6. Eli

Six

Eli

The cold outside is brutal, biting at my face and cutting through the layers I’m wearing, but none of that matters. My blood is too fucking hot, and the reason is standing just a few feet away.

Eva’s up the hill, wrapped in layers that hide just enough of her fucking perfect body to drive me fucking insane. Her coat hugs her small waist, full rack and juicy ass, making my mouth fucking water, my hands itch and my cock throb. And the way she tucks her curls behind her ear, snow clinging to them like the lucky bastards they are? It’s enough to make me forget why I fucking came out here in the first place.

I shift the sled higher on my shoulder, my grip tightening as I watch her. She moves carefully, like she hasn’t done this in a while.

Her lips quirk up when Emily says something she must find amusing. Not the full smile I’ve been waiting for, but enough to make my chest tighten. And my cock stirs again, because obviously my body can’t keep its cool around her.

Fuck me.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine. And not in some vague, maybe-I’ll-get-her-number, let’s-date-and-see-where-this-goes type of way. No. I want her in my bed, her skin pressed against mine, moaning my name so loud the whole fucking world knows who she belongs to. Every night. For the rest of our fucking lives.

“Jackson, you good?” Russo’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

I grunt, not even bothering to answer as he barrels past me, his sled kicking up snow in every direction. He’s fucking lucky I don’t have the time or energy for him.

Eva is standing a bit back, her head tilted as she watches the others sledding down the hill. The way she crosses her arms, her gloves flexing as she holds herself, tells me everything. She’s not just observing—she’s holding back.

That pisses me off more than it should. She should be having a fucking blast, not just stand back and watch, and anyone who says otherwise can fucking answer to me.

Her skin glows, smooth and warm, and her lips—God, those lips—look so fucking soft it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to march over there and see if they taste as sweet as they look. So that’s exactly what I do.