that flows freely in the room can’t make it to my lungs. I lick my dry mouth and start a punishing pace, gripping her hips. I’m not sure who I’m punishing, me or her. I flip her over and her heart-shaped ass slaps against my pelvis as she meets me thrust for thrust. Her moans spur me on. I glance out the window, the erotic sense that someone could be watching me claim her. See how deep I’m inside her.
She’s mine.
I roar through my orgasm as it rips through me. Both our knees give out and we fall to the bed. Damn. I’m in fucking trouble.
“Is the fame why you feel trapped?” She whispers out of the blue. I don’t answer right away because I’m trying to figure out where this is coming from. She adds, “When you asked me back on the island if I ever felt trapped. I’m assuming it was because you do.”
I hum, remembering the liberating feeling I had on top of the mountain. “I wish I could play football without the famous status quo. But since I can’t, I guess that makes me feel trapped sometimes.”
She’s quiet for a few minutes. “Being in the spotlight must be taxing.”
I shrug. “It has its advantages. I won’t admit it’s the best, because I’ve hit my limits before, but I find creative ways to hide out.”
Her chest vibrates with silent laughter. “I like your creative ways.”
They’ve been the best this season so far.
I smack her ass. “Ready to go back out in the snow?”
She hops off the bed. “Yes! I thought you’d never ask,” she says, excitedly, digging in her bag for dry clothes. “Can we make a snowman?”
“I have something better.”
“Are we going on those?” Her eyes light up as we walk up to a pair of snowmobiles. Her attitude to attack everything head-on is one of her sexiest attributes. She jumps on one and surveys the entire piece of equipment.
I laugh. “Damn, woman. Hold on. Let me show you what to do.”
“It can’t be that different from a jet ski.”
“Well, I was hoping we’d ride one together.” She stares blankly at me. “Or not,” I add when she says nothing. She agreeably turns her eyes back down to her ride like that wasn’t even an option, making me chuckle.
With a quick five-minute explanation on how it works, she’s raring to go. “Catch me if you can,” she says, flipping the engine on.
I lower my goggles down and lick my lips. “Whiskey, you don’t know the power of those words.” Ever since I opened my eyes to hers, I’ve done nothing but try to catch her. What would I do if she finally held on?
“This place is perfect,” she says, leaning over on the table and pressing her plump lips to mine. “I don’t understand how you’re single if this is how you treat women.”
The candle on the table flickers in her eyes and my heart beats at a foreign pace. One that scares the hell out of me. I’ve fallen in love with this woman.
“Ryker, what’s wrong?” She senses my rattled feelings. I’m in a no-win situation. The dose of reality hits me in the gut.
“Nothing.” I shake the feeling off and take her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles. I have three days left with her, I’ll be damned if I ruin it with my pity party. “I just do this for special guests that come from other countries.”
She nods. “So you’re afraid of commitment.” Her voice is light in a teasing tone.
A year ago, that would be an absolute yes. But with all my friends marrying off, I’m jealous of their lives. I want that life too. And I’m ready for it. Except, I’ve fallen in love with the wrong woman.
I release her hand as the waiter puts our food down in front of us. She hums at the sight of hers. “I’m starving,” she says, cutting into her steak. Another thing I’m not used to, being on a date with a woman who eats something other than a salad. It’s nice not chowing down in front of someone who pushes their food aside and watches me eat the entire time.
We’re sitting at a table along the window looking out at Main Street. The road’s blocked off for the winter carnival, the street filled with people. It’s dark outside, but the string of lights strung in a zigzag pattern over the streets gives off plenty of light.
Halfway through our meal, Aspen inhales sharply and