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The cabin is just up ahead, and I guide the truck to a stop in front of the rustic little structure, cutting the engine. We sit there for a beat, the only sound the gentle patter of snow against the truck's cab. Delilah's staring straight ahead, her expression unreadable. I can practically feel the tension thrumming between us, so thick I could reach out and grab a fistful of it.
With a resigned sigh, I throw open the door and hop down into the swirling snow. "Well? You comin' or what?"
She shoots me a Look, all fire and defiance, before shoving her door open and following suit.
"Generator's this way." I jerk my chin toward the small shed off to the side, already trudging through the steadily deepening drifts with Delilah on my heels.
The old Yamaha roars to life on the third pull, and I give a satisfied nod, slamming the shed door shut behind me. "Power's good. Now we just gotta get everything set up inside for the lovebirds."
The cabin's just as rustic and charming as I remember—all knotty wood beams, overstuffed furniture, and a crackling stone fireplace that takes up nearly an entire wall. Delilah heads straight for the kitchen area, her boots leaving little tracks across the braided rug, and she starts unpacking the supplies we brought.
I can't help but watch her, admiring the sway of her hips and the way her tight snow pants hug every curve. My gaze drifts lower, lingering on the gentle flare of her thighs before snapping back up as she turns.
She holds my stare for a few heartbeats, that little muscle ticking in her jaw—then she's brushing past me, her shoulder bumping mine with a little more force than necessary as she heads for the stairs. "I'm going to get the bedroom ready."
The bedroom. Right.
I set to work in the kitchen, my mind wandering to all the ways I could make this place a little more romantic. I tuck a few bottles of the good stuff into the fridge and make sure there are plenty of snacks on hand. I'm just putting the finishing touches on a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries when a muffled thump echoes from upstairs, followed by a sharp gasp. My head whips up.
"Delilah?" No answer. I drop everything and bound toward the stairs, taking them two at a time until I burst into the loft area.
She's sprawled on the plush area rug in front of the bed, her dark hair fanned out in inky ribbons around her head. For one terrifying moment, I think she's hurt—then she blinks up at me with a dazed expression, a flush creeping into her cheeks.
"Are you okay?" I demand, dropping to a crouch beside her.
She nods, her gaze clearing as she props herself up on her elbows. "Yeah, I just... lost my footing for a second."
Relief washes over me in a dizzying wave. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of me."
Delilah's lips quirk in a sheepish half-grin. "Sorry about that."
She starts to push herself into a sitting position, but I reach out, gently gripping her arms to help pull her to her feet. As I do, our bodies align, separated by the barest whisper of space, our faces mere inches apart. This close, I can see the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
My grip tightens infinitesimally on her. "Delilah..."
Her name falls from my lips, low and ragged, like a plea and a warning all wrapped up in one. That's all it takes to shatter the fragile tension between us.
Our lips collide with a ferocity that steals the breath from my lungs. Hers are soft, warm, and demanding, her body melting against mine. Every thought in my head evaporates, replaced by a single-minded need to possess her, to claim every inch of her as mine.
I don't know what it is about this woman that has me unraveling at the seams, but I do know one thing for certain: I want her. Badly.
The intensity of the kiss deepens, our ragged breaths mingling as we fight for control, for dominance. My fingers dig into her hips. A low moan escapes her, the sound fueling the fire coursing through my veins. I can feel the heat radiating off her body, every curve and hollow pressed against me.
And as the storm rages on outside, so does the tempest between us, and neither of us is willing to back down.
With a growl, I fall back onto the bed, pulling her with me so she lands astride my lap, her core grinding against the rock-hard bulge in my pants. She gasps, her eyes dark with hunger as she rocks her hips against me, eliciting a groan from deep within my chest.
Our lips break apart, both of us panting, our foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breaths. But it's no use. The connection between us is too magnetic, too electric, to be ignored.
"Stylz," she murmurs, her voice thick with need.
I capture her mouth once more, my hands roving her body with an urgency that borders on desperation. Every touch, every taste, only stokes the inferno burning between us, and I know with absolute certainty that I won't be able to stop until I've had my fill of her.
Even if it means losing myself in the process.
I grab the hem of her shirt and lift it over her head, tossing it aside. My gaze drifts over her lacy black bra, the swells of her breasts threatening to spill over the top. "You're so fucking sexy, princess."
She chuckles, but the sound is throaty and low. "Your turn."
