"Thank you." Charlie says with perfect fake innocence.
We practically sprint back to the house, half-running, half-sliding through the fresh snow. The property is blissfully quiet when we arrive—everyone else must still be out enjoying their final day on the mountain.
Inside the mudroom, we shed our outer layers with frantic energy, boots and jackets and gloves falling to the floor. I pull Charlie against me the moment she's down to her base layers, her body warm and pliant against mine.
"So I won?" she asks between kisses, her fingers already working at the zipper of my thermal.
"Absolutely," I mutter against her neck. "I think you deserve a prize."
"I have some ideas about that." She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, her expression shifting from playful to intense. "But upstairs. I'm not risking my sister walking in on us again."
"Smart woman." I bend and lift her in one smooth motion, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her through the house and up the stairs.
I set her down gently on the bed, but she immediately pulls me down with her, her kisses turning urgent.
"I can't believe we leave tomorrow," she says between breaths, her hands slipping under my shirt to trace the muscles of my back.
"Don't think about that now," I say, even though the thought has been lingering at the edges of my mind all day. Tomorrow it’s back to reality, back to work next week, back to separate living spaces and schedules and responsibilities. But not back to pretending. Never that again.
I strip off her thermal, then mine, reveling in the feel of skin against skin. Every touch between us feels electric, charged with the knowledge that this—us—is real. Not a convenient arrangement, not a show for others, but something we've chosen, something we're building.
"I love you," I tell her, because I can now. Because the words no longer feel like a risk but a certainty.
Her eyes soften, and she reaches up to trace my jawline with gentle fingers. "I love you too. Even when you 'cheat' at races."
"I think we've already established that you won," I remind her, pressing a line of kisses down her throat.
"Then I'm claiming my prize." She flips us suddenly, straddling my hips, her hair falling around us like a curtain. "And I want to take my time with you, Mountain King."
I laugh, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. "I knew I'd get you to call me that eventually," I say, unable to keep the triumph from my voice.
"Shut up," she says, trying hard to contain her laugh.
I reach up, tangling my fingers in her hair and pull her down to me. The kiss starts slow but builds quickly, heat spreading through my body as her lips part against mine. Her tongue slides in, and I feel the moan she lets out vibrate through me, the sound shooting straight to my core.
"Turn around," I whisper against her mouth, my voice rough with desire. Her eyes widen slightly, pupils dilated as she searches my face. I run my hands down her sides, over the curve of her hips. "Trust me, Shortcake."
Her breath hitches as she shifts and lays her backside flat against me. My hands glide up her sides, memorizing every curve I’ve come to worship.
She arches into my touch as I palm her breasts, thumbs brushing over taut nipples. “You’re…distracting me,” she breathes, but her hips roll backward anyway, seeking friction against the hard line of my arousal.
“Good.”
My right-hand trails lower, skating across the quiver of her stomach. She tenses, not in resistance, but anticipation. I smirk into the curve of her neck.
Always so responsive.
When my fingers finally brush her clit, her gasp is sharp.
“Spread for me, Shortcake.”
Her legs fall open without hesitation, and I groan at the slick heat already gathering there. I circle slowly, teasing, I can feel her gripping the sheets underneath us. Her head lolls back against my shoulder, exposing the delicate column of her throat.
“Bash—”
“I’ve got you.” My left hand abandons her breast to cradle her jaw, fingers splaying possessively along her neck. Not squeezing—claiming. Her pulse ramps up beneath my palm.
Her head tilts toward mine. I watch her lips part. My fingers continue to work and Christ, the way she whimpers…
