Snow Angels by Sabrina York

body felt renewed. And perhaps his spirit as well.
    Hell, he didn’t even care that the power was still off and the cabin was cold and that he had to start the stove using matches.
    Granted, it had been a damn long time since anything like that had happened to him. Partly by choice—because whenever he met a woman who interested him, his crushing guilt would raise its ugly head—and partly because, most of the time, he hurt too bad to allow release.
    At the moment, he didn’t hurt at all.
    Nothing. Nowhere.
    It was as though she’d performed a miracle on him.
    A sexual miracle.
    He chuckled a little at the thought.
    “What’s so funny?” Her warmth surrounded him as she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He wanted to sink into it, wallow. Her hand roved over his chest, and then skated beneath the hem of his T-shirt. The touch of her palm on his skin sent prickles along every nerve.
    Unbelievably, his cock stirred.
    He’d thought he was sated. Utterly and completely. Apparently, he’d thought wrong.
    Turning into her embrace he kissed her. “Nothing.”
    She pulled back and gazed up at him. Dimples broke on her cheek. “I like when you smile like that.”
    “Am I smiling?”
    “You are.” She thumbed his lips. Then traced the scar on his temple. “Even your eyes are smiling.”
    He pulled her closer. “Maybe I’m happy.”
    She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, a gentle buss, with a hint of hunger. It lit something in his gut. She was so tiny. So perfect. So sweet. And she wanted him.
    God knew, he wanted her. He deepened the kiss, dipped in his tongue, teased her inner cheek. She made a sound, deep in her throat, something wild, and held him tighter.
    What was it about her touch? Her presence?
    It lifted the dark veil that had separated him from the world. Made him feel alive again. Made him want to be part of something again. Part of this.
    He backed her up against the wall and lifted her so he wouldn’t have to dip his head so far to reach her delectable mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed against him…right where it counted. Groins sealed, they rubbed against each other as he tasted her, consumed her.
    God, she was glorious. His passion, which had never been far away, arose. The pressure, the heat, and the need between them maddened him. Her scent goaded him. The taste of her breath. Everything about her settled within him, cradled him, and healed him. He wanted, needed—
    She wiggled. “Put me down.”
    He lifted his head. Blinked. “What?”
    “Something’s poking me. Put me down.”
    Slowly, reluctantly, he released her. As her feet touched the ground, she turned to glance behind her.
    Shit .
    He’d backed her up against the wall without a thought. Plastered her against the light switch, a fat, round dimmer. “That can’t have been comfortable.”
    He needed to remember. She was fragile. He needed to be more careful….
    She laughed, scuttling his chagrin. “It’s a good thing the electricity is off.”
    “What?”
    “I have this vision of us going at it…turning the light on and off with each thrust….”
    A glint—a hungry glint—lit her eye. Her voice stuttered on the last word. As though she were envisioning just that. Her, plastered against the wall. Him, buried deep.
    God. He wanted to be buried in her.
    The energy between them shifted. Sizzled. Crackled.
    Oh, it had been hot before, but now…but now….
    They stared at each other, reveling in the rising passion, the simmering connection. The anticipation.
    He was going to fuck her.
    They both knew it. They both wanted it.
    Bad.
    She wrinkled her nose, which surprised him. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “What’s that smell?”
    Wade froze as the hideous odor of burning sulfur suddenly registered.
    “Shit. The eggs.”
    He rushed to the stove and pulled the pan off the flame. The omelet was charred.
    Why she doubled over with laughter, he didn’t know. There weren’t many eggs