Page 69 of The Snowflake Effect

She falls apart while gripping my hair, her yes, Kolton, God coming out on ragged breaths. Then she tugs me up.

She brings my mouth to hers, kissing me, tasting herself on me. So damn hot.

“Shay,” I groan.

Deeper kisses. Throaty moans. Hers and mine.

The air swells with our sounds.

Reluctantly, I pull back. “I was tested after Aspen and haven’t been with anyone since.”

She reaches down and wraps her hand around my length, the heat and tightness of her grip halting my ability to speak. Lust for this woman shoots down my spine.

“Me too,” she says. Then, “No condom needed. I’m still on the pill.”

I cover her hand with mine, both of us guiding me to her entrance.

Moving back on my knees, I grip her hips and push in slowly, inch by glorious inch, watching as I sink inside of her. Warm. Wet. Perfect.

I pull her closer, press deeper. She tries to draw her hips back, forcing me to move. But I don’t. I can’t. Not yet. I don’t understand the ache spreading through my chest, this desperation for Shay. When the need gets too much, I pull out almost all the way, then slowly push back in in in. Stopping. Waiting. Breathing hard. Dragging out the pleasure of being inside her, finally.

In Aspen, Shay was fit and lean. I may never have seen her body laid out like this, but she has curves going on now that weren’t there then. Rounded hips, slim waist, more than ample breasts. A fucking vision. This time, I drag out and thrust in harder.

Her breasts bounce, and she groans. Or maybe I do.

She writhes and tries to grind against me, her unruly hair sliding along the sheets. I want to watch her face, her breasts, but I need to feel my skin on hers, my mouth on hers.

I need that hair of hers in my hands.

I drop forward and pick up the pace, our bodies flush as I roll my hips. I slide my arms under her shoulders and grip her hair while she scrapes my back and rasps my name. Our lips meet, but neither of us has enough control to connect. We stay, breath mingling, lips touching.

Time stops. Evaporates.

I tuck my elbows to her sides, and she wraps her legs around my waist, squeezing tight.

Closer. Deeper. Until I almost erupt. “I’m there, baby. You with me?” My lips skim hers, still not kissing.

“Yes, God, yes,” comes her breathy reply.

Then we’re falling along with our frenzied words. Shay. Jesus. Fuck. Yes.

Our bodies press closer, a thin sheen of sweat between us, as the last shocks spike through me. I ride the end of my orgasm, panting, repeating her name until I collapse on top of her.

She runs her hands along my back. “Forget Fabio. From now on, you’re Thor.”

I nestle my nose behind her ear and suck her sensitive skin. “Does that mean you’ve watched that not-very-deep action movie of your own free will? Lots of shit gets blown up in those films.”

“Mmhmm.” She nestles deeper into me. “Chris Hemsworth overrules bad cinema.”

I laugh, the movement causing me to slip out of her. Not wanting to get up yet, I pull her against my chest.

“There are lots of women in Vancouver,” Shay suddenly says.

Chuckling again, I stroke my hand along her hair. “Astute observation.”

“Yeah, but…” She pushes up on her elbow, her other hand resting on my chest. “Why all the wooing, then? Why me, when someone back home doesn’t come with complications?”

I wish I knew the answer to that question. When Stella mentioned having a friend I might like, someone who lives where I live, my palms went clammy. For whatever reason, Shay overtook my mind then. She only occupies more of it now. It’s more than her curvy figure, though, her wild hair and full lips. It’s the way my ribs tighten when she’s in the room. How easy it was to tell her about Marina and hang out together with Jackson.