The mountain air bit at my cheeks as I stepped into the lodge, shaking off the cold. The bar was packed with skiers and snowboarders, all flushed from the day’s exertion, laughing too loud, leaning into each other for warmth. And then there *you* were—standing in line like some kind of winter goddess, all wrapped up in white. Those skinny pants clung to your hips like they were painted on, the fabric straining just enough to tease the curve of your ass. The blouse wasn’t any kinder—thin, almost translucent in the right light, the push-up bra beneath it doing *filthy* things to your tits. They sat high and full, the swell of them begging for a hand, a mouth, *anything* to break the tension.

I wasn’t subtle. Neither were you. When I leaned against the radiator, rolling my hips just enough to press my hardening cock against the heat, your gaze flicked down, then back up to my face with a slow, knowing smirk. “Cold?” you asked, voice low, like you already knew the answer.

“Freezing,” I lied, because the truth was, I was burning up. My dick throbbed against my ski pants, the fabric suddenly too tight, too restrictive. You bit your lip—just a quick flash of teeth—and then you mirrored me, sinking down until your back was pressed to the radiator, your ass at *perfect* fucking height. Your eyes never left mine as you let your legs fall open just a little, the heat from the metal seeping through the thin white fabric. “Better?” you murmured.

I swallowed hard. “Much.”

We didn’t say much after that. Words would’ve ruined it. The bartender slid us another round, and somehow, between sips of whiskey and the way your thigh kept brushing mine, we ended up outside, the snow crunching under our boots. You turned to me, breath fogging between us, and before I could think, your gloved hand was on my chest, pushing me back against the wooden beams of the cabin. Your lips crashed into mine, hot and demanding, tongue sweeping in like you were searching for something. I groaned into your mouth, my hands finding your waist, then sliding down to grip your ass—*fuck*, it was even better than it looked. You ground against me, the friction maddening, and I could feel how wet you were through the layers of clothing.

“Your place or mine?” you panted against my lips, teeth nipping at my bottom lip.

“Yours,” I growled. “Now.”

The walk to your cabin was a blur of hands and mouths, my fingers tangling in your hair as you walked backward, pulling me along. The door barely shut behind us before you were shoving me onto the bed, straddling my lap. Your fingers flew over the buttons of my shirt, then yours, and when that bra finally came off, I nearly came in my pants. Your tits were *perfect*—heavy, soft, the nipples already hard and begging for my mouth. I latched onto one, sucking deep, and you gasped, arching into me, your nails digging into my shoulders.

“Fuck, *yes*,” you hissed, grinding down on my cock. “I’ve been thinking about this since the bar. About how big you’d be.” Your hand slid between us, palming me through my pants. “Jesus, George. You’re *huge*.”

I flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head. “You have *no* idea how long I’ve wanted to bury myself in you.” My teeth grazed your collarbone, then lower, tongue dragging over the swell of your breast before I bit down on your nipple. You cried out, back arching off the bed, your legs wrapping around my waist, heels digging into my ass.

Your pants were next. I peeled them off, taking your soaked panties with them, and *fuck*—your pussy was glistening, swollen, already fluttering like it was starving for me. I didn’t make you wait. Two fingers slid inside you easily, your walls clenching around them as I curled them just right. Your breath hitched, your hips bucking up to meet my hand. “More,” you demanded, voice rough. “I want your *cock*, George. Now.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. My pants hit the floor, my dick springing free, thick and leaking, the tip already slick with precome. You sat up, wrapping your hand around me, stroking slow, your thumb swiping over the head. “You’re *dripping*,” you purred, before leaning in and licking the precum off my slit. My hands fisted in your hair as you took me into your mouth, your lips stretching around my girth, your tongue working the underside like you were made to suck cock.

“Fuck, just like that—” My voice broke as you hollowed your cheeks, taking me deeper, your free hand massaging my balls. I could’ve come right then, but I wanted *inside* you. I pulled you off with a wet *pop*, then flipped you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up. “Tell me you want it,” I growled, rubbing my cock through your soaked folds.

“God, *yes*,” you moaned, pushing back against me. “Fuck me, George. *Hard*.”

I didn’t hold back. I slammed into you in one thrust, burying myself to the hilt. You screamed, your pussy clamping down around me like a vice, so tight and *hot* I saw stars. I set a brutal pace, my hips snapping against your ass, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Your tits bounced with every thrust, your moans getting louder, more desperate. “Don’t stop, don’t *stop*—”

I reached around, my fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles. Your whole body tensed, your walls fluttering around my cock, and then you were coming