7. Noelle

NOELLE

W e kiss our way from the generator room and back to the cabin, practically falling through the front door in our urgency, a tangle of limbs and laughter. It feels like my whole life has been leading to this moment - to him, to us, to this perfect collision of Christmas magic and destiny.

The transition from bitter cold to warmth is dizzying—or maybe that's just the effect of Sawyer's kisses. Snow clings to every inch of us, melting quickly in the cabin's heat and creating puddles at our feet. The contrast of frigid clothes and heated skin makes me shiver, even as desire burns through my veins.

“Y-you look like a snowman,” I manage between laughs, reaching up to brush white powder from Sawyer's beard. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins down at me, and my heart does a little flip at the sight. Who knew the grumpy mountain man had such a beautiful smile?

“Says the woman wearing half the storm in her hair.” His large hands come up to gently shake the snow from my dark strands, and I shiver deliciously. The tenderness in his touch makes my breath catch. Outside, the storm rages on. But in here, wrapped in his arms, I've never felt safer or more alive. “You're freezing.”

“Maybe someone shouldn't have dragged me out into a blizzard,” I tease, even as I lean into his touch. His body radiates heat, and I press closer, craving more of his warmth.

“Dragged you?” He quirks an eyebrow, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. “As I recall, you insisted on coming.”

“Well, I couldn't let you face the big bad generator alone, could I?” I step back, but my boot slips in the melted snow. Before I can fall, Sawyer's arms wrap around my waist, pulling me firmly against his chest.

“Careful,” he murmurs, but makes no move to release me. “I don’t want to lose you.” His voice has dropped to that deep rumble that makes my insides melt, and suddenly the cold is the last thing on my mind.

“I don't want to lose you either,” I whisper, my hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. The green gingerbread sweater is damp under my fingers, but I can feel the heat of his skin radiating through. “Sawyer, I...”

Words fail me as I stare up into his handsome face. The warmth and longing I see in his eyes makes my throat catch. His arms tighten around me, pressing me flush against his strong body. Every hard plane of him molds perfectly to my softer curves and I feel like I’m home. Like I belong with him.

“What is it, Noelle?”

“I…I think...” I swallow hard as I try to convey what I want in this moment. “I think I need to get out of these wet clothes.”

His pupils dilate, and his grip on my waist tightens fractionally. “Probably wise.”

Neither of us moves. The Christmas lights I strung earlier flash merry colors that flash against our skin, highlighting the strong planes of his face and the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious. Something worth protecting. Worth keeping.

“Sawyer?” My voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.

“Yes?” His thumb traces small circles on my hip through my damp sweater, each movement sending sparks of electricity through my body.

“Kiss me again?”

He doesn't hesitate. His mouth claims mine, hot and demanding and perfect. I melt into him and I already know I'll crave this man for the rest of my life.

My hands slide up his chest, then higher to tangle in his hair, still damp from the snow. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me as his hands roam my curves. Everything about him is overwhelming in the best way—his scent, his taste, the way his strong body feels pressed against mine, the gentle rasp of his beard against my neck as he trails kisses down my throat.

“God, Noelle,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Show me,” I whisper back, tugging gently at his hair. “Please?”

In one smooth motion, he lifts me into his arms like I weigh next to nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as the movement brings our bodies into perfect alignment. Even through our layers of damp clothing, I can feel how much he wants me.

“Are you sure?” He searches my face, his expression serious despite the desire darkening his gaze. “Because if we start this, I don't think I'll be able to stop.”

I cup his face in my hands, feeling the scratch of his beard against my palms. “I don't want you to stop. I want you, Sawyer. All of you.”

“Noelle.” My name comes out like a prayer as he rests his forehead against mine. “I think I've been waiting for you my whole life.”

The confession causes a lump to form in my throat. Here in the soft glow of Christmas lights, with snow falling outside and his arms holding me safe and warm, I realize I've been waiting for him too. This grumpy, gentle giant with his rare orchids and careful hands. This man who tries so hard to keep people at a distance but holds me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever touched.

“Then don't make me wait any longer,” I whisper, bringing my lips to his as he groans.

Sawyer kisses like he's trying to consume me, all heat and need and barely restrained power as he carries me down the hall to his bedroom, lips never parting for more than a breath. My heart races as he sets me down, his hands sliding under my sweater, calloused palms rough against my skin. I arch into his touch with a gasp.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my neck. “So damn beautiful.” The reverence in his voice makes my heart squeeze. This isn't just desire, it's recognition. Like he's finally found something he's been searching for his whole life.

And since no man has ever touched me like this, I’ve found something too. He makes me feel precious and sexy all at once. Like my curves are something to worship rather than avoid. His thumb brushes the underside of my breast through my bra, and I whimper.

“Sensitive?” He does it again, watching my face.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He tugs my sweater up. “Arms up.”

I comply, shivering as cool air hits my skin. But then his mouth is there, hot and demanding as he kisses down my chest.

“This OK?” he asks, fingers toying with my bra strap.

“More than OK.” I reach behind me to unhook it myself. “Please.”

He groans as the fabric falls away, revealing my breasts. “Perfect.” Then he’s walking me back toward his bed, guiding me onto the mattress with one arm behind me and his mouth on my breast. When his tongue swirls around my nipple, coherent thought becomes impossible.

“Sawyer!” I arch up, fingers tangling in his hair.

He switches to my other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while his hand kneads the first. Every touch sends sparks straight to my core, and I'm trembling with need.

“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I'm begging for.

He lifts his head, eyes hooded. “Tell me what you want, angel.”

“I want...” My cheeks heat.

“Tell me.” He nips at my collarbone. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you inside me.”

Sawyer groans, a deep, primal sound that vibrates through my body. “Fuck, Noelle.” He kisses me hard, all tongue and teeth and desperate need. I can feel how much he wants me, his arousal pressing insistently against my thigh. “I want that too.” He speaks between kisses. “But what I want even more is to make you come.” He kisses me again, like he's trying to pour every ounce of longing into this one moment. “Tell me how you like to be touched, angel.”

“I…I don't mind...” The words come out soft, uncertain. Sawyer’s whole body goes still above me, and as he presses up on his hands to look at me. “I mean, whatever you like is fine with me?” The words come out as more of a question, and I watch his expression change as understanding dawns.

“Noelle...” His voice is rough as he searches my face. “Have you done this before?”

I shake my head, heat flooding my cheeks. But it's not embarrassment making my heart race—it's the way he's looking at me, like I've just handed him something precious and fragile. Like he can't quite believe I'm trusting him with this.

“Christ.” He drops his forehead to my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin. “You're killing me here.”

“Is that... is that a problem?” My voice wavers slightly, and his head snaps up immediately.

“God, no, angel.” His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing away tension I didn't even realize I was holding. “It's an honor. And a responsibility I don't take lightly. But I need you to be sure it’s me you want doing this. That now is the right time for you. This isn't something we can take back.”

The tenderness in his touch, and the careful way he's holding himself above me, makes my chest tight with emotion. This man who keeps everyone at arm's length, who builds walls to protect himself, is looking at me like I'm Christmas itself. Like I matter.

“I'm sure,” I whisper, reaching up to trace the worried line between his brows. “I want it to be you, Sawyer. Not because we're trapped here, or because it's Christmas... but because when you look at me like this, I feel... seen. Really seen.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, and I watch the walls behind his eyes crumble. Then he's kissing me again, deep and thorough, like he's trying to pour every ounce of emotion into the press of his lips. “I want to make this perfect for you.”

“It already is,” I whisper, arching up to chase his mouth. “You feel so good to me, Sawyer—right. I want more.”

He groans, the sound rumbling through his chest and into mine. “I'll give you everything, Noelle. Everything you want. And not just for Christmas. For everyday after that. I’ll give you all I have.” His hand slides down my side, fingertips tracing each dip and curve until he reaches the waistband of my leggings. He toys with the elastic, teasing. “Can I take these off?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. He sits back on his heels, hooking his fingers into the fabric and slowly peeling it down my legs. The first brush of cool air against my heated skin makes me gasp, but it's nothing compared to the way Sawyer is looking at me—like I'm a feast he can't wait to devour.

He discards my leggings somewhere on the floor, leaving me bare except for my candy-cane striped panties. A blush heats my cheeks as his gaze rakes over me, taking in every exposed inch.

“God, you're stunning,” he murmurs, hands gliding up my legs, over my knees, along my thighs. “I could look at you like this for hours.”

I squirm under his heated gaze and reverent touch. “I'd rather you do more than look.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Oh, I plan to.”

And then his mouth is on me again, kissing a trail of fire from my neck down to my breasts. He takes his time, teasing each nipple with teeth and tongue until I'm arching off the bed, hands fisting in his hair.

“Please, Sawyer...” I'm not even sure what I'm begging for, I just know I need more. More of his hands on me, more of his mouth, more of him.

“I've got you, angel.” He kisses lower, tongue dipping into my navel. “Just relax. Let me make you feel good.”

My breath hitches as he presses a kiss right above the waistband of my panties, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of my lower belly. He looks up at me with those intense green eyes, holding my gaze as he slowly drags my underwear down my legs, sending a shiver through my entire body.

“You're perfect,” he murmurs, tossing my panties aside. His hands skim up my legs again, pushing them further apart as he settles his fingers between my thighs. “And so wet for me already.”

I let out a soft whimper as his fingertips ghost over my slick folds, barely touching. He's teasing me, working me up with the barest of caresses until I'm trembling with need.

“Please, Sawyer,” I beg, desperate for more. “Touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he rumbles, but he obliges with more, one thick finger gliding through my wetness to circle my aching clit. Pleasure sparks through me at the direct contact and my hips buck up. “Like this, angel? Is this what you need?”

“Yes!” The word comes out as a gasp as he rubs tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Don't stop. Feels so good...”

He doesn't stop. If anything, he seems spurred on by my needy cries, his fingers moving with more purpose. He traces every slick fold, cataloging my reactions, learning my body with the same single-minded focus he gives his plants.

“That's it, angel,” he encourages as I rock my hips to meet his strokes. “Take what you need. I want to feel you come apart for me.”

His words send heat rushing through my veins, stoking the fire his touch has ignited. I've never felt like this before—so wanton, so desperate, so utterly consumed by pleasure. It builds with each stroke of his fingers, coiling tighter and tighter low in my belly until I'm teetering on the edge of something big.

“Sawyer, something’s happening,” I pant, my nails digging into his shoulders. “What is?—”

“It’s OK. Let go, Noelle. I've got you.”

He presses down on my clit, rubbing fast, hard circles, and the coil inside me snaps. My back arches off the bed as I cry out, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over me. Sawyer works me through it, his fingers never stopping their delicious torment even as I shake and tremble beneath him.

“That's it, angel. So beautiful,” he praises. “I could watch you fall apart like that forever.”