Frozen Negotiations

Chapter Three

The deep chill of the cabin began to recede, replaced by a heat that had nothing to do with the broken generator. Grayson’s solid chest was a furnace at her back, his arms a secure cage. In the profound dark, every sensation was amplified: the scratch of his plaid shirt against her sweater, the steady rhythm of his breath warming her neck, the possessive weight of his hands on her hips.

His right hand slid from her hip, moving with a deliberate, slow grace down the outside of her thigh. His palm was broad and warm, a firm pressure even through the denim. His fingers traced a path to the inner seam of her jeans, a silent, dominant exploration in the pitch black.

“Are you still cold?” His voice was a low rumble, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. The question was intimate, layered, a key turning in a new lock.

Iris swallowed, her own breath catching. The playful submissiveness in her thrilled at his directness. “Not… not from the storm,” she whispered, the admission hanging in the dark.

A low, approving sound vibrated from his chest into hers. She could feel the hard ridge of his growing arousal pressed insistently against the curve of her hip. It was an undeniable truth, a physical claim that made her stomach flutter with a mix of shy excitement and raw want.

His hand continued its journey, skating back up her thigh, this time his thumb pressing firmly into the tense muscle. “You’re tight everywhere,” he observed, his critic’s mind analyzing her body’s language. “All that noise you were running from. It lives in your muscles.”

“And your silence?” she dared to ask, arching her back slightly, pressing herself more fully against him. “Where does that live?”

His answer was another shift, a renegotiation of their shared space. His hand left her thigh, his arms encircling her waist to pull her even tighter against him. One hand slid beneath the hem of her sweater, his rough, warm palm finding the bare skin of her stomach. She gasped at the contact, her skin pebbling instantly.

“Here,” he murmured, his mouth against her neck. His fingers splayed wide, possessive, over her soft belly. “A quiet, heavy weight. Right here.” He pressed down gently, making her feel owned, anchored. “Your turn. Show me where the noise is.”

Her mind went blank for a second, overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, the hard proof of his desire against her. Then, guided by a surge of adventurous trust, she reached back, her fingers finding his. She guided his hand lower, over the waistband of her jeans, until his palm covered the heated, aching center of her.

“There,” she breathed out, her voice trembling. “It’s a scream, right there.”

Grayson went perfectly still for a moment, then let out a harsh, controlled breath. His fingers curled, applying a deep, steady pressure through the fabric. “I can silence it,” he promised, his voice thick with a dominance that made her core clench.