Snowbound

by CJ Martín

  “How are you feeling?” His movements are slow, almost as if he were approaching a wounded animal.

  “Fine.” I glance at the clock again. “Late.” Time is ticking.

  “I called Jensen and told him you weren’t feeling well and that you needed the day off.”

  “Did you tell him…?” I can’t bear to say it aloud. Did you tell him I’m hung-over? Did you tell him I made a fool of myself?

  “Course not.” He sits down toward the end of the bed. “Gigs, we need to talk.”

  “About?” I ask hopefully, praying with every ounce of my being that he’ll want to talk about something trivial, like how I used the last of the toothpaste yesterday morning and never replaced it.

  “Last night.” He scoots closer to me on the bed.

  My face flames. Oh dear God, please don’t say it. I think I’ll die of embarrassment if he makes me relive the horrible events from yesterday while I’m sober.

  “Please.” My voice breaks. Why oh why did I listen to Erika and her stupid advice? Make him pay. Make him suffer. Show him what he’s missing.

  I most definitely showed him, and he’s clearly not missing it.

  He clears his throat. “So last night,” he begins.

  “Please.” I beg again. “Can we pretend it didn’t happen? I was drinking. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He’s quiet for several long seconds before he speaks, his voice clear. “I know what you were thinking.”

  “You do?” My brows pinch together.

  “Yes,” he says simply. “I know exactly what you were thinking. You were thinking you wanted me so badly it was almost painful.” His fingers trail up my legs. “You were thinking you would rather die than wait another minute to be with me.” His fingers work their way up my arms and I shiver. “You were thinking that you wish you could control this pull between us. Wishing you were strong enough to fight it, but you’re not.”

  I stare at him, mouth agape.

  “I know,” he says, as he wraps his fingers around my neck to pull me close, “because that’s exactly the way I feel about you.”

  My fingers tug on her neck, but she already leans into my touch without my prompting. She clutches the sheet to her chest in effort to conceal herself. It’s a good thing too, because I know exactly what she is wearing underneath said sheet and it isn’t much. I was the one to change her clothes last night. I’ll say it again: I deserve an award. Maybe multiple awards at this point.

  I take a deep breath. “You asked me last night why I didn’t want you.” Her face flushes and she looks away, but I continue. “You’re wrong. I do want you. I want you so much. It’s fucking killing me.”

  She brings her eyes back to mine. “What?”

  “Believe me, I’ve tried to fight it.” I ignore the pounding of my heart, needing to tell her everything once and for all. “You’re consuming me.”

  “What?” Her lower lip quivers and judging by the pained look in her eyes, I think I’ve offended her.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…” I scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck. I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

  She doesn’t say anything. She just remains sitting in my bed, in our bed, clutching that damn sheet as if it were some type of shield.

  She continues to stare at me, her eyes searching mine.

  “I don’t know what this is, but I can’t take it anymore.” I look away, eyes darting around the room, before coming back to land on her. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  Her eyes are wide and confused. I need to make her understand how I feel, so I keep talking. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And I don’t want to fuck that up, but I can’t pretend anymore. I need to have you.” My voice breaks.

  Saying nothing, she continues to stare. The silence is deafening.

  “Say something, please.” I practically beg. “Tell me that this is killing you too.”

  Being vulnerable is not something I’m good at. I don’t need anyone or rely on anyone and I’ve always preferred it that way. Opening myself up to Gigs is a crap shoot, because after all the times I’ve fucked up in the past with her, she may not want to take that chance on me.

  “Anders,” she says, her voice light and breathy. I let my eyes drop and steel myself for her rejection. For all the reasons we won’t be good together. The reasons why I’m not good enough for her. As if I haven’t already been over that list in my mind ten thousand fucking times already.

  “Kiss me.” Her words whisper across my skin, breaking into my thoughts.

  I snap my eyes back up to her. She didn’t reject me.

  My eyes sweep over her. She looks so sweet and innocent and the devil inside me wants to do extremely naughty things to her. My eyes fall to her lips and a shiver passes through me as I imagine her down on her knees while I fist my hands in her hair. Blood rushes to my cock, ready and willing for her.

  “Anders.” She whispers again as if to prompt me, but I’m already reaching for her.

  My body moves over hers and she leans back into pillows amassed behind her. I lower myself on top of her, being careful to support my weight on my forearms so I don’t crush her. Bringing my face to hers, I stop a few inches from her lips. I study her face, trying to commit every single detail to memory just in case I never have the chance again.

  I brush a few strands of loose hair behind her ear and whisper, “You are so beautiful.” I pause, then add, “Inside and out.”

  She flushes at the compliment but lifts her head, closing the few remaining inches between us.

  When her lips find mine I let out a quiet groan and settle between her legs. Her lips are soft and smooth against my own and she tastes like warm honey and lemons. Just as I remember. Just like I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.

  My tongue darts out to lick her lips and she surprises me by opening her mouth, allowing me in. I try to go slow, but my blood courses through my veins and my heart pounds, demanding more and more.

  I’m hard already and I know she can feel it because she wiggles beneath me, causing me to graze her right there and it’s everything I can do to control myself. I have to take this slow. I’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer. I need her to set the pace.

  Her hot warmth seeps through the thin fabric that separates us and I grind my pelvis against her, showing her how much I want her. She whimpers into my mouth and fists my hair in her hands, tugging hard. Holy shit. Not what I was expecting at all. She is as desperate for me as I am for her.

  I pull back and bring my lips to her neck. She turns her head, giving me unobstructed access. I suck hard, tasting her, feeling her writhe against me. In this moment, I want nothing more than to mark her. I want my marks all over her. I want to claim her as mine.

  Her neck muscles move against my mouth as she whispers my name. “Anders.”

  At the sound of my name on her lips in such ecstasy I almost come.

  My hands start to creep up from her hips, sliding her shirt up and over her belly and ribs. When my hands meet the underside of her breasts she gasps. Shit. Slow down, Anders.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse and strained. Her eyes meet mine and she nods. But somehow that isn’t enough for me. I want to hear her tell me she wants me as much as I want her. “Gigs, tell me.” I choke out and hold my hands back with a willpower I didn’t know I possessed.

  “Anders.” She moans. “I want you to touch me.” She dips her head, avoiding my eyes, seeming embarrassed.

  I remind myself—again—that she doesn’t have much experience. I know she’s a virgin but I can only assume that she’s done other things. But God if that doesn’t make me angry. I don’t want to think about another guy touching Gigs. She’s mine.

  I try to push those images from my mind and every conscious thought leaves my brain when my fingers find her breasts. She fills my palms in the best possible way and I’m not satisfied with just feeling. I need to see her too.

  My hands
fall away from her and she whimpers in protest. My lips curve in a smile at her impatience. I circle my arms around her back and when I lift her up, she raises her arms overhead. Within seconds the camisole is off. I quickly toss it to the side and lean back on my heels to admire the view. She averts her gaze but makes no attempt to cover herself. Thank God because I need to see her. I’ve waited too damn long.

  “You’re perfect.” I breathe, bringing my hands back to her. I graze her nipples with my thumbs. Her nipples harden and she shivers. “Your tits…” I say roughly, momentarily forgetting about her inexperience. “Let me taste you.” I gently push her back on the pillows and settle once again between her legs.

  I dip my head and plant delicate kisses along the swell of her breasts, forcing myself to go slowly. Using my tongue, I trace a line across the top of each breast. Teasing, tasting, and appreciating her. She whimpers and her breathing speeds up. When I can’t hold back anymore, I dip my head again and suck her nipple into my mouth. When I make contact, her hips slam up to meet mine and I curse at the contact. “Fuck.”

  “Anders,” she cries as my mouth finds her again. I suck hard, swirling my tongue around the nipple. My hand finds her other breast and alternates between gentle and hard squeezes.

  She begins grinding her hips against my cock, and I’m painfully aware that all that separates us are my thin boxers and her cotton panties. I feel her damp heat through the fabric, and it’s too much.

  “Gigs.” I pull back with forced effort. “We need to stop.”

  “Anders.” She moans again, bucking her hips against me, not heeding my warning.

  “God.” I moan. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” I should be embarrassed at how close I am. Christ, we’re dry humping like two horny teenagers, but I don’t care. It feels too damn good. And this is Gigs. I’ll do whatever she wants.

  “Don’t stop.” She practically begs, rubbing against me in a slow rhythm. “So close…” Her voice breaks.

  “Yeah?” I ask, wanting to give her everything.

  Rather than answer, she tugs my head back down to her chest, showing me exactly what she wants. I happily oblige, starting with her right breast then her left, giving them both the same attention.

  My hips sync with hers and I’m matching her thrust for thrust, each one faster and harder than the last.

  “Anders.” She screams, and her body stiffens beneath me as the orgasm tears through her. She grabs me, fiercely scratching her nails down my back. And with that I’m done, thrusting against her one last time before I grunt my release, her name slipping from my lips as I come.

  I collapse on top her, feeling the heat from her body touch every inch of my exposed skin. I slowly roll off her to the side, but not wanting to break contact just yet, I interlace my fingers with hers. She releases a contented sigh and I bring her hand to my lips for a gentle kiss.

  We both remain quiet for several long minutes, allowing our breathing to return to normal. I tug my fingers away and grab a pair of shorts from the floor. Her eyes are on me at first but as I pull down my boxers, she blushes and turns her head. At times her innocence still surprises me.

  I slip back into bed and lie down next to her. My fingers trail along her arm, desperate for contact. I’m trying to sate this insane desire to touch her. I need her close. What the fuck is happening to me?

  “Gigs,” I say gently. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She’s still looking up at the ceiling.

  I swear I won’t be able to handle it if she regrets it. That was the most incredible experience of my life and we didn’t even have sex. I must be a masochist because I ask, “Do you…” I swallow around the sudden knot in my throat. “Do you regret it?”

  “No,” she says quickly, and a wave of relief washes over me. “I just…” She picks at the sheet. “I’m a little embarrassed.”

  Why is she embarrassed? I’m the one who came in my shorts like a fucking pubescent twelve year old.

  “Gigs.” I turn to face her, forcing her to look in my eyes. “Why are you embarrassed? It’s just me.”

  “Exactly.” Color rushes to her cheeks. When I still don’t get what she’s trying to say, she continues. “You’re so experienced and I… well, you know.”

  I never regretted fucking around so much in my life. How could she even think those other girls could compare to what we just shared? “Elena,” I say, and she gasps in surprise.

  “You called me Elena.” Her eyes are wide and round and she looks so fucking sexy right now my dick is getting hard again. I take a calming breath, willing my cock to listen. She’s going to think I’m a sex fiend.

  “That’s your name.” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I know, but you rarely call me that. I like the way you say it.” She dips her head. “It sounds sexy when you say it.”

  I’ll call her whatever she wants as long as she keeps looking at me like that.

  “Elena,” I say again, and I’m rewarded with a big smile. “What we just did was…” I struggle to find the right word. I don’t want to sound like a pussy, but I could honestly say it was perfect.

  “I know you’re used to more,” she says quickly, “but I need to take things slow. If that’s okay?” There’s a hint of anxiety in her voice.

  “More than okay. We can go as slow as you want.”

  “Really?” She waits for confirmation.

  “Really. This is about more than sex.” I want all of her.

  “So we’re not just friends with benefits?” Her brow creases and she bites her lip.

  “No,” I say. “I could never share you.”

  She gives me another smile and a shy, tentative kiss on my cheek.

  “I don’t want to share you either,” she says quietly.

  “You don’t have to.” I offer my reassurance as I hug her close.

  Another smile and then I feel her hand grazes up my leg. “Anders,” I hear her quiet voice.

  Holy hell. There goes my dick again. So maybe it won’t take her that long to develop her confidence. “Yeah?”

  “Will you… teach me how to do other things?”

  “Yeah.” My own voice comes out a little wobbly because holy fuck, she just asked me to show her… I can’t go there right now. Hard doesn’t even begin to describe the state of my dick. I steady my breath before I continue. “You’re going to kill me.” I groan as I hug her tight to my side.

  “But you’ll die happy.” She giggles and the sound reverberates against my chest.

  My Gigs is back. My body sags, heavy like lead, into the mattress as I fight sleep. I hold her tight to my body and pull the blankets over us. The last thing I remember before succumbing to sleep are her feather light touches trailing over my stomach.

  My virginity status has gone from 100% virgin to “it’s complicated.” Not that I’m complaining. Anders has made it his mission to pleasure my body in ways that I never thought possible. Ever since that night at Erika’s he’s been more than willing to hold me, kiss me, touch me. He loves getting me naked and he can spend hours playing with my breasts alone.

  He’s always reserved, and if I’ve ever questioned his self-control, ever had a reason to think he’d rush me, he has proven me wrong. Time and time again. This is a side of Anders that I never would have expected—selfless lover. Delaying his pleasure for my own. And God if that doesn’t turn me on all the more.

  I can’t stand it anymore, so tonight, when we’re in bed, when I’m out of mind with wanting to feel him, I snake my hand down between us.

  “Gigs.” He groans as my fingers brush over his boxers up the length of him.

  My fingers circle him and I drag my hand up his length and then back down. His hands fall from my breasts to my hips and squeeze tight.

  I shift my weight onto my side, and reach underneath the band of his boxers. My heart pounds in my chest, and I hold my breath as my fingers graze his hard flesh.

  At the contact, he hisses through his teeth and
his fingers grip my flesh tighter. “Fuck.”

  Emboldened, I wrap my fingers around him; he is so thick, they barely circle him. He is so hot, so hard, that the smoothness of his skin surprises me. I pump my fist in slow movements, grazing the tip with the soft pad of my thumb.

  Each time my finger touches the head, he groans and his hips jerk forward. Slowly I draw my finger around the tip, spreading his wetness. “Elena.” He growls my name in desperation.

  I want to see him, want him completely naked, but I don’t want to stop, can’t wait the extra five seconds it will take to get him there.

  My hand pumps faster and in a moment of daring courage, I let my fingers drop lower to graze his balls. He groans as my nails drifted over his sensitive skin.

  Grasping him again, I stroke faster and his hips rock forward to match my rhythm. “Faster,” he pleads, and when I comply, he curses. “Fuck.”

  Kneeling beside him, I look down the length of his body, legs straight and rigid, arms splaying stiffly at his sides, eyes closed in pleasure. He looks so perfect lying there, so unashamed in his pleasure, so in the moment, that for a few breathless seconds all I can do was stare.

  His strangled voice brings me back to the present. “Please.”

  As I move my hand again, his cock swells, balls draw tight. He is close. I’ve worked him to the edge. To his breaking point. I pump my hand once, twice more before he grabs my hand and pulls it away.

  He comes with a loud groan, eyes closed, my name on his lips.

  It was an incredible rush—giving him that much pleasure. But that was two nights ago, and now I’m ready to push to the next level.

  It’s ironic; I’ve always been the one to slow things down in a relationship and now I’m the one pushing for more. Talk about a role reversal. I walk into the kitchen. No time like the present.

  Anders’s back is to me as he washes the remaining dishes. I hop onto the L-shaped counter so that I can talk with him. For a few moments I admire the way his strong shoulders work underneath his soft, steel blue shirt. Swinging my legs idly, I absently kick him in the butt. He doesn’t turn in my direction, so I do it again, kicking him a bit harder. Still no response.