LOGINPOV: Nick I donât look at her when she slams the passenger door shut. She doesnât buckle her seatbelt. Doesnât speak. Doesnât even breathe normal, judging by the sharp rise and fall of her chest. Sheâs pissed. And still worked up. I can feel it rolling off her like steam from a kettle â pressure, frustration, need. Her leggings are stretched and twisted, wet where my hand left its mark. Her cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. And those thighs? Fucking hell. I grip the steering wheel tighter. My knuckles go white. âI should leave you out here,â she mutters, arms folded tight under her tits, voice sharp and shaking. âLet you jerk off into a pine tree.â I flick a glance sideways. âYou think I need a tree when youâre the one soaked through?â Her gasp is immediate. Sharp. Righteous. âI hate you.â âDo you?â I shift into drive, jaw tight. âBecause your pussy didnât seem to get that memo.â She lets out a strangled, murderous sound. âYou fingerfuck me like youâre starving, get me right
POV : Nick I reach for the zipper of my coat. âArms up.â âWhat?â âYou want warm or not?â She obeys â lifts her arms slow, eyes on mine the whole time like sheâs daring me to break first. I slide the coat off my shoulders and swing it around hers. The moment itâs on, she grabs the lapels and pulls it closed with a dramatic shiver. âOh, wow,â she moans. âIs this⊠flannel-lined?â I grunt. âYouâre gonna be the death of me.â âMaybe,â she shrugs. âBut at least youâll die warm.â Smart mouth. Wicked smile. Still shivering just enough to make my guilt wrestle with my cock. And my cock is winning. âGet inside the shed,â I mutter. âBossy,â she says, but she steps in anyway, boots crunching on the packed earth floor. I follow, closing the door behind us with a dull thud. The wind cuts off. Itâs dark, quiet, and smaller than I remembered. Weâre practically chest to chest again. Her voice drops. âYou ever chop wood in the dark, Mr. Carrington?â âYou ever shut up in the cold?â
POV: Nick The snowâs still coming down, thick and heavy, like it wants to bury the whole damn cabin. I shove open the back door with one shoulder, step out onto the porch, and curse under my breath as the wind hits me like a slap. Firewood. We need more. The stack by the fireplace is down to three logs, and if I wait till morning, theyâll be frozen solid. The woodshedâs a hundred yards out. Just far enough to be annoying. âWhere are you going?â Jessa calls from behind me. I donât answer right away. Just grab my gloves and yank the hood of my jacket up. She appears in the doorway, swaddled in one of my flannels againâthis one red and black, hanging open just enough to flash the tank top underneath. Leggings. Boots. That ridiculous beanie she found in the Christmas box with the words Sleigh All Day stitched across it. âThe hell are you wearing?â âMy snow-chic aesthetic,â she chirps, holding up her travel mug like a toast. âWhere we headed?â âWeâre not going anywhere. Iâm going t
POV: Jessa The radiator in my room gives one last pathetic hiss, spits out a puff of lukewarm air, then dies completely. I lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling. âNo. Nope. Not happening.â I shove the blankets around. Try the classic fix â kicking the radiator. Nothing. I flip the switch off, back on. I whisper threats. I even beg. It stays dead, humming nothing but failure and frost. Outside, the wind howls like itâs trying to crawl through the walls. Snow taps against the window like a taunt. My toes are ice. My legs are colder. And I have a choice. Shiver all night. Or⊠knock. I clutch my blanket and stand in the hallway staring at Nickâs door. Do not knock. Donât be that girl. I knock. The door opens halfway after a few seconds. Heâs shirtless. Hair messy. Chest bare. Eyes sleepy and heavy-lidded. Rough stubble. The look of a man dragged straight out of a filthy dream and into real life. My mouth goes dry. âWhatâs wrong?â His voice is scratchy, low â pure grave
POV: Nick I sit there, stone still, the book forgotten on the nightstand, blood surging straight to my cock like Iâm a teenager again. Another moan. Thicker this time. Not loud, but deliberate. Pitched just enough to carry through the ceiling. Through the thin floorboards. Right into my fucking bloodstream. She wants me to hear. And itâs working. My cock is rock hard, pulsing, straining against my pants like itâs reaching for the ceiling. Sheâs upstairs playing with herself to the thought of me. Moaning my name. Making me the soundtrack to her orgasm. I sit there in silence, fists clenched, trying not to groan. Trying not to give in. Trying so fucking hard not to touch myself. And failing. *** I canât lie there and listen to it. Iâm on my feet before my brain catches up, moving across the room like Iâm being chased. I shut the bathroom door harder than necessary and flip the light on, breath coming fast, chest tight. Sheâs doing this to me. She knows exactly what sheâs doing. I
POV: Nick Sheâs in my kitchen again. My flannel. Bare legs. No shame. Mariah Careyâs on repeat, her hips swaying in lazy figure eights like sheâs not baking cookies â like sheâs casting a fucking spell. Sheâs got flour on her cheek, frosting on her fingers, and she's humming like her mouth isn't the filthiest thing in this house. I lean on the counter, pretend to sip my coffee, pretend Iâm checking email. Pretend Iâm not watching her lick icing off her thumb with slow, obscene swirls of her tongue. âYou keep looking at me like that,â she says without turning around, âyouâre gonna melt the snow outside.â I donât answer. Because I canât stop staring at her thighs, thick and soft and bare. I canât stop imagining how sheâd taste if I dragged her up on that counter and replaced that frosting with my fingers. She turns, grinning. âWanna taste?â âNope.â âLiar,â she laughs, stepping closer. I hold still. I donât move. I try to breathe. Then she does it. She dips her finger in the bo
Alexanderâs POVSheâs still shaking. Wrecked from my mouth.Eyes glazed. Thighs trembling. Lips swollen from all her moaning. And fuck, her pussyâs pulsingâclenching around nothing like itâs begging to be filled.âColor?â I ask, low and rough.She swallows hard. Her voice is hoarse when she whisper
Ivyâs POVTwo months after the weddingI stare at the stick in my hand like it might explode.Noâscratch that. Iâm staring at it like it already has. Like it's detonated my heart, flipped my soul inside out, and left me standing in the master bathroom of Alexanderâs mansion, barefoot, with my finge
One and a half Year LaterIvyâs POVThe mansion is quiet⊠too quiet.And that usually means two things: either somethingâs broken, or my husband and our son are up to no good.Spoiler alert: itâs both.I round the corner into the sunken living roomâand there they are. My entire world. Chaos and cha
Alexander's POV She paces, throwing her hands around like sheâs directing a dramatic opera. âYouâre supposed to be the rich, overprotective, psychotic, alpha male fiancĂ©, remember?! How the hell did someone get to her?âI donât answer. Because sheâs right.I failed.Jess finally drops into a chair







