Page 5 of Hunting Snow

Two steps and his hand is at the back of my neck, pulling me into him. His mouth covers mine, warm and firm. The taste of bourbon and hunger floods my senses. He walks me backward until the cold metal wall presses flat against my bare shoulders and the contrast of icy steel against the heat of his chest pinning me in place rips a gasp from my throat that he swallows whole.

His thumb strokes the side of my neck while he kisses me, slow and thorough. His tongue sweeps against mine in a way that makes my thighs press together and my fingers curl into the front of his shirt. He's tasting me. Savoring. Taking his time like we're not in an elevator, like the doors won't open any second, like the whole world can wait until he's had his fill.

He pulls back just enough for his lips to brush mine when he speaks. "Sweeter than I ever imagined."

My fingers are still curled into the front of his shirt, knuckles white, holding on like the floor might disappear. I lick the taste of him from my bottom lip and watch his eyes track the movement, those dark whiskey irises dropping to my mouth and going molten.

"I agree." My voice comes out breathless and nothing like the woman who walked into that bar alone tonight. I drag my thumb across his bottom lip, slick from our kiss. His jaw flexes under my touch. A low rumble builds in his chest, vibrating against my palm where it rests over his heart. His pulse hammers beneath my fingers, fast and hard, and the fact that I put it there, that I did this to a man who carries himself like nothing in this world can touch him, makes my stomach flip and my thighs press together.

My eyes travel up a broad chest to find a delicious scruff covering a chiseled jawline. I’ve been so distracted with his touch and the way his lips move when he speaks, I’ve missed a lot of other details about him.

The elevator chimes and the doors swoosh open, forcing my eyes off him and onto my surroundings. For a second, I have to remind my legs how to walk.

The doors open into an apartment that stops me mid-step. He takes my hand and I follow on liquid knees.

Dark hardwood floors stretch toward floor-to-ceiling windows framing Chicago's skyline in rain-streaked glass. The furniture is minimal, dark leather, clean lines, with nothing soft within my line of sight. The kitchen gleams with stainless steel and granite, professional grade, every surface polished and untouched. Military-grade locks line the door behind us. A security panel pulses green beside the elevator.

The walls are completely bare. I search for the small, human details that make a home feel lived in. A jacket tossed over a chair, a coffee mug left beside the sink. Even mail piling up on the counter, or a single photograph. But I find nothing. This place is spotless and soulless, as if someone built it, furnished it, and never once had a meal at the large dining room table.

The coldness tightens in my chest. Everything in this apartment is top-of-the-line, expensive, chosen with precision. Yet everything personal is completely absent. I open my mouth to ask about it and his lips cover mine.

The question dies on my tongue. My back meets the cold surface of the hallway wall and his hands grip my hips, pressing me flat while his mouth claims mine with a hunger that tells me he's been holding back since the second he sat down beside me at that bar. The kiss is hard, controlled, deliberate, and every cell in my body catches fire at once.

I grip the front of his shirt and drag him closer. His chest is a wall of hard muscle beneath the fabric, rigid and warm, and I can feel every cut line of his torso pressed against the thin material of my dress. The groan he feeds into my mouth vibrates down my spine, pooling hot and liquid between my thighs.

He leans in a fraction and that is all it takes for him to pin me to the wall. The thick, hard length of his cock presses against my belly. With only the thin fabric of his slacks and my dress between us, I don’t have to imagine what awaits me. The size of him steals the breath from my lungs. Whiskey, desire, and the sharp graze of his teeth against my bottom lip have my knees turning weak.

His hand catches the back of my neck, steadying me. Holding me exactly where he wants me. Like this, I’m his to do whatever he likes.

His hips roll forward, grinding that hard ridge against me, and the friction sends a pulse of heat straight to my clit that has me whimpering into his mouth.

In real life, I’d knee a bastard in the balls if he tried to control me like this. But this is a fantasy and I like my sexy stranger taking over. It’s one less thing I have to think about.

"Fuck, sweetness. You’re too good. Too sweet. I have to slow down and savor this moment."

My stranger breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against mine. His breath fans across my swollen lips and those whiskey eyes pin me to the wall harder than his body does. "I want to look at you. I need to see your beauty before I ruin it all night long."

My chest heaves. My pulse hammers against every point his fingers touch. I let him look because refusing is not an option my body is willing to consider right now.

His thumb drags across my bottom lip, pressing the center. The whimper I give him is embarrassing, honest, and completely beyond my control. His grip on my neck tightens just enough to catch my breath in my throat.

"Such a pretty girl." His voice is low and rough, scraping over my nerve endings just like his calloused hands over my bare skin.

His gaze grows focused. "You have no idea, do you?"

Tattoos cover his knuckles, his forearms, climbing beneath rolled shirtsleeves in dark, colorful ink. His jacket and tie are long gone and the open collar of his shirt teases more ink at the base of his throat. Fewer barriers between my hands and all that muscle is a blessing I refuse to question.

I raise my eyes to meet his gaze, remembering his last words. “Hm? No idea of what?”

His laugh is a low rumble of amusement. “Just how innocent you are and how dangerous that is to a man like me.”

Despite sounding like I pick up men every weekend for hot flings, my insides are shivering like I’m standing in a subzero freezer. This is very much not who I am.

I hold his gaze. “Then I guess I picked wisely.”

Strong fingers grip my hips through the thin material of my dress and he moves it up with a simple flick of his wrists.

He grips my ass and digs his fingers into the exposed flesh. “Oh.” I gasp softly and the hunger in his eyes darkens.