Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best classic books to read TXT) 📕

and eased herself to her feet. Sebastian leapt up to help her, but she waved him off.

“I just need to use the bathroom. It’s fine.”

But without a word, he slid his arm around her waist, the shower-fresh scent of him invading her nostrils and making her stomach dip and swirl. “I’ve got you. Go slow.”

He helped her to the door, her nerve endings a riot of tingling heat at the close contact. Of course this was how she felt now that she’d pissed him off too many times. Of course.

Once she was finished, she stepped back out and found him waiting for her. “Were you listening to me pee?”

“It’s a small cabin, sweetheart. Just making sure you didn’t wipe out.”

She nodded and then yawned, rubbing at her face.

He glanced over at the clock on the microwave. “It’s getting late. We should get some sleep, you especially. You’ve had a long day.”

She shot him a shy smile. “I’m not the one who literally carried someone half a mile through a snowstorm.”

His expression softened a little and he shrugged. “You’re not that heavy.”

She licked her lips and curled her hand around his forearm. His eyes went hot as he held her gaze. “I really am grateful, Sebastian. You saved me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth, his voice a little husky. He cleared his throat and took his arm away. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

11

“Do you want a different shirt to sleep in?” Sebastian asked, rummaging through his dresser drawers and trying subtly to adjust the half-hard erection pressing against his sweatpants. All he’d said was let’s get ready for bed and Kayla’s eyes had melted, flicking between him and the only double bed in his cabin.

“Um, okay. That might be a good idea. This fleece is probably too bulky to be comfortable in.”

“Here.” He thrust a plain black T-shirt at her, deliberately not meeting her eyes. She took it and disappeared back into the bathroom, giving him a second to get himself together.

I should’ve said yes.

Her words kept pinging back and forth through his brain, twisting him up and making him want things he had no business wanting.

There was no fucking way he was getting in that bed with her. He couldn’t. His dick would either explode, or they’d end up having sex, which didn’t sound like a bad thing, but he knew exactly how it would go. He’d fuck her, probably more than once. He’d make her come, definitely more than once. He’d fall asleep feeling like the king of the goddamn world and then wake up the next morning to Kayla telling him that it was a mistake and it should never have happened.

He couldn’t face that. He couldn’t explain how she’d managed to get so far under his skin, but she had, deeper than a tattoo, and he didn’t know how he’d face her inevitable rejection. Because if they slept together, it was only a matter of time before she realized—or remembered—that he wasn’t good enough for her and didn’t belong in her life.

Kayla emerged from the bathroom, her fleece sweater in her hands, wearing his T-shirt. Her nipples were visible beneath the fabric, and he could tell she’d taken her bra off. He fought back a groan and quickly moved away, turning off the lights in the kitchen and the living room. Then he crouched in front of the fire, adding two big logs that would keep it going for most of the night.

“Shit,” he heard from behind him and turned to see Kayla stumbling her way toward the bed. He bit back a curse and rose, hurrying toward her.

“Let me help you,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Okay,” she whispered, biting her lip and toying with the hem of his T-shirt. Fuck, that shirt was going to smell like her and he’d never be able to wash it again. He moved closer and slid one arm around her waist, the other hand on her back and helped her carefully into the bed. His bed. Her fingers curled into his sweatshirt, holding him close. So, so close. A pink flush had risen on her chest, and her nipples were sharp points beneath the cotton of her T-shirt. He started to straighten, but her fingers tightened. “Let’s just share the bed,” she said softly. “I can’t stomach you sleeping on the couch when it’s this cold and you…” She swallowed thickly, licking her lips. “After everything you did for me today.”

“It’s not a good idea, Kayla,” he said, his voice low.

“Why not?”

He leaned in closer. “Because if I get in that bed with you, I’m gonna wanna fuck you. And we both know that shouldn’t happen. So if I have any hope of sleeping tonight, I’ll be doing it on the couch.”

Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t let go of his sweatshirt. “Just get in the bed. It’s cold. And if you won’t, then I’m going to take the couch.”

Fuck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this badly. He knew he should move away, tell her good night, maybe make a bad joke about bed bugs, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, Kayla’s hand fisted in his sweatshirt, his dick throbbing, her eyes on his, all soft and sweet.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Then get in the damn bed, Sebastian.”

“I sleep in my boxers.”

“Fine.” She let go of his sweatshirt, letting him stand. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

Right. Like he was going to be comfortable spending the night lying next to this woman he shouldn’t fuck, hard as goddamn steel.

“Fine,” he ground out. He’d noticed the way she’d devoured his naked chest earlier, the way she’d squirmed in her chair when he’d tended to her ankle. If he was going to suffer, so was she. Holding her gaze, he slowly pulled his sweatshirt off over his head and tossed it onto the floor. Then he hooked his