Winter Kisses Read online

  “Is it crazy that I believe you?” she says. “Because I sort of do, Wayne, even if every single PSA I’ve ever seen is telling me I shouldn’t.”

  It’s because we’re meant for each other. It’s because Rusty led me here for a reason. I never believed in fate before I met you, but now I do.

  My manhood pulses as I drink in the sight of that made-for-child-bearing body.

  But to get to the child bearing, there’s got to be a lot of dirty, downright fucking indulgent sex, the sort of sex where I paint every inch of her with my tongue, sense every quiver in her body and respond accordingly, play her like a goddamn instrument until my mouth is full of her creamy come.

  “You’re welcome to stay at my cabin for the evening,” I tell her. “In the morning, I’ll drive into town and arrange a tow for you. Otherwise I can go and get my car and we can try and get you to town this evening. It’s up to you.”

  She bites her lip, stroking Rusty as she cradles him close. My dog whines in pleasure and laps at her face again.

  “This might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” she says. “But yes, Wayne, I’d be grateful to stay at your cabin for the night.”

  My heart hammers.

  My manhood stirs.

  My lips prick in anticipation of her sex, the wetness of it, the eagerness, the tight hotness, a glorious contrast to the lashing winter blizzard.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Winter

  I trudge through the forest at Wayne Wakefield’s side, searching my mind as I try to remember where I recognize him from.

  This is silly, of course, walking out here with a man I just met. This is exactly the sort of behavior that New York is supposed to beat out of a person, skipping off into nowhere land with a man I don’t know at all.

  And yet there’s something about Wayne that makes me trust him.

  Which is exactly what a man intent on doing harm would cultivate, a voice whispers in my mind. An aura of trust.

  I glance at him as we walk, Rusty padding ahead, his chocolate-colored tail stuck right up in the air as he sniffs each tree we pass, stopping to make his mark occasionally.

  He’s a giant man, at least seven feet, and through his heavy winter jacket I can tell he’s huge, muscular. The jacket doesn’t hang baggily from him. It clutches onto his behemoth muscles. His hair is swept to the side, short and silver-shaded. His jaw is square and his eyes are a stark, penetrating deep brown, the color of oak. His lips smirk or rest in an expression of quiet confidence.

  I was lost after about two minutes of walking into the forest. Now, sticking close to Wayne is the only way I can make sure I don’t get completely stranded. Which is, when you look at it objectively, a silly position to put myself in.

  And yet…

  I don’t know. Maybe it’s crazy. But when we were staring at each other across the broken husk of my car, I felt something stir inside of me, this deep pulse telling me it was okay to trust this man, okay to open myself up to this man.

  It felt deep, like primal-deep, as though my womb or something was sending me a soothing signal. That’s the sort of mystical craziness I’d never normally believe in, but there’s something, something—just something about Wayne that assuages all of that.

  “So, what are you doing all the way out here?” I ask.

  “Taking a break from work,” he says, as my legs burn with the incline, a subtle change in gradation that’s getting steeper every moment. “I haven’t taken a break in, Jesus, it must be at least twenty years.”

  “Wow, your job must be important,” I say.

  He nods. “I’ve got a lot of people relying on me not to mess up. It’s a lot of pressure. Which I enjoy. I like pressure. But sometimes a man needs to get away from it all, to remember what it’s like … Hell, I don’t know, Winter. I’m no poet. Maybe sometimes a man needs to feel what it’s like to be in the middle of nowhere surrounded by snow and winter, eh?”

  Warmth infuses me at his words, at the way his deep browns track over the snowy landscape. There’s humility in him, but also strength, fierce strength, mixing together to make something unique and appealing.

  The sort of material fathers are made of. Husbands are made of.

  I push the crazy thought down.

  Whoever this goliath of a man is, he’s handsome and confident and experienced. He’s a silver fox with the muscles of a bear, the suave self-assuredness of a jungle cat and the casual strength of a lion.

  I’m, let’s face it, not exactly the sort of magazine-cover girl men like this go for.

  So I need to cut off thoughts like that ASAP.

  “So what exactly do you do?” I say, panting hard now as the hill gets even steeper, my thighs aching and burning.

  Wayne strolls casually ahead, not even breathing hard, and Rusty skips faster toward what I assume is the direction of home.

  “This and that,” he says.

  “Oh, Mr. Mystery over here. Fine, be like that.”

  I mega-pout at him, which only makes him chuckle. He looks more carefree when he chuckles, less like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Crazily, I imagine him standing over a barbecue and laughing just like that, except in the fantasy the sun is shining and our children are running happily all around him.

  Down, girl.

  “What about you?” he asks. “What brought you to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, less than a mile from my cabin? What are the chances of that?”

  He glances away from me, but I catch something in his expression. For a moment, I think he’s going to mention fate, but then the moment passes and we keep walking.

  Fate.

  Something I’ve never believed in.

  I really need to get it together.

  As we walk, I tell him about visiting my sister for the Christmas holidays, getting a break from my job as a barista so that I could come up early and work on my writing.

  “Heck,” I snap, interrupting my own story when I trip on a hidden root and almost fall.

  Wayne glides toward me quicker than I would’ve guessed a man like him could move, catching me in his arms and hugging me close. I feel the scorching heat of him through his jacket, like he has a star trapped in there, and then he leans so close to me that I can feel his breath on my face.

  “We’re almost there,” he says. “There’s no shame in asking me to carry you.”

  “Carry me?” I laugh, though the notion sends a sizzling sensation through me. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No,” he says. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Um, I’m not a baby. So no, I don’t need to be carried.”

  He moves closer, our eyes staring right into each other.

  “You’re proud,” he says. “You’re strong. You’re sassy as fuck and you won’t ask for help. Fine. Then give me a signal. Just blink twice if you want me to carry you.”

  I can’t help but laugh, resulting in an answering yip from Rusty, who’s now on his hind legs leaping around our feet.

  It’s innocent, right? Being carried? There’s no undertone?

  It is a steep hill.

  I blink twice.

  I let out a squeal of delight as Wayne lifts me easily off my feet, as though I weigh nothing, as though I haven’t always been the shapely girl wherever I went.

  He places one arm under my knees and the other across my back, cradling me to his chest.

  I find myself snuggling close to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, all under the guise of holding on as he climbs the hill.

  “Well, here we are,” he says a couple of minutes later.

  I turn my head and then let out a gasp.

  His so-called cabin is really a massive house built into a rock formation that overlooks a frozen lake, the lake glittering as the clouds part and let in a snowy shaft of sunlight. A triple car garage at the bottom, and then the sprawling, modern house built over three levels, a structure of glass with a—

  Jeez.

  “Is that a helip
ad on the roof, Wayne?”

  “Hmm, so that’s what that is?” he says sarcastically.

  “Why did you pick me up if we were so close?”

  “I think you know the answer to that,” he growls.

  A shiver moves through me as his words settle in my consciousness. I can’t dare to think he’s saying what I think he’s saying.

  As if he would want me.

  The simple fact is I’ve lived my whole life mostly in my mind or in books, and when I do come out, men aren’t generally attracted to me.

  We walk up to the entrance of the cabin and Wayne runs his thumb across a keypad, causing the large sleek wooden door to beep and then swing open.

  Immediately, Rusty ducks his head and bounds inside.

  “How about you get comfortable on the couch and I’ll get the fire going? And some cocoa?”

  “Wow, Wayne, you’re such a gentleman.”

  He pauses at the door, a wolf’s grin on his face, his eyes glimmering knowingly.

  “I wouldn’t count on that, Winter. After you.”

  Even if it’s slightly insane, I step inside Wayne Wakefield’s house.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wayne

  I stare down at Winter and Rusty, huddled close on the corner couch, both of them asleep. Winter has her hand draped over him and Rusty has a smile on his face, as though he’s known Winter his whole life.

  No sooner had I given her the cocoa and gone to get changed than she’d curled up and fallen asleep, probably exhausted from the car ride up here. I feel my body urging me to smooth my hands over her as I gaze at the blanket hugging tightly onto her body.

  I imagine peeling away the blanket – and in my fantasy Rusty is in another room – and then stroking my hands up her pants, between her legs. Even through the thick khaki material, I can feel the juicy wetness of her sex.

  I palm it, rubbing harder each moment as she twitches and writhes for me, unable to help myself as I pull down her pants and find her clit.

  Then – fuck, fuck – then I’d fucking slide my fingers inside of her, opening her wet pink hole, pushing deep until I had two fingers buried right up inside of her.

  I’d stroke her.

  Her sex.

  Her womb.

  Her everything.

  I’d dominate her with my fingers, getting her ready for my manhood, which right now is a pulsating length of iron trying to explode out of my pants.

  I turn away with difficulty, letting out a shaky breath through my teeth.

  I walk across the plush faux-fur rugs and into the hallway, down the corridor decorated sparsely and modernly, and into the office that shouldn’t even exist in this holiday home. But the pull of work is often too strong for me, and my company needs me, always needs me.

  I close the door behind me and sit at my giant desk, trying to lose myself in reports and minutia and the general boring onslaught of work that the movies never deign to show CEO’s doing.

  But it’s hard to hone my attention onto my computer screen when Winter keeps shimmering across it, forming like swirls of snow and then disappearing.

  I have to clamp my hand on the edge of my desk until my knuckles turn white when I imagine her bent over for me, her round perfect ass completely bare, just waiting for me to paint her with my seed.

  But no, I wouldn’t waste it there.

  I’d drive it down between her ass cheeks, deep into her body, into her womb, and I’d fire every last drop into her so that I knew without a shadow of a goddamn doubt that I’d taken root inside of her.

  She’s mine.

  Forever.

  I sit back, stunned with the force of the feelings slashing through me.

  Realization after realization slams into me.

  All my forty-three years, I’ve been waiting, waiting, for what seems like an eternity.

  And now I’ve finally found her.

  A knock comes at the door.

  “Yes?” I say.

  “It’s me,” Winter murmurs. “Sorry. I woke up and heard you in here.”

  “Yes,” I say, taking a deep breath to get myself under control. “Come in.”

  “Rusty’s in his little den,” she smiles, pushing the door open. “He just trotted right in there when I woke up.”

  So we’re alone.

  I have to grip the desk again when I see that she’s changed into the hoodie and sweatpants I offered her earlier, the fabric doing nothing to hide the heaven beneath. The hoodie is baggy, showing me a sliver of her chest, a sliver that makes me want to slide my hand down there and find her nipple, tease and twist and tickle until she’s putty in my hands.

  “I remembered where I recognize you from, by the way,” she says, a playful glint in her eyes. “Wayne Wakefield, CEO of Comet Retail. You were in Time, weren’t you? It was a piece about you being one of the only ethically-minded CEO’s in the retail industry. How you fight for your worker’s rights and don’t forget the little guy. Why didn’t you tell me? Most men would brag about something like that.”

  I’m not most men, but I don’t need to tell her that.

  She’s not most women, either.

  We were made for each other and I think that’s finally dawning on her.

  “Isn’t this the part where you bow at my feet because you’re so impressed?” I smirk, standing up and walking over to her.

  “Oh, and there I was thinking you were all humble.”

  I stop close enough that I can scent her, the melted snow in her hair, the undertone of her womb and her sex. Behind me, the floor-to-ceiling window is a snapshot of the blizzard, moving across the frozen lake like something living.

  “It really is beautiful,” she whispers, walking over to it.

  I turn to watch her, gazing at her ass as she leans close, the soft fabric of her pants hugging the perfect globes.

  “Yes,” I growl, manhood twitching, hungrly. “It really is.”

  “Don’t you feel alone out here?” she asks, turning to me, the snow swirling behind her like a custom-made backdrop.

  She looks devastatingly beautiful, the way her eyebrows are perked in curiosity, the twist to her lips, her folded arms across her chest causing her breasts to bulge and squeeze around her forearms.

  I swallow and take a step forward, everything in me trembling, as though there’s an explosion inside of me and any moment I’m going to just let it out, this beast inside of me, this fucking animal I’ve been hiding my entire life.

  “Yes,” I say. “But that’s the point, Winter. I want to feel alone. Well, I want to be away from people. I’ve got Rusty for company. And now you.”

  “Company?” she says, laughing. “Aren’t I more like a temporary lodger?”

  But there’s a shaky quality to the laugh.

  Winter’s too perceptive not to sense the carnal need rising in me. I can see it in her stark green eyes.

  They glimmer as the realization hits her, but then something holds her back, something tugging at her and telling her it can’t be true.

  My belly drops when it hits me.

  She doesn’t think I’d want her.

  I almost let out a roar, the idea is so absurd. She’s a queen, a prize, a child bearing goddess and the idea that there exists a man on this planet who would be too good for her is a goddamn joke.

  I stalk across the room and stand close to her, so close that I can dimly hear the hiss of the blizzard even through the sound-proofed glass. Her cheeks blossom red as she gazes up at me, biting her bottom lip, a picture of desire made flesh.

  “Um, am I in the way?” she asks, with that same unsure peal of laughter.

  “No,” I growl. “You’re right where you need to be. You’re perfect, Winter.”

  Her mouth falls open in shock.

  I take my chance.

  A gentleman wouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but there’s something about Winter that turns me full on possessive savage.

  I grab her by the shoulders and push her up against the reinfor
ced glass, holding her there for a fraction of a moment, staring into her eyes as she gazes back at me, her lips quivering, her eyes disbelieving.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all fucking day,” I growl.

  I lean forward and crash my lips against hers, pressing my body against hers, feeling the way her breasts flatten against me and her body tenses.

  And then she relaxes into the kiss, and I smooth my hands down her body, my manhood becoming fire-hot, as I slide them over her curvy hips and then down to her ass.

  Fuck.

  Her ass feels as voluptuous as it looks, so squeezable I know I could spend several hours on her ass cheeks alone. I could strip her bare and massage oil into them, and then slowly slide my fingers between them and find her hole, my eyes locked on those perfect, smooth, round globes.

  She groans as I push her cheeks together, opening her mouth and letting out a muffled whimper as our tongues meet in a sultry flare of sensation.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Winter

  There’s a small part of me that’s stunned I’m kissing Wayne Wakefield, CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world.

  I know that he’s a billionaire, one of the richest and most powerful men alive.

  I know there have been whispers about him entering politics.

  I know that kissing him is a big deal, and that there are a lot of people who would see this as their meal ticket to wealth.

  But the thing is my mind doesn’t hone down on that.

  My mind spirals into the kiss, savoring the roughness of his tongue, the way his lips captivate and guide mine.

  I feel my body pressing against his, my nipples pricking and getting hard. The warmth of the room seems magical with the relative coolness of the glass against my back, and the blizzard just beyond it, so close and yet impossibly far away.

  I hesitantly smooth my hands over his back, feeling the taut toughness of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. I feel his muscles pulsing and twitching as he grinds against me.

  Oh, heck.

  His manhood brushes against my belly, a solid outline in his pants, impossible to ignore.