Snowbound

The scent hit me before I saw her—olive oil, rosemary, and something electric, like salt on hot skin. She stood at the edge of the chalet's porch, a cigarette burning between her fingers, watching the snow come down in thick, silent sheets.

"You're the one with the Jeep," she said, not a question. Her voice was low, rough at the edges, the accent curling around the words like honey over gravel.

"Luca," I said.

"Chiara." She dropped the cigarette, crushed it with her boot. "The pass is closed. You're stuck here, like me."

The chalet had one room left. One bed. The owner just shrugged—"Take it or sleep in the hall." Chiara looked at me, her dark eyes holding mine a beat too long. "We're adults," she said. "We'll manage."

I didn't sleep on the couch.

She was standing by the window when I came out of the bathroom, the firelight painting her silhouette through that thin white shirt. I could see the curve of her hip, the shadow between her legs. She turned, and her hand found my chest, fingers spreading over my heart.

"You've been looking at me all evening," she said. "Like you're starving."

"I am."

Her mouth was on mine before I finished the word. Soft at first, then harder, her tongue sliding against mine, tasting of wine and want. I backed her against the wall, my hands under her shirt, finding her tits—full, heavy, her nipples already hard. She gasped into my mouth.

"Touch me," she whispered. "Please."

I pulled her shirt off, buried my face between her breasts, licking and sucking while she arched into me. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling. "More. I need more."

I dropped to my knees. Her jeans were already undone, and I tugged them down her thighs, revealing black lace and the dark triangle of hair beneath. I hooked my thumbs into her panties, pulled them aside, and tasted her.

She was wet. So fucking wet. Her flavor hit my tongue—sharp, musky, female—and I groaned against her. Her clit was swollen, peeking out, and I circled it with my tongue, slow and deliberate. Her knees buckled.

"Fuck, Luca... don't stop..."

I didn't. I licked her open, sucked her clit into my mouth, felt her thighs trembling against my ears. Her hand pressed my face harder into her pussy, and she came with a strangled cry, her juice coating my chin.

I stood up, kissed her, let her taste herself on my lips. "Now you," she breathed, and her hand found my cock through my sweatpants. She stroked me once, twice, then pulled them down and wrapped her lips around the head.

Her mouth was hot, wet, perfect. She took me deep, her throat opening, her tongue working the underside. I watched her dark head bob in the firelight, her hand cupping my balls, squeezing gently. I was close already—too close.

"Stop," I gasped, pulling her up. "I want to fuck you."

She smiled, slow and wicked, and led me to the bed. She lay back, spread her legs, and I saw her pussy glistening, pink and open. "Come on," she said. "Fill me."

I slid into her in one long, wet push. She was tight, hot, gripping me like a fist. Her eyes rolled back, and she bit her lip. "Yes... yes, like that..."

I fucked her slow at first, deep strokes that made the bed creak. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into my ass. "Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me harder."

I gave her what she wanted. I drove into her, my balls slapping against her wet skin, her tits bouncing with every thrust. She was moaning, cursing in Italian, words I didn't understand but felt in my bones.

"I'm going to come," she gasped. "Don't stop, don't you fucking stop—"

She clenched around me, her whole body shuddering, and that was it. I buried myself deep and came, hot and thick, filling her. She held me there, her legs locked, her breath ragged in my ear.

We lay tangled afterward, the fire cracking, snow still falling outside. She traced patterns on my chest with her fingertip.

"Tomorrow," she said, "the pass might open."

"Maybe," I said.

She laughed, soft and low. "We'll see."

In the morning, the sun was blinding off the snow. I made coffee, and she came up behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, her lips brushing my neck. "The pass is still closed," she murmured.

I turned, pulled her close. "Good."

She smiled, and I kissed her again, slow this time, like we had all the time in the world.