by Laura Kaye
He nodded, pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, concern darkened his gaze. “It was too much,” he whispered. The tone chiding, he shook his head. Strands of black fell across his eyes.
Megan frowned, then, figuring his meaning, gasped. “No.” She brushed his hair back and cupped his face in her hands. “No, don’t say that. What you shared with me…God, Owen. I’ve never… I don’t even have words. But I will remember it for the rest of my life, and cherish it beyond anything you can imagine.” She kissed him, lingering over the kiss as she willed him to feel her awe and gratitude. “I never said, ‘thank you,’ so, thank you.” She kissed him again.
He watched her face intently while she spoke, and soon his expression eased, brightened. “It was my pleasure,” he said quietly. “You’re welcome.”
The talk about their night as the wind resurrected in her memory what he’d said before. He loved her. She wanted to say it back, so bad. To embrace their love without fear or reservation. Her shoulders drooped. Every time she even thought the words, her fight or flight instinct kicked in, sending jolting tingles out her extremities. Clearly, her self-preservation instinct wasn’t yet convinced of the wisdom of voicing her feelings, of putting her heart in harm’s way again.
“I just feel a little off,” she murmured, talking to herself as much as to him. She gave a small smile, hoped it didn’t come off as a grimace. “It’s not your fault. Maybe some food will help.”
“Food. Done.” He turned back to the fridge, still open all this time.
She hadn’t really noticed the cold radiating out from behind her. Maybe he was wearing off on her, because she was starting to enjoy the cold. “I could go for something cold, I think,” she said, knowing that would be his preference, too.
He kissed her cheek. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Dinner was quick and casual. Despite how long she’d slept, Megan was surprisingly tired again and eager to be back in Owen’s arms. In bed, Owen settled on his back and Megan crawled on top of him, settled her hips between his thighs and her head on the broad plane of his bare chest. Her hands burrowed under his upper back and she squeezed him.
Under Megan’s stomach, Owen hardened.
She smiled against his pec, sleep already luring her. “I’ll take care of that in the morning,” she whispered.
His body shook beneath her. “No pressure. I have no control of that reaction when I’m around you.” He hugged her into him and lightly tilted his hips up against her.
“I’m glad,” she said, unable to resist wriggling her abdomen against him.
“Little snow devil.” He kissed her hair. “Be still. Sleep.”
§
Boreas had been right, Owen groused to himself the next morning. All these human emotions were a bitch. The intensity of his feelings for Megan could fuel a record-setting blizzard or preserve the polar ice cap. Surely this mortal body could not restrain such power. Anticipation made his gut jump and squeeze. Megan was coming to him, he was sure of it, could almost feel her choice of him bursting forth. But it was all so fast, and he understood her reluctance. Time operated differently in his native realm; the gods’ immortality made them less conscious of time, made its passage less meaningful in their motivations and decisions. But that left him no less surprised by how quickly he’d fallen so hard.
And if those emotions weren’t enough, anxiety unsettled him, tensed the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Today was his last day. Outside the house, a symphony of drips played out, had been playing for hours.
The West Wind had arrived. The melt was upon them.
And his body knew it. The sheets under him lay damp with sweat.
A crash clattered outside the bedroom window. Megan’s head jerked off Owen’s chest. Tiny impressions of his chest hair lined her cheek.
He traced a finger over the light marks. “Good morning.”
Her eyes shined bright blue from the hours of sound sleep. “Mmm, very good.” A low scraping sound preceded another crash. Megan frowned. “What is that?”
Owen sighed. “Snow, sliding off the roof.”
“Oh. Oh. How warm is it out?”
He wanted to keep his focus on her, not the problematic weather. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” He refused to use even a minute of his remaining time watching the sand pour through the hourglass. Doing so would not win her heart, would not earn his chance at humanity. Even if this didn’t work out the way he wanted, he could leave here with the best memories of his existence. So, today…well, today was about making memories that could sustain him for eternity. In case.
He looked to the ceiling and sent up a fervent, silent prayer that memories not be all that would remain of this amazing week. He needed more. He needed everything.
He needed Megan.
Soft fingers stroked his cheek. “Hey.” His gaze returned to hers. “You okay?”
He grabbed and kissed her fingers. “Never better.” Her warmth and affection beckoned him. He slid down underneath her until he could claim her lips. “Been wanting you,” he murmured around a kiss. Just to make the point, he rocked his waking hard-on into her lower abdomen.
She clutched his hair, dragged her legs to the outside of his hips so she could straddle him.
Owen’s hands went right to her ass. He pressed her down, used the leverage to grind them together. Every moan and whimper that spilled from her throat reverberated straight to his cock. He needed her. Needed her with everything he was. Wanted to see her face painted with the ecstasy of release. Again and again.
The urgency of the moment gripped him. He tugged at her flannel pants. “Get these off,” he said against her neck. “Gods, I need you to come on me.”
“Jesus,” she bit out, already pushing the pants down and shimmying her hips and legs to kick them off.
He groaned as her actions tormented him with delicious friction. Tugging at her shirt, he bared all of her.
A rumbling groan sounded low in his throat. Without warning, he rolled on top of her, laying them both on the edge of the bed. The cool air tingled over his back, enlivening every sensation. With his hips between her thighs, he rocked his hard-on against the nerves at the top of her sex, wanting her frantic when he entered her. She clutched at his shoulders, her short nails scratching and biting against his skin in a way that drove him harder. He rested his body weight on her chest and reached both hands under her ass. The new position gave him more control over their movements. Her wetness coated him, made him slick against her—exactly what he wanted.
Megan’s low moans turned to whimpered cries. Her heels crossed over his lower back. “Oh, Owen,” she panted. Then she held her breath, wrenched her head into the mattress, and came.
“Yes,” he hissed. “So good. How do you want me?” He kissed her lips, her cheek, her eyelids. “Hmm? What do you want?”
Even as she still shuddered, her skin heated under his lips.
He tasted the flush warmth with slow open-mouthed kisses. “Come on, Megan,” he whispered. “Tell me what that blush is all about.”
She met his gaze, her eyes intense and unsure.
“You can tell me anything, angel.”
Her lips lifted to his ear. Pants and raspy words spilled out. “Bend me over the bed, Owen.”
He flew off her and tugged her body just how he wanted it—how she wanted it—feet on the ground, upper body bent over the bed. Cock in one hand, he found her entrance and sank in to her very depths. Her muscles still quivered with the pulsing end of her orgasm.
Pleasured cries spilled from Megan’s mouth. Her fingers tangled into the sheets. “Oh, God, Owen, you’re so deep.”
He bit out an ancient curse. She couldn’t talk like that and expect him to make this last, not when he felt the weight of time’s passage—no matter how much he pledged
to ignore it. And not when she was so warm and so tight and so wet around him. But that didn’t mean he didn’t love the hell out of her muttered pleadings and encouragements.
Owen tugged her hips away from the edge of the mattress so he could reach around and stroke her. He dropped panting kisses onto her back. “Look at me,” he rasped.
Megan pushed up on elbows and looked over her right shoulder. The blue of her eyes was deep with lust, so damn beautiful.
“I want to see you when you come again.”
Megan groaned, her backward motion meeting him thrust for thrust now. Her lids sagged closed.
“Open your eyes, Megan. And come.”
Her slick muscles tightened around his length. Her brow furrowed in concentration, anticipation.
“That’s it.” The circles Owen drew around her clit grew tighter, faster, harder.
A low whine rose up out of Megan’s throat, then exploded in volume along with her body. Her walls milked him. Her knuckles went white around the fisted sheets.
Victory surged through Owen’s veins, pooled in his balls. He gripped her hips harder, wrapped his chest over her back, his arms around her breasts.
I love you, he roared in his mind. The words seeped from his every pore, but he wouldn’t let them out of his mouth, not right now. He didn’t want to throw her out of the moment. He wanted her to focus on pleasure, on feeling good, on how good—how great—they were together. So he focused on showing her with his body.
Arms wrapped around Megan’s chest, Owen slowly lifted her into a standing position. He bent his knees to hold the angle that most pleased her, that hit the spot deep inside that made her tighten and groan. His peripheral vision caught movement, and he glanced to the right. Gasped.
“Megan.” He swallowed hard. “Look, angel.”
She followed his voice and her gaze drifted to the right. “Oh, God.”
The mirror over the dresser framed their lovemaking. Neither could tear their stare away from the erotic image reflected back to them. Megan’s golden waves bounced with his every thrust. Owen’s body curled around her, held her. The muscles from his ribs to his thighs corded as he moved against her. Their eyes met in the mirror.
And hers were absolutely alive with unspoken emotion.
Owen threw his head back and roared out his orgasm.
“Oh, yes,” Megan whimpered. “Owen, I— So good.”
Long moments passed as Owen shuddered and released himself deep within her beautiful body. When he calmed, he gently withdrew, then sat on the bed’s edge and pulled Megan onto his lap. He cradled her, nuzzled her neck, so content in the amazing connection they’d just shared.
And then Megan burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Megan’s distress hit Owen like a punch to the gut. Had he hurt her? “Angel?” He ducked his head down to her level, tipped her chin up with his fingers.
Tears streamed from Megan’s baby blues. She clapped a hand over her mouth, smothering her hitching breath and whimpered cries.
“Please tell me what’s wrong.” One arm supporting her back, he used his free hand to try to dry her face, but it was no use. The tears kept coming. So he let her cry, let her get out whatever she needed to release while he held her close.
After a while, she quieted, only occasionally shuddering.
“Can you tell me now? I’m worried about you. Did I…did I hurt you?” Owen remembered their half-joke the night he’d arrived—he would welcome her use of the iron poker on him should he ever cause her harm.
She shook her head. “No, baby,” she managed in a high, strained voice.
The endearment ballooned within his heart, setting off the most pleasant warmth in his chest. “Then what—”
“Happy,” she whispered. Softer tears fell with her pronouncement.
Owen frowned. Happy? It uplifted him to hear her say so, but then— “Then why do you cry, angel?”
“Little…over…whelmed,” she said between hitches. She palmed away the wetness on both cheeks. “Don’t know why I’m so emotional. Stupid.”
“Megan Snow, you are a lot of things”—he pulled her hands to his mouth and kissed the back of each one—“but stupid you are not. You feel what you feel. But, can you explain—”
She kissed his cheek, just one small press of her lips, then combed her hands through both sides of his still-damp hair. “I don’t know. It’s just…being with you felt so good, so right. Everything was so intense. I realized I was happy, so happy, Owen, and then…this.” She waved at her wet face. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Owen’s smile was small at first, broader as she spoke. “It’s okay. Being overwhelmed by happiness is a good thing. I’m glad I was a part of it.”
She ducked her head into the crook of his neck. “You definitely were. Are.”
Arms back around her again, Owen held her tight and basked in the memory of her words: being with you felt so right. That’s because it is, Megan. We are meant to be.
“Are you hungry?” she murmured when she’d calmed completely.
He nodded. “I could eat.”
“Me too,” she agreed. “Wanna have a picnic in the igloo?”
Owen hesitated only a moment. The ice house should protect him from the morning’s increasing warmth. And he loved that she wanted to be there with him again. Maybe that little place meant as much to her as it did to him. “Absolutely,” he finally said.
After dressing, they collected for their igloo picnic grapes, juice, yogurt, and two bowls of cereal—Lucky Charms, naturally—he would never forget the seductive set of her eyes when she’d called him “magical” and “delicious.”
He hated how everything they experienced today felt like the last time it would happen.
Not if he could help it.
Megan opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “Oh, it’s really ni—oh no.” She whirled around so abruptly, Owen nearly spilled the milk out of the cereal bowls. “You can’t come out here. What was I thinking?”
Even in the thin, short-sleeved T-shirt and light track pants he’d borrowed, Owen was uncomfortably warm in the air flowing through the open door. But it would be better in the igloo, so he nodded her forward. “I’ll be fine. Now, move it, woman. I’ve got some marshmallows to eat.”
“I’m serious, Owen.”
“So am I.” Owen gave her a quick peck. “Really, it’s okay. We don’t have to stay out too long.”
Megan narrowed her eyes, her gaze running over his face. “You promise?”
Her concern warmed him, in a good way this time. “I do.”
“Okay.” She turned and jogged down the steps, then made her way across the shoveled path.
Owen inhaled a deep breath, ducked his face, and stepped out into the sun. “Fucking Zephyros,” he mumbled. Normally, the sun didn’t bother him. When the mercury hit the thirties or below. But it was already fifty-five if it was anything, and it was only ten o’clock in the morning. He jogged over the path, not caring about spilled milk, and ducked into the igloo’s doorway.
He handed Megan the bowls first, then crawled through the low arch. The embracing ice shaded him, eased his discomfort.
Megan’s hand was suddenly right in front of him. “Here.”
Owen lifted the snowball from her fingers, and lost an even bigger chunk of his heart to her thoughtfulness. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”
“No, I’m worried. Please eat it?”
“I don’t want to worry you,” he said, taking a big bite in hopes of easing her. It certainly eased him, cooled him, relaxed the muscles that had tightened almost as if preparing for a fight.
“Can’t help it,” she sniffed as she laid out their breakfast feast on the blanket between them. They’d left it out there the other
day. “I guess I’m a worrier.” Suddenly, she froze. “Oh, hell, I’ve turned into my mother!”
Owen chuckled.
“It’s not funny,” she pouted, tossing the bag of grapes on the ground. Two green balls rolled away.
Which struck Owen as hilarious. One grape came to a stop against his boot. Laughter spilled out of him, felt miraculous as always. Then a four-leaf clover whacked him in the cheek, fell into his lap. He stilled.
With great gravitas, he reached down to his leg, picked up the green marshmallow, and popped it in his mouth.
Megan pressed her lips together, then burst out laughing.
Still chewing, Owen couldn’t hold back his own smile, loving that he could make her feel that way. Her face and eyes were so alive when she laughed, so bright. What greater purpose could there be than the happiness of the one you loved? Owen couldn’t imagine anything more fulfilling. He would devote his life to her joy, if only she would let him.
§
Megan adored Owen’s ability to make her laugh and smile, both of which had been completely absent from her life for so long before the Christmas night miracle of his arrival.
Her laughter didn’t mean she wasn’t worried, though, because she was. When he’d ducked through the igloo door, his face bore the flush of exertion, despite the fact that during the three hours of constructing the thing he hadn’t even broken a sweat. It was surprisingly warm for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. The kind of warm that had you hoping you might just get away with your strappy little New Year’s Eve dress without freezing the girls off.
Perfect for humans.
Not good if you were a snow god, apparently.
She sighed, determined not to ruin the fun they were having while they ate, but not totally able to sidetrack the insistent questions her brain raised about what would happen if it continued to heat up. So, she struck a middle ground and focused her words on their fun banter and her eyes on his face—watching for any signs of distress.
Her hunger made it easy to focus on the food. She’d skipped a number of meals lately—not unusual for her, really—but her body now seemed determined to make every one of them up. She didn’t mind. It was nice to socialize over a meal, to not have someone constantly suggesting you try to eat a little something. So she relished every cold, crunchy bite of her Lucky Charms, every creamy spoonful of yogurt, and the way the sweet of the grapes burst on her tongue when she bit down.
