The answer is in the way she claws at my zipper, the way her lips find mine—hungry, reckless. She rips at my race suit, dragging it open, desperate for skin. Her hands are so cold they burn; I want more of that sting, want to see how much she’ll take before she starts to beg. She’s trembling, but it’s not the cold anymore.
I unzip her coat, push it off her shoulders. Her sweater rides up, and I bury my face in her neck, licking the salt from her skin. She moans, high and desperate, grinding down on my lap so hard I swear she’ll snap me in half.
“Let’s see if you’re as strong in the woods as you are on the mountain,” she taunts, but her hips are already betraying her.
She wants this. She wants to be wrecked out here, where no one can see. I grip her waist, hold her still just to hear that little frustrated sound, then let my hand slide under her shirt, up tobare skin. I want her naked, but even I have limits. I settle for slipping my fingers under her bra, squeezing until she gasps. Her hands race over my shoulders, fingers flying at the suit, and I laugh when she outpaces me. I shove my pants down just enough, freeing myself. My cock kicks against the air, angry at the cold, and she stares, licking her lips.
“You’re insane,” she whispers. “It’s freezing.”
“You’ll warm up,” I promise.
She wriggles, fighting with her pants, the boots making it impossible. We both laugh, helpless, tangled in each other and the stupid mechanics of snow sex. In the end, I grab her hips, lift her, and yank her leggings down just far enough to bare her. She’s wet already, slick and hot, and the contrast with the air rips a whimper from her.
“Fuck,” I groan, sliding my hand between her legs. She’s soaked. I tease her, slow circles, until she’s squirming in my lap.
Her back scrapes the rough bark behind us, cheeks flushed, breath coming in short clouds. I can’t stop grinning—wild, a little crazed—as I stand, set her carefully on her feet, then drop to my knees to attack her boots. My fingers are clumsy with cold, but I need those heavy things off. They tether her.
She laughs, half scandalized, half thrilled, as I tug them free, one by one.
“Don’t you dare lose them,” she warns, the threat dissolving into a gasp when my hands slide back up—over her shins, the curve of her calves—anchoring her here with me.
By the time I stand, she’s already fished a condom from her jacket pocket—hers, always the one thinking ahead. We both laugh, breathless, the ice cracking between us.
“You just carry these to ski races?” I tease, rolling it on with shaking hands.
She smirks, teeth catching her lip. “Someone has to be responsible. You’d just try to fuck me in the snow without one.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I murmur, mouth brushing her ear.
I turn her gently, hands wide on her hips, pressing her to the tree. My chest molds to her back, her hair tickling my jaw. Snow drifts from the branches onto her bare shoulders, her fingers curling in the bark until her knuckles go white. She’s a portrait of ruin in white and red and breath.
The first thrust is slow, careful, savoring the way her body arches to meet me. The cold bites my skin; inside her is all heat and frantic want. I rock into her, fingers digging into her hips, feel the shudder when I go deep. My voice tears out, raw. “God, Élise, you have no idea what you do to me.”
She presses her forehead to the trunk, but her hips push back, hungry, matching my rhythm, finally letting herself be loud. The trees swallow the sound, make it safe to be this reckless. For a moment, we’re nothing but bodies moving, frantic and unpretty, exactly what we both came here for.
But it’s not enough. I need her face, her mouth, her eyes when she comes apart. I slow, kiss up her spine, then catch her shoulders and draw her back, turning her until she faces me—breathless, wild, eyes blown wide. I claim her mouth, and she kisses back like it’s a dare.
“Come here,” I murmur, hitching her leg around my hip, lifting her just off the ground. She clings to me, fingers in my hair, holding on like she’s afraid to fall.
I slide into her again, this angle deeper, sharper. She gasps, back bowing, and I lose the last of my control—every thrust a confession I don’t have the language for. I pin her gently to the rough bark with my body, chasing friction, wanting her to feel exactly how far gone I am.
“You feel that?” I whisper, watching every muscle in her neck strain. “This isn’t just fucking. You make me forget everything—the pressure, the fans, all of it. Out here, it’s just you. Just us.”
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes. She tries to hide her face, but I catch her jaw, kiss her hard.
“Look at me, Élise,” I rasp. “Don’t run. I want to see you when you fall apart.”
Her leg tightens around my waist. I feel the tremor start in her, the way her whole body draws tight. I slow, riding the edge with her, savoring the way she gives up control only when she has no choice.
She gasps my name, then spills filth in French against my ear, and that’s it; I snap, driving into her harder, both of us past words now, clinging, teeth scraping, sweat beading in the freezing air. I push her hair from her face because I need that last connection, need her to know I’m right there with her.
She comes first, clenching around me, her cry muffled in my shoulder. I hold her through it, thrusting until the pressure breaks in me too, white-hot, shattering. I empty into the condom with a groan that sounds like someone else’s voice.
We sag together, still joined, her toes curling in the snow, my arms locked around her so tight I can feel her heart slam against my chest.
I rest my forehead against hers, both of us shaking.
“Why here?” she whispers, voice shredded.
