by Ella James
As the wheels come down and the plane begins to tilt, offering a stunning, white-capped mountain view, I try to tell myself that I’m good at that, too.
With the famous duo The Wessons as parents, there was never any chance Elvie wouldn’t be both a born showman and also completely full of himself.
I sometimes jokingly call him my sea lion, because I really think he could perform all day and night for the next sixty years and die happy. And unmarried. And childless. Probably with gonorrhea from the groupies.
Jamie bats at my hands. “Put that phone up, girl. You don’t need to be his babysitter.”
I give her a long blink. “I was looking at the weather, bitch.”
She snaps her fingers in my face. “That’s easy. Snow.”
“And snow.”
“And more and more snow.” She rubs her skinny hands together. “I can’t wait to ski!”
Five hours later, we’re doing just that. I’ve got a hunter green snowsuit Elvie gave me for Christmas, “for when the paparazzi stalk you,” and by all accounts, it seems to be doing its job. It’s too dark on the artificially-lit slopes for anyone to recognize my face, but I’ve gotten three offers to head down to the bars, and two unsolicited phone numbers. This all in the last hour.
The night ski crowd is young and horny.
Jamie and I ski down behind a group of high schoolers, and afterward she says, “I’m going to the women’s room.”
“Okay. Meet you back down here in 10 or 15.”
“You should give me your phone.”
I stick my tongue out at her, then ski over to the lifts. I wait a few minutes for an unoccupied pod, and when the crowd around me only grows, I get into one of the little pods with two guys.
I try to ignore them, looking down at my phone. Somewhere along the ascent, I get two bars of service. I want to see if Elvie’s texted me a compliment on the ski suit ass shot I sent earlier.
Just as I confirm there’s no text waiting in my inbox, I feel a pair of eyes on me. A second later, one of the guys says, “Hey…are you that girl?”
Despite my lousy mood, I’m prepared, and flash a quick smile his way. “Yes. I’m definitely that girl.”
I hear a cough, followed by rich laughter, and look up into a handsome face.
The guy who first spoke rolls his eyes at his companion, the dark-haired, dark-eyed guy who’s giving me a lets-fuck look.
“I’m Dove,” the first guy—a blue-eyed ginger—says. He jerks his thumb at brown eyes, beside him. “This is my buddy, Breck.”
The dark one pulls a glove off. Holds his hand out. “John is the name.” He cuts his eyes at Dove, who shrugs.
“I think I know you, too. Weren’t you in a movie?” Breck-or-John asks.
I smile. “Was I?”
“She was,” Dove says.
I flirt with them until the lift lets us off at the top of one of the easier black diamonds—the only one that’s open at this moment for night skiing.
Even in my Elvie-distracted state, I’ve learned these two are in “the service,” probably the Service-My-Cock-Tonight arm of the military, because they claim the last time they were here, they were skiing alongside President Obama and his family.
“You think I believe that?” I ask, cocking a thin, shaded brow at them.
When we all get off the lift, the one called Dove hands me a small pair of binoculars and says, “Watch and you decide.”
I watch them until the course turns so sharply, they move out of sight. I have to admit, they’re really fucking good. They ski like pros, and I would know. My younger cousin is one.
I find them beaming at me at the bottom of the slope. Jamie is standing by them, chatting animatedly, as if they all are friends.
When I stop, they ski over. I give her a confused look, and she smirks. “I see you’ve met our neighbor and his friend.”
“We have a neighbor?”
John holds his hand out. I hand him the binoculars, giving him a skeptical look.
“That’s cold.” But he’s grinning.
I shrug. “That girl is cold.”
We end up in The Slopes Bar with them, sipping some weird, organic, spring water something or other vodka called Snow Queen.
“Not bad,” I admit, although honestly, I’m not paying attention. I’ve got my phone in my lap and am texting with one of Elvie’s tech girls, Louise, a pretty native New Yorker who dates mostly girls and sometimes drives E home when he’s too drunk and I’m not there.
I’m hoping if I follow the conversation here with half an ear, the guys won’t notice my rudeness.
“See, I knew she’d like it,” one says.
“It’s the spring water.”
Jamie elbows me. “I’m going to take that thing,” she hisses.
When we go to the ladies’ room an hour later, she says, “C’mon, girl. They’re nice, and they just moved into that house. Before then, they lived somewhere smaller, but the dad is Mayor Ferrara.” She blinks, dragging her eyes wide open after.
“What does that mean?”
“Mayor Ferrara. He’s the mayor of Breckenridge. You don’t pay much attention to politics, do you?”
I roll my eyes. “Absolutely none.”
She snatches the phone away. “He’s not a texter. You know that. I’m keeping this.”
I sigh dramatically and refresh my lipstick.
“Do you even want to stay out?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’m cool either way.”
“Okay, well we’re staying. I don’t know John very well—or any of that family, really—but it sure beats watching you mope around at home.”
I let out a melodramatic groan, and Jamie tugs me out the door.
When we get back to the table, the “military” guys are standing up, waving us toward the door.
“C’mon ladies. We’re going down the way to Carlyle’s Blues Bar. Our obnoxious friend is there, and he wants to meet you.”
NINETEEN
Gwenna
November 6, 2015
I watch his hand come to his mouth, his fingertips touching his lips as he blinks at the door, then shifts his gaze down to his feet.
He’s wearing a white shirt and what looks, through the distortion of the peep hole, like dark pants. His curls are blowing slightly the breeze. It looks like he’s trimmed his facial hair, so it’s less beard-like and more scruffy again.
I wonder what’s in the pack he’s wearing on his back. I wonder what he’d do if I pulled the door open right now.
He blinks right at me through the peep hole, and I can’t resist the urge to pull the door open.
“Come on in.” I laugh.
His eyes widen on my blue face, then he’s grinning. I forgot how beautiful he is when he lets loose a big, wide, dimpled grin: his clean, white teeth, his luscious lips, the way his sharp eyes squint and his cheeks curve.
He lifts a hand to touch my mask-caked cheek, and chuckles softly. “Who are you, and where’s my Gwenna?”
I blink, then cover my shock—his Gwenna!—with an awkward little laugh. “She’ll be back in oh…about three minutes.” I remember belatedly that my hair is in a towel on my head, so I guess I look doubly weird.
I step back into my living room and motion Barrett through the door.
“If you dare…” I waggle my eyebrows.
With one long stride, he steps inside and closes the distance between us, wrapping me against his big body and pressing his face against the towel on my hair. The motion is quick and casual—like he’s been hugging me forever. By the time my stomach nosedives like a roller coaster, he’s already drawn away and is standing there in front of my door, giving me a charmed smile.
“I like the Smurf look.”
I flip him off. “Fuck you,” I giggle.
His eyes glaze over, pupils dilating slightly, as if he’s thinking of that in literal terms. I watch him swallow, throat working as his eyes stay locked on mine. His hands are hooked around the straps of h
is pack and he’s standing still, but I can feel what I would see if I let my gaze wander south. I can’t help myself: my eyes are drawn like magnets down his long, lean body, lapping hungrily, until they come to the big, delicious bulge between his legs.
My heart pounds. Warmth throbs through me.
“I’ve got groceries. Kitchen?” he asks. His voice is an octave lower than usual, causing hairs to stand up on my arms.
I nod once and watch his back as he disappears around the half-wall. Move, Gwen. Go wash your face!
I can’t, though. Move—that is. I feel hot and breathless. I try to get a handle on my raging hormones as I listen to him open my refrigerator. I hear his bag unzip, hear the sounds of him unloading items onto shelves. The rubbery shhhnik of the refrigerator door closing. A heartbeat later, Barrett reappears in the doorway between den and kitchen. He rests his shoulder on the partial wall and watches me with the stillness of a predator.
“You should wash your face.” His gaze laps me up and down. With his eyes on me like this, his intentions screaming in the silence, I’m too nervous to glance between his legs again. Abstaining makes my cheeks feel even hotter.
I nod, reaching up to push a strand of hair out of my face. “Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I wash my face, brush my hair, and change into some charcoal leggings, an olive-colored CareBears t-shirt, and a pair of thick, wool socks—as if thick socks will keep me insulated from the lust between us.
I find Barrett in the den, his massive shoulders hunched as he leans down to look at the photos on my bookshelf.
I come to stand beside him, tapping my socked foot against the back of his knee. Barrett has me on the floor in half a second. He’s straddling me, wrapping his big hands around my head as if he’s going to assault me at the Dokko pressure points.
Instead, his fingers drag along my scalp. His lips come down on mine, kissing me slow and deep and hard—until I’m breathless. His hands thread into my hair, pulling slightly. The weight of his big body between my legs makes me lift my hips and groan.
I wrap my leg around the back of his and grip the sensitive spot on the inside of his elbow. I’m trying to distract myself by feinting an attack move, because right now I’m throbbing so hard, I’m worried I might come with just him lying on me, kissing me.
His hand peels mine from the vulnerable spot. “Traitor,” he whispers teasingly against my jaw. His eyes are hot on mine. “What am I going to do with you?”
He strokes my hair at my temple. I bring my knee up, trying to make contact with his bulge. He holds himself out of my reach, but then I see his blue eyes haze, and he shifts his hips so my knee is pressed against him.
God.
His eyes shut. “Mm.”
I tug at his curls. His hooded eyes lift open. “Oh, so it’s like that,” he rasps.
I smile deviously, rubbing him with my knee. “Just like that.”
He scoops me up so fast I’m dizzy, sits me on the couch, and kneels in front of me. He pulls my thick socks off, then slowly peels my leggings down my thighs. My heart pounds as the cold air touches my warm skin.
I look down, waiting for him to pull my leggings the rest of the way off, but he just works them to my knees, then sinks a finger into me. With his finger thick inside me, he lifts me up and carries me carefully to the partial wall between the den and kitchen. He backs me up against it, balancing me there as I moan softly from his ministrations and he works to take his jeans down with his free hand.
I groan as he drags his finger out of me. With one knee propped under my ass, he wraps both hands around my waist and lifts me up. My back is pressed against the wall. My legs, needing something to grasp onto so I don’t teeter off his knee, lock around his hips—and here we are: like in a sexy movie.
I hold onto his waist with my legs, press my back against the wall, and Barrett shifts his hips until I feel his smooth head prod my folds. I let out a moan, and his head drags between my pussy and my ass.
“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he rasps.
His mouth nips at my jaw, and then he lowers me slowly, so I’m pressed against his thick head. The feeling of settling atop him—my slick lips pinching as he pushes up against me, then parting wetly around him, so he pops inside—makes me gasp like someone in a porno.
He shifts his hips a little, and gravity impales me, inch by slow, thick inch. He’s really big…but I’m so slick. I bear down against the almost painful pressure of him, try to rock my hips and shove him, deep and thick, inside me.
Barrett holds my hips, though.
“Slow,” he whispers.
I moan, rocking. “Please…”
I reach down and try to spread myself around him. I feel Barrett’s muscles flinch—and then, with one hard thrust, he buries himself in me.
“Oh my God…” I grunt, my senses overwhelmed. He’s so damn deep. I can’t move, can only clutch his upper arms as he swells in me.
“God.” I try to spread my legs as my clit throbs. His dick is so big… Fuck, I wish he’d touch my clit. I try to touch it with my own finger, but Barrett moves his hips. I stretch around him, groaning as he seems to fill me deeper still.
“Hold on with your legs, Gwennie.”
I hadn’t notice I had let go. Jesus. I can barely get my legs to cooperate. My body feels weak and shaky, molten. I can barely do more than just pant here, spread and stretched around him. I feel my clit swell as I clench around his thickness, shifting as if I can adjust to what’s inside me.
Barrett thrusts, clutching my hips. I grunt as his head brushes my G-spot.
“Shit…” His lips brush mine, his soft tongue stroking into my mouth—and the two at once: his hot tongue surging in my mouth, his thick cock buried deeper than I’ve ever taken anything—they make me moan and shiver.
I think I hear him murmur, “Beautiful.”
He lifts me by the hips and slides his thick erection partway out. I groan at the loss. He pushes me against the wall, rocks the tip of himself in me till I’m panting, then he surges back in.
I cry out at the incredible invasion.
“That’s right,” he purrs. His rough cheek brushes mine, and I can feel his mouth move over my ear. He licks around the rim of it and breathes against my throat. The sensations make my legs fall open wider, and I try to thrust against him.
He grunts as he pulls slowly back out. His breath catches, and I open my eyes in time to see the rapture on his face as he shoves back inside.
“God!” I’m getting fucked…
I grip his arms.
His hands have moved; he’s got me by the ass now. Every time I sink down on him, he groans roughly. His chest pumps with his deep breaths as he draws out, then punches inside…losing his grip on my ass as he pulls back out, squeezing my hips as he ruts back in.
When he’s buried deep inside me and I’m panting, dizzy and impaled, he lets go of my hip to rub a finger over my clit.
“God!” My legs around his waist go weak as pleasure swells between them. Barrett’s mouth is biting me. He strokes my swollen clit once more. I wobble, grip his shoulders.
Barrett gives a tight laugh, then sinks to the floor with me still on him.
“Jesus Christ.” The words are grunts.
I feel his dick throb in me as he lays me on my back and pushes in. He hunches over me, cupping my neck, kissing my mouth, his hips bucking against mine, driving him a little deeper. He draws out. I push against him as he sinks back in.
“Ahh,” he grits. “You…feel…so goddamned…fucking…good.”
He lifts one leg and then my other over his tall shoulders. I feel myself tremble—or maybe him.
“Okay?” he rasps. His heavy-lidded eyes meet mine, inquiring through the haze.
I nod. I groan. It kind of hurts…and yet….the pain is good. I’ve never felt so full.
At this angle, every movement has me seeing stars. I grunt and groan and Barrett whispers words I’m too lust-drunk to
understand. His finger finds my clit, my throbbing clit, and skates slickly around it till I’m screaming.
“That’s right, Gwennie…” Distantly, I hear our flesh slapping together. The world seems to melt around his cock, his massive cock, his thrusting cock. I’m stretched around it, clenched around it… Fury starts to build around it. My shaking hands grasp at his thighs, spread around me. I clamp my legs down on his shoulders, so lit up with pleasure I can barely breathe.
I feel him shaking, hear him panting.
At a moment when he’s buried deep as ever, he strokes around where we’re joined, teasing my stretched lips, and then, with one more rock against me, he strokes my clit. I gasp as heaven swells between my legs and spills like lava through me. I can feel him twitch, feel warmth burst in me.
Barrett’s groan is rough and long. I feel his hand squeeze my thigh and realize my legs are still over his shoulders. His hands come warm and gentle around my ankles, lowering my legs then drawing slowly out of me.
His eyes are sagging. He looks drugged. I laugh because I feel so good. He chuckles too.
“I’m sorry I…” He shakes his head and murmurs, “Hang on.”
He disappears into my kitchen, coming back with warm, wet paper towels. As he presses one between my legs, he meets my eyes. “I’m clean. I should have mentioned yesterday. I’m—”
“No,” I whisper, touching his wrist. “That was perfect.”
I stroke his knee as Barrett cleans me up, and when he’s finished, I grasp his damp forearm and tug him down beside me.
“I like this,” I sigh.
Silence passes. Finally, I hear him rumble, “So do I.”
Barrett
My dick has never felt this good. Yeah, it’s been a while since I was with someone, but I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s her. When I slide into her, I feel everything go still, and in that sweet void, the pleasure burns through me like a bushfire.
I look down at Gwenna, leaning back on her elbows, head tipped back, her body bare, her mouth curved.
