“You think?” He walked around to face her, the expression in his eyes was nothing short of wicked. “Cold and wet. You don’t like that, right?”
No. She did not.
But she watched, waited, her brain freezing as he bent and scooped up a small handful of the powdery snow.
“You wouldn’t,” she breathed.
“So much of the fun in sex is the play of opposites, right?” he said, moving toward her with slow, careful deliberation. “Hard, soft. Fast, slow. Hot…” He cupped her mound, pressing the snow against her wet cleft. “And cold.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” she gasped, reaching out to brace herself on his shoulders.
The snow burned and she instinctively tightened her inner muscles.
He pressed his palm harder against her, the ice crystals creating a friction all their own against her burning clit. But then he twisted, adding in his fingers… playing like he was a freaking world class violinist. And then he inserted one snow cold finger right inside her.
She moaned. Words gone.
Not releasing her sex, he dropped to his knees and replaced his fingers with his mouth. His hot tongue. Then he brought the lot into play, thrusting two fingers inside her while flicking his tongue across her clit, licking away the melting snow.
She cried out, shivering and burning, blinded by brilliant sun and bright white snow and the best orgasm ever.
She pressed her fingers into his shoulders. “Please,” she muttered.
“You want the rest?”
“Everything.” She breathed in deeply, so filled with desire. “You have your special First Aid kit?”
“In my pocket.”
Sure enough, he had his pants down and was sheathing his cock in record time.
“Enjoy the view, Sugar.”
With her feet still bound to the board she couldn’t balance, not when she was so hot and desperate to move. Laughing he wrapped an arm around her waist and lowered her so she was kneeling. Giving in to every rising animal instinct, she reached forward, planting her palms in the snow, letting the cold slide between her fingers. Hot and cold and wet and wild.
“My turn for a ride,” he muttered.
She gasped as he thrust. Pleasure zinged along her nerves. The feeling of him pushing inside her felled her every time. She couldn’t get enough of him. She tossed her head back and let out a primal roar.
Alone with him out here on top of the world, she was having it all.
He grasped her hair. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled, withdrawing for a moment. “Your bare ass all pink in the snow. Your pussy glistening and dripping with ice. And the way you move?” His laugh was rough and sharp edged. “Like you can’t get enough?”
That was because she couldn’t. “Harder.”
“And faster.” He agreed, giving her the pleasure of his penetration again. “I know what you want, Sugar. Always.”
Chapter Sixteen
Savannah stood and stretched, unable to wipe the smile from her face.
“Thought it might make you feel better.” Connor said smugly, reaching out and taking her hands in his, rubbing them between his, warming them.
“Sex cures all?”
“Fresh air, exercise. It’s a good combination.” He righted her pants and pulled her into an embrace, pressing her still-thawing hands to his chest.
“You’ve done it often?” She tried to keep the question light, but the thought of him bringing other women to this place? Crushing.
“I have never had sex in the snow before. Never brought a lover up here.” He kissed her neck.
“No way, you were a snow-sex virgin?” She patted her hands on his chest delightedly. “I took part of your virginity. It’s mine and you can’t have it back.”
“I don’t want it back. I want to do it again, but we’re going to get frostbite in places we really don’t want to, if we stay here much longer.”
“Are you worried your bits are going to shrivel up all small and look less than impressive?” she giggled.
“There’s no danger of my bits shrivelling when I’m near you.”
“Oh,” she sent him a coy look. “Such flattery. Show me how it’s done then.”
“How what’s done?”
“Naked skiing.” A thrilled feeling swirled low in her stomach. “I have a sudden voyeur fetish.”
His jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. Give me a show. I bet you do it all the time, that’s how you have the all-over tan, right?”
“Actually, I’m just olive-skinned. But if it’s a thrill you’re after...”
She giggled as he kicked off his clothing—and thrust his feet back into the ski boots, clicking into the skis.
He was magnificent. The bruises around his ribs were now a bit of a rainbow but he wore them unashamedly. Like the scar from his accident. Proud. He was tall and lean and muscular, all male and right now? Preening.
She hugged herself as she watched him swooping around her.
“If you’re such a voyeur, shouldn’t you be touching yourself properly?” he suddenly called out.
Startled, she laughed. Then she saw the heat in his eyes. Saw the unmistakable growing arousal of his body. Understood that he wanted a show too.
She slid her hand down her pants. Slid her other hand into her top, into her bra. Gently rubbing her peaked nipple between forefinger and thumb. Her clit was still sensitive from him sucking her off earlier. It wasn’t going to take much to come again.
And watching him?
Now his cock was so hard and huge it jutted straight up to the sky. And when he turned, his butt was tight. She could see the outline of all his many muscles. She rocked her hips as she watched him speed by closer and faster. Her legs felt wobbly, she ached to lie down. To lie back and spread herself open for him like some kind of pagan offering.
She wanted to be bared in the snow for him. To feel the burn, the pain and the pleasure of extreme heat and vicious cold. She wanted to him to take her—furious and hard and yet gentle.
“That’s right, Sugar,” he called, sounding husky. And pleased. And in control. “Make yourself come.”
He was calling the shots but she was too far gone to care.
“You get off from looking at me?” He paused a few meters from her and touched himself, wrapping his hand in a fist around his cock and rubbing from the root to the broad, blunt head. And that’s all it took for her orgasm to hit.
Her body shook as she cried out, her sex clenching.
He skied up to her. Kissed her. His hands supporting her. “Gorgeous woman. You need to get back into the ‘copter.”
“You’re the one going to get hypothermic,” she breathed.
“I know how long I have out here before that happens,” he answered. “And I won’t let it happen to you. Come on.”
She looked at him a long moment, then had to look away to that most brilliant blue sky. The most beautiful view. And the sadness hit—because she simply couldn’t reconcile this side of him with what she thought she knew.
“What is it you love so much? Is it all the celebrities? Meeting all those rich and famous people. The influencers?” she asked.
He stilled. “How can you stand out here and think that?”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“It’s the mountain.” He dropped his hands from her to spread his arms wide. “I want to take care of the mountain. That’s the clash with my father. He wanted to open it up to more development. Build more monster lodges. I want to keep it exclusive not because I want only a certain clientele, but because I don’t want the entire mountain riddled with ropes and lifts. We need to protect it.”
So big on protection, wasn’t he?
“So what we have developed,” he continued. “We’ve developed to the most elite degree. People pay for the privilege to be here.”
“And for the risk.”
“Yes. We drop them into those ungraded areas. They pay a premium for that. Because it’s so restricted in terms of the numbers that I’ll allow up there.”
“Because you don’t want it developed more?” That’s why he was King of the Mountain? “So you’re actually a conservationist?”
“Mock all you like, but it’s the truth.”
“I’m not mocking,” she said quietly, a small shiver rippling through her.
“Come on. Come and sit up here.”
She climbed into the helicopter but swivelled to sit side on, so she was facing him as he clicked out of his skis.
“Tell me more.”
He yanked on a polypropylene base layer—striped thermal leggings. He stared at her for a second, his hands low on his hips. Still rocking that ginormous hard-on, he looked like an over-sized Christmas elf who’d escaped from an x-rated fantasy advent calendar. “I’ll tell you a story, okay?”
She nodded.
“When Logan and I were kids, we really pushed it skiing. There was a huge amount of pressure. Dad wanted Olympic Gold to hang in the Great Hall. For the Hughes name to be etched in glory… you know, the total over the top, Summerhill thing.” He grimaced and then turned, picking up his skis and loading them into the helicopter, along with her snowboard. “So we’d been choppered up really high, just the two of us. Then we were racing. I crashed out badly. Ripped up on an exposed rock. Logan had no choice but to go get help. I was clinging to the side of this mountain for hours. Bleeding. Alone. In and out of consciousness. I think I pretty much died a couple times. But you know what? I wasn’t scared. Not for a moment. It was my home.”