night finding out what she liked and how she tasted, what sounds she made when she came.

“Yes,” he said on a shaky exhale, trying to keep himself under control. Nothing had happened that he couldn’t survive yet. Yet.

“I think I spent half of the interview imagining you bending me over that conference room table and fucking me senseless.”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled, letting his hand wander up to her breast, his lips finding her delicate neck. She pressed her ass into him, wiggling against him. Her wriggling made the T-shirt slip down a little, exposing her shoulder and he couldn’t stop himself from trailing his mouth over the exposed skin.

“Tell me to stop, Kayla,” he murmured against her neck, nipping lightly at the juncture where her shoulder met her neck. “Tell me to stop.”

She said nothing. And then she took his hand and guided it up under her shirt to her breast. “I don’t want you to stop. I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Even when I didn’t like you, I wanted you.” She moaned as he played with her nipple, his hips thrusting against her. “Bastian,” she panted, and it was the sound of his nickname, used only by people who cared about him, that shredded the last of his control.

“Kayla,” he rasped, levering up onto his elbow and then lowering his mouth to hers. She moaned against his mouth as he filled his palm with her breast, loving the way it overflowed his hand. She fit so perfectly against him, all her lush curves yielding to his hard muscle. He took his time exploring her mouth with long, slow sweeps of his tongue, his hand massaging her breast, his fingers teasing her beaded nipple. She gasped against his mouth, pressing her ass even harder against him and he broke the kiss, dragging his mouth over her jaw and then scraping his teeth over her earlobe. She shivered and rubbed her thighs together.

“Kayla, if you don’t want me to fuck you, you need to tell me now so I can go take a hike in the snow. Because I’m barely hanging on here.”

She rolled onto her back, his cock now tucked snugly against her hip. She laid a hand on his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles, her fingers playing in his chest hair, over his nipple. “Then let go, Bastian.”

So he