The cabin swings over a tower, and she grabs my forearm to steady herself, but she’s really pulling me closer.
There is nothing elegant about the way we collide. It’s all hunger and teeth. I shift to her side and her hands are already in my hair, yanking me down, her mouth crashing into mine. The gondola rocks, cables groaning, and she laughs into my mouth, wild and breathless.
My hand glides under her coat, palm flat against her ribs. She’s gasping now, and I love her for it—for the way she either holds everything back or gives everything, no middle speed. I catch her lower lip between my teeth, just enough to pull a soft sound from her, and she arches into me, her hips slamming into mine so hard the plastic seat crackles.
She shoves my race suit off my shoulders, fingers clumsy and ice-cold on the zipper. I let her, raising my arms, then catch her wrists and pin them above her head, just to see that perfect flash of fear tangled up with want in her eyes.
“Blink twice if it’s too much,” I murmur against her mouth. “I can still throw in a few safe turns, even on a straight down run.”
She drags me back down, teeth scraping my jaw in answer.
Gondolas pass every thirty seconds. If someone looks closely enough, they might see the way we’re pressed together, thesteam on our windows when theirs are clear. The risk is half the high.
My palm slides up her thigh, higher and higher, until I find the zipper and expose her skin, bare and already goosebumping under my touch. She’s trembling, but not from cold. She twists free of my grip and digs her nails into my shoulders, hauling me closer, deeper.
The little cabin turns into a furnace, glass fogged so thick the world outside is just white noise. She’s biting back sounds, and I don’t want that. I want to hear the exact moment she breaks. I want to be the reason she makes that wrecked, helpless noise between heaven and earth.
When she finally lets go, her head tipping back, the sound that tears out of her is somewhere between a sob and a prayer. That’s when I know I’ve hit the line exactly right.
We’re both breathless, hearts stuttering, tangled in Lycra and wool and sweat. The gondola slips through a patch of cloud, the outside world erased for a heartbeat. I rest my forehead against hers, feel her pulse beating against my jaw.
“I hate you,” she whispers. But she’s smiling, and it ruins the lie.
“Sure,” I murmur, brushing my lips over her temple. “That’s why you’re shaking.”
By the time we slide into the upper station, we’ve almost pulled ourselves together. Almost. The fog on our windows hasn’t had time to clear. I haul my suit back over my shoulders; she smooths her hair and straightens her coat, cheeks flushed in a way no makeup could fake.
We step out into the sun like just another pair of tourists who took the lift for the view.
“Follow me,” I repeat, softer this time.
She falls in at my side without a word, chin high, eyes gleaming like she knows exactly what she just signed up for—and wants more.
I set my skis on the snow, click into them, the familiar snap sending a jolt up my spine. She stands beside me in that absurdly white kit, boots a size too tight, skis longer than she knows how to handle. I want to laugh, but I want her more.
We push off together, sliding into the soft, chattery top of the run. My legs are tuned for violence; hers are still learning the difference between fear and thrill. I slow just enough for her to keep up, not enough to make it easy. I want to see what she does when gravity is in charge.
She’s cautious at first, but there’s recklessness in the way she commits, how she points her tips downhill and lets go, trusting the slope more than herself. I cut left into a stand of snow-loaded spruce. The piste is empty up here, the only witnesses to the ghosts of yesterday’s tracks. She follows, breathless, faking confidence until her thighs start to shake.
“What are you looking for?” she pants, voice muffled by her scarf.
“A way out,” I say. “Or a way in.”
She gives a sharp, nervous laugh. “Is this the part where you murder me in a secluded forest?”
“Not unless you ask nicely, princess.” I ease off the speed, scanning the trees.
There’s a dip, a hollow where the snow is still powder, not yet wrecked by the sun. I throw a wide stop, spraying her with cold dust. She squeals, half protest, half delighted. Her cheeks are red, hairline damp with sweat, eyes wild and shining. This is the real her, stripped of all the marble and silk.
“I can’t feel my toes,” she says, voice trembling. “Give it a minute.”
I step out of my bindings, let the skis splay on the snow. She fumbles, nearly falls, and I catch her by the elbow. Her laugh is raw, helpless. The powder is knee-deep; every step is a slow-motion fight through the white. I take her hand, dragging her behind me, boots sinking. She’s panting, swearing in French under her breath, but she doesn’t stop.
Under the trees it’s dim and shadowed, needles cutting the glare. A half-buried stump waits there, a crooked throne in the wilderness. I drop my helmet, pull her closer, sit, and yank her into my lap.
Her coat splits under my hands, warmth bleeding through my frozen gloves. She’s straddling me now, thighs spread, our boots knocking together. She’s breathing hard as I unclip her helmet and set it aside. Her hair spills into her face, the taste of her sweat sharp in the air. I press my mouth to her ear, hands sliding down her back.
“You want warmth?” I whisper. “I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”
