Page 95 of Snowed Inn

“You imagined this often, huh?” I manage, hips meeting his with every thrust.

He leans down and captures my mouth in a messy, desperate kiss. “Every. Damn. Night.”

His hand slips between us and finds my clit again, stroking in tight little circles that have me spiraling, legs trembling as another orgasm crashes over me.

“Jesse!” I cry out, body arching off the bar, shaking with the force of it.

The second I clamp around him, he loses it, groaning low in his throat as he drives into me one final time, hips jerking as he comes.

He collapses over me, breathing hard, his face buried in my neck.

“That,” he says after a moment, “was worth the wait.”

“Best. Inauguration. Ever,” I murmur, giggling into his hair.

He chuckles, kissing my jaw. “Let’s christen every surface in this place.”

I grin. “Just say when.”

I am wrapped in Jesse’s arms . . . and the sheets. We are back in the apartment, and we fell asleep together like this.

We had sex four times. Four. And honestly, it was amazing all four times.

I’m lying on my side, facing him, my body warm and relaxed in a way I can’t remember feeling in a long time. His arm is draped around my waist, fingers idly tracing slow patterns on my bare skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of me. The weight of his hand is solid, grounding, something I’m definitely not used to. Normally, I don’t linger like this. Normally, there’s no snuggling. But here I am, tangled up in him, and for once, I don’t feel the urge to escape. To pretend I don’t feel anything.

Instead, I find myself studying the ink on his arm.

I run my fingers along the edge of a small tattoo, the image of a scrappy little dog. “What’s this one for?” I ask, trailing my thumb over it.

His voice is low, still rough from sleep. “My dog, Bruno.” He shifts slightly so I can see it better. “Had him from the time I was eleven until I left for the army. Mom took care of him after that. He was a mutt—rescued him from some kids who were teasing him. Best damn dog.” He exhales. “I still miss him.”

I smile, picturing a little Jesse with a dog that probably followed him everywhere. “Sounds like he was lucky to have you.”

Jesse’s lips tilt up, just slightly, before I trace my fingers to another tattoo, this one different. Two stars. One slightly bigger than the next.

“What’s this one?” I ask quietly.

His body tenses slightly. I feel the change instantly.

He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks, his voice is different. Heavier. “That’s for my sister,” he says. “We got them together when she turned eighteen. To remind us that no matter how far apart we are, we can look up in the night sky and know the other one is out there . . . somewhere.”

“You’re the big star?” I practically gulp around the lump in my throat.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

I turn my head to look up at him, studying his expression. His blue eyes, usually so clear and sharp, are clouded. “You love her very much, don’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah. But at the moment . . .” He hesitates, like he’s searching for the right words.

“You don’t like her?” I offer.

He exhales slowly, then nods, his grip on me tightening just a little.

“It’s okay to love someone and not always like them, Jesse.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. I don’t know if she even likes herself right now.”

I don’t say anything, just wait. I can tell he’s debating how much to tell me, and I don’t push. I just rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady sound of his breathing.