Just as panic threatens to consume me, the soft caress of velvet fingertips run lightly over my body. Long, smooth, unhurried strokes which pull my attention to the motion. The feeling of someone tracing my outline, drawing me here in this world bit by bit, grounds me.
I turn my mind away from my frantic thoughts and lose myself in sensation. The crushing weight of the mountain gives way to the featherlight touch of his hands skating over my flesh.Painting me until I can visualize myself as an oil on canvas, a study in curves and shadows.
I am real, and I am here. I'm alive, not dying. The long, steady strokes come up and over my face, and I remember how I like the way the sunlight reflects off my hair. My eyes twinkle with mischief, my face is so expressive that no, I can’t hide my annoyance behind a poker face but also, I can’t hide my joy either and that’s a gift to share with the world.
Tears prick my eyes as his gentle touch reflects my face back to me once again and I see, I am beautiful—flawed and imperfect but stunning in my true self. His hand runs over my mouth, and I smile.
The pleasant sensation is replaced by shock when he clamps his hand over my mouth and nose. Panic once squeezes my heart in its icy grip while my body rides the high of his other hand trailing down my breasts and the slope of my belly to trace over my sex.
Fear constricts my chest as the thought of suffocating to death rises back to the forefront of my mind. Any second now and he’ll lift his hand; I just know it. But instead, its heavy weight remains while the other works its way between my folds. Instinctively I spread my thighs, eyes searching for his face to read his motivation.
But I can see nothing in the consuming darkness, hear nothing above my own frantic movements as I begin to struggle, the pounding of my heart as fear kicks in vibrating my entire body. I buck instinctively, heart racing, my lungs screaming for air. I need air!
He plunges two large fingers inside of me, and I try to suck in a breath at the invasion, at the glorious stretch of being filled by him, but I can’t. Reaching up with both hands I futilely claw at his massive one covering my face, but his only reaction is to thrust his fingers in and out of me faster, deeper.
Despite my frantic struggle, a new sound greets my ears.The obscene noise of my shameless, slick arousal flooding over his fingers. Each thrust curls deeper, stroking me like he’s sculpting me from the inside out. Like he’s claiming me from within.
I try to twist my hips, to wrench free, but the darkness makes it impossible to tell which way is up, which way is out. All I know is him. Surrounded by snow and pine, darkness and delight consuming me.
His breath is steady, controlled, as if my body’s rebellion doesn’t matter. As if he already knows how this ends.
As if I do, too.
My pussy clenches as he spreads me wider, rough fingertips dragging over my sensitive flesh, forcing me to feel every stroke, every invasion. Heat pools deep in my belly like a gathering storm.
He thrusts in again, deeper this time, harder, hitting something devastating. My back bows, my vision erupts into stars and I gasp—but no air comes.
The oxygen deprivation turns every sensation, every feeling, razor-sharp. My skin tingles, my thighs quake, my blood pounds against my skull. My mind screams that I need air, I need escape?—
But my body? My traitorous, starving, desperate body?
It needsthis.
A whimper breaks free, and he makes a sound—a low, pleased growl, reverberating into the earth and against my spine like an earthquake.
I claw at his hand and arm, my nails raking over his skin, but he only tightens his grip, as if to remind me—there is no running from this. From him. From what I am becoming in his hands.
His thumb presses down, circling my clit, a slow, agonizing drag that makes my toes curl. My body jerks—instinct, panic, pleasure too sharp to bear.
I writhe in his hold, trapped between torment and release, between fear and something far more dangerous.
His fingers stroke deeper, curving just right—so right—so devastatingly, impossibly right. The tension coils tight, razor-thin and fraying, every nerve crackling like a live wire.
The lack of air sends my body into freefall. Everything spins, shatters, reforms. A million stars burst into my vision, and I just know I am going to pass out. I am going to die. I am going to?—
I come.
The violent orgasm overwhelms me, splintering my fear into oblivion. It slams through me like an avalanche, tearing the last mote of breath from my lungs, wringing me out until I have nothing left. A silent scream rips through my throat, raw and soundless, swallowed by the darkness, by his hand, by the universe itself. It’s too much—too much?—
I jerk in his hold, my body spasming, muscles locking tight before going completely, utterly boneless.
The moment my body breaks, he finally releases me. Air floods my lungs. My vision explodes with light, white-hot and flickering, my entire world drenched in sensation.
The first breath I take is not relief. It’s possession. Because I know, in the marrow of my bones, in the echo of my own shattered scream, that I will never escape him now.
That I will never want to.
He didn’t just make me come—he unmade me. Tore me apart and put me back together. And now? Now I don’t think I can go back to who I was before. I don’t think that I want to. Dahlia Wilde really did die in that avalanche. She is gone, lost to the cold, to the dark.
