Snowbound

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unexpected and unwelcome, and you look away, reaching for the hem of your undershirt. “Shut up,” you mutter, pulling the shirt over your head, tossing it aside.

Colby’s hands come up to rest on your bare thighs, his touch light but searing. “Look at me,” he says, his voice low, commanding.

You take a breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your breath catch. “You’re beautiful,” he says again, his hands sliding up your thighs, his thumbs grazing the edges of your jeans. “Every inch of you.”

You swallow hard, your skin prickling with goosebumps, your cock throbbing against the confines of your zipper. “Colby,” you say, your voice rough, pleading.

He seems to understand, his hands moving to the button of your jeans, popping it open with deft fingers. He slides the zipper down, his knuckles brushing against your aching cock, making you moan. “Lift up,” he murmurs, tapping your hip.

You obey, lifting your hips, letting him tug your jeans and underwear down your legs, leaving you bare to his gaze. He groans, his eyes roaming over your body, hot and possessive, before he reaches for his own jeans, making short work of the buttons and zipper.

You watch, your breath trapped in your throat, as he shoves his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips, kicking them off to the side. His cock springs free, thick and hard, the head flushed and glistening, and you can’t help but reach for it, your hand wrapping around the hot, silken length.

Colby groans, his head falling back, his hips rocking into your touch. “Fuck, Milo,” he rasps, his voice rough. “Keep that up and this’ll be over before it begins.”

You laugh, the sound low and wicked, and give him a few more strokes, savoring the feel of him, his heft in your hand. Then you release him, your hands sliding up his thighs, over his hips, pulling him down on top of you. “Kiss me,” you demand, your voice rough.

He obeys, his mouth crashing down on yours, his tongue sliding between your lips, tangling with yours. You kiss him back just as desperately, your hands roaming over his back, his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his lips trailing down your jaw, your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You shudder, your head falling back, your hands fisting in his hair. “Colby,” you gasp, your voice pleading. “Please.”

He knows what you need, his hand sliding between your bodies, wrapping around your cock, stroking you with a firm, sure grip. You cry out, your hips bucking into his touch, your head pressing back into the pillow. “Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut, your breath coming in harsh pants. “Colby, fuck.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You nod frantically, your hands clenching in the sheets, your hips rocking into his touch. He strokes you with a perfect rhythm, his thumb sweeping over the head of your cock, smearing the precome that’s leaking from the tip. “Colby,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

“Do it,” he growls, his hand tightening on your cock, his hips grinding against your thigh, his own erection leaving a sticky trail on your skin. “Come for me. Let me see you.”

You shake your head, your hands reaching for him, pulling him closer. “Together,” you pant, your voice rough. “I want to come together.”

He groans, his forehead coming to rest against yours, his hand still moving on your cock. “Fuck, Milo,” he breathes, his voice strained. “Keep talking like that and I won’t last two seconds.”

You laugh, the sound more of a moan, and reach for him, your hand wrapping around his cock, stroking him in time with his own movements on you. He swears, his hips bucking into your touch, his breath hot and harsh against your face. “Christ,” he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Milo, fuck.”

You stroke him faster, your thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, your own hips rocking into his touch. “Come on, Colby,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “Come for me. I want to feel you.”

He shudders, his hand tightening on your cock, his hips losing their rhythm. “Milo,” he gasps, his voice breaking. “I’m—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, his cock throbbing in your hand, his come spilling over your fingers, hot and thick. The sight, the sound, the feel of him coming undone sends you over the edge, your own orgasm tearing through you like a wildfire. You come with a shout, your cock pulsing in Colby’s hand, your come striping your belly and chest.

Colby collapses on top of you, his breath harsh against your neck, his body trembling with aftershocks. You hold him close, your arms wrapped around his back, your face buried in his hair. You can feel the sticky mess between you, the evidence of your shared release, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not now. Not with Colby’s weight pressing you into the mattress, his heartbeat thrumming against your own.

After a long moment, he stirs, pushing himself up on his elbows, his eyes finding yours. They’re soft now, sated, a lazy smile at the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your cheekbone.

You smile back, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. “Hey yourself.”

He leans down, brushing a soft, sweet kiss against your lips. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, your smile widening. “Better than okay,” you say, your voice rough. “You?”

He grins, mischief bright in his eyes. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says, his hips rolling against yours, making you both moan. “Ready for round two?”

You laugh, the sound bright and carefree, and pull him down for another kiss.

You wake to the sound of wind howling outside, the cabin creaking under the force of the storm. For a moment, you’re disoriented, your mind foggy with sleep, your body aching in unfamiliar ways. Then you feel the warm weight draped over your waist, the soft breath tickling the back of your neck, and it all comes rushing back.

Colby.

You turn your head, careful not to jostle him, and find him still asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. He looks younger like this, softer, the sharp edges of his corporate persona smoothed away by rest and satisfaction.

You watch him for a long moment, your heart doing a funny little flip in your chest. You’re not sure what you feel for him, not yet, but it’s something. Something warm and terrifying and undeniably real.

As if sensing your scrutiny, Colby stirs, his arm tightening around your waist, his eyes blinking open. He smiles when he sees you, his lips forming a sleepy, contented shape. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” you say back, your own voice raspy. “Sleep well?”

He hums, his hand sliding up your chest, his thumb grazing your nipple. “Better than I have in years,” he says, his lips grazing the nape of your neck. “You?”

You shiver, tilting your head to give him better access. “Surprisingly, yes,” you admit, your hand coming up to cover his, lacing your fingers together. “Though I could have done without the awkward morning-after conversation.”

Colby chuckles, his breath heating your skin. “What’s there to be awkward about? We’re two consenting adults who blew each other’s minds last night. I’d say that’s something to celebrate.”

You snort, rolling your eyes even as you press back into his warmth. “Spoken like a true CEO. Always ready to spin the narrative.”

He pinches your nipple lightly, making you yelp. “Watch it, Torres,” he growls, his voice playful. “Or I’ll make you pay for that.”

You laugh, twisting in his arms to face him, your hands coming up to push his hair back from his face. “Promises, promises,” you murmur, leaning in to brush a kiss against his lips.

Colby kisses you back, slow and deep, his hand sliding down your back to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him hardening against your hip, your own body responding in kind, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the sensation, in the warmth and the want and the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of it all.

But reality, as it always does, comes crashing back in. With a gasp, you pull back, your hands flat against Colby’s chest, your breathing ragged. “We can’t,” you say, your voice rough. “Not yet. Not until we talk.”

Colby sighs, his head dropping to your shoulder, his arms loosening around you. “The investigation,” he says, his voice flat.