(Frosted Seasons, #1)
Publication date: November 24th 2015
Genres: Adult, Romance
It was the summer of 2005, probably the most memorable summer of my life. I was twelve years old, six weeks we spent together, forty two days, in that time our friendship grew, and then without warning he upped and left. I always hoped he’d come back to us, I couldn’t let go of his memory. He became my first, my only teenage crush. Every day he was in my mind, and every night he was in my dreams. Ten years on this man is still my secret obsession no matter how many men I’ve met and dated, nobody ever measured up. Even today, all I can think about is the summer of 2005, the summer I spent with Snow.
“Darcy, lift your arms above your head,” he says, standing directly before me.
His tanned physique is to die for. Steam wafts up from his broad chest. There’s a slight gap between us, yet he feels so warm. Standing here like this is everything I’ve ever pictured in my dreams; every sensation, every ounce of feeling rushes through the core of my body. The tips of his fingers take the edge of my T-shirt, and holding onto the cotton material they slowly glide up past my waist, past my breasts, and with my arms raised, past my fingers. I glance down as he drops my top onto the bed. Encased by his arms, he unclips the fastenings of my bra. I sense his chest has cooled as he leans his bare flesh against my breasts. I lower my eyes, expecting him to lift me onto the bed, and I’ve no desire to fight him. He rests his cheek against mine, and I flinch as his stubble rubs against my face. His lips part as they press against my ear, and I tilt my head ever so slightly so that they can move down to my neck.
“You shower, Darcy; I left the water running.”
His fingers, his lips slip away and he walks to the far side of the bed, still rubbing at his hair. Is he acting like the perfect gentleman or, after the way I’ve acted, is he just too scared to make the first move? As I look over his body the thought of him inside me is making me wet. I blush, feeling embarrassed at my own thoughts. What’s happening to you, Darcy?
Filled with frustration, I saunter into a bathroom of wall-to-wall mirrors. I step out of my trousers and my black lace panties, and from the cold tiled floor into the shower. Blinded by steam, I lean my head back against the striking white wall tiles. I blink, screwing up my eyes as they are hit by jets of hot water. Taking the lathered soap from its porcelain dish, I rub it between my palms, touching my face, my arms. I begin circling my hands over my skin, trying to wash my frustration away; on reaching my breasts I circle my nipples … they are hard against my fingers. Still covered in soap and water, my hands dip down to my waist and on between my legs; slowly I begin to rub myself. I take his advice and pretend that’s it’s not me here, but someone else. Losing myself in my head, I feel I’m also losing my inhibitions.
“Snow!” I cry out. “Can you come here?”