“Oh, okay, Mr. Man.” I glance around our cabin. “Who’swaiting?”
Outside, snow blankets the mountains. Icicles dangle from pine needles. White flurries meander down the horizon, the remnants of the winter storm that froze the soaring landscape in stillness last night.
The icy brilliance outside contrasts the warmth inside. The white furry blankets on our bed. The electric fire always heating the room. The empty mugs of hot chocolate on our kitchen table.
This morning, I woke up to three dozen red roses decorating our cabin, and Loch holding one. He teased its velvety petals over my naked body until I roused enough for him to feast between my legs. Then, he flipped me over and made me grab the headboard while he seized my hips. It’s my favorite position because it unleashes his beast and my screaming pleasure.
I don’t know where he hid the roses. He’s too good at subterfuge. But it’s not even noon, and it’s been my best Valentine’s Day ever.
Not that there’s any competition, but I believe in gratitude.
“You already spoiled me this morning,” I coo. “Roses everywhere. Two morning orgasms, hot chocolate, pancakes, and cuddles. What more could a girl want?”
He grins. “Fourorgasms. You know I always give ’em to you.”
“But I had to pee.”
His grin only grows. Devilish. Deviant. Delicious and hot.
“Oh no.” But I laugh. “That’s never going to be my kink. Yes, we’re exploring, but notthat.”
He yanks my waist, tugging me closer. “Just remember: whatever my Babygirl wants, it’s my pleasure to give.”
“Speaking of…” I drag my fingertip down his hunter green sweater. The smell of his cologne and soap from his morning shower—sweet tobacco and vanilla—soaking its cotton threads and my senses. “I have a Valentine’s gift foryou.”
“Alena, I told you, I’m the man. It’s my privilege to spoilyou.”
Oh, and he does.
I love how Loch has made every holiday magical, just as he makes random days. I know his kink is giving pleasure, but it’s been as if his heart has needed to prove something to me, when all I need is his hand holding mine while we sleep.
But it makes him happy.
All the lust bombs.
And the love bombs.
Every day for months, Loch has been over-the-top with the romance, and I let him because it finds us spilling into our bed every night.
Last Fourth of July. My August birthday. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Year’s. Even the autumn equinox and the winter solstice, and our “fuckaversaries”—the eleventh of every month. When we first… you know.
That’s what Loch calls them.
He makes every day feel special.
Even our little fights over olive oil versus avocado oil. How to fold a bath towel. The remote: Loch wins that one. Or the snow boots for Mutt’s paws today. I won that one as Loch cursed under his breath while our sweet dog let me adorn him in après-ski puppy wear for our afternoon winter hike.
“But I like spoiling you too,” I insist, pulling away from his grasp to turn toward my dresser. It’s not easy hiding stuff from a man when you share a tiny cabin with him, but I have Vale as an accomplice for life.
Loch’s thrilled when we get her monthly shipment of sex toys to our door, but I managed to hide this before he saw it.
“What is it?” He laughs when I hand him a gift box, wrapped in pink cartoon penis paper.
I pucker my lips. “Our plans for tonight. And don’t tell me you’ve already made them because so have I.”
The ribbon and paper don’t stand a chance against his bearpaws. In seconds, he’s mauled the box open, staring at my gift: a red lace bodysuit with a matching mask.
“Don’t think it’ll fit me,” he jokes but knows what it means.
