A Week in the Snow

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

A Week in the Snow

ISBN #978-0-85715-582-5

©Copyright Gwen Masters 2011

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2011

Edited by Lisa Cox

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing.  Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning: 
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.  This story has been rated
Total-e-burning.

A WEEK IN THE SNOW

Gwen Masters

Dedication

For my Patrick Jane,

who turned a spark into a raging fire.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

FOX News: Fox Entertainment Group

Cadillac: General Motors Corp

Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson

Tabasco: McIlhenny Company

Chapter One

“You sound happy. Are you?”

Rebecca smiled and shifted the phone on her shoulder. She stared at the single candle on the mantel. The clock had just chimed midnight. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“This isn’t just a want. It’s a need. It’s like breathing, or my heart beating. I can feel it right now, between my legs.” She slid a hand down her naked belly. “I want to lie underneath you and open my legs for your hand, at the same time as you slide your cock into my mouth.”

Her own words turned her on just as much as his did, and she let her fingers walk farther down, until she was brushing the neatly trimmed hair at the apex of her thighs. Her nipples were sensitive and tingling, and the cool breeze from the air conditioner kept them hard. She curled her toes against the end of the couch as she listened to his voice, coming low over the phone line.

“You like that, don’t you? My cock in your mouth? You like it when I pull your hair and hold you there and make you take it, don’t you?”

She touched her clit with her fingertip, then dropped her head back and moaned.

“And at the same time, I’m pushing two fingers into you—no, how about three?—just slamming them in, because you’re so wet already, and I’m driving them in and out, and every now and then I press on your clit, right there. You like that? I can hear you panting for it. You wouldn’t be panting if my cock was in your mouth, would you? You would be fighting to breathe while you came and came and came.”

Rebecca ran one finger on either side of her clit, scissoring it gently, rubbing up and down. The tingles got bigger and her mind started to venture off into the fantasy, the thought of his hands doing those things to her. She imagined her own hands would be on her nipples, playing with them while she bent her head back just so, taking his cock in deep enough to please him, but not deep enough to gag. His fingers would be working magic between her thighs, sliding into her when she needed to be filled, pulling back and teasing her before she could come, making her beg with moans before he slid his fingers in again. That delicious stretching would overcome her and she might forget the motion of her mouth, forget the way she was supposed to move, and he would have to pull on her hair to get her attention again.

That was what did it for her this time—the thought of him pulling on her hair, maybe a little bit frustrated with her, demanding she pay attention to his cock. She imagined the velvet skin sliding between her lips, the tense muscles in his thighs, the way he would look at her as he came. She imagined all of it, except the one part she didn’t have to imagine.

“Oh, fuck, Becca—I’m going to come!”

He hollered when he came, his voice loud enough to make her pull the phone away from her ear. He held his breath for a moment, then let it out on a moaning exhale. Rebecca smiled as her own orgasm hit, right in time with his. She arched under her hand, everything but the voice in her ear forgotten, as the orgasm swept from her middle and out to her fingers and toes. Her whole body tingled, her nipples hard enough to hurt, her clit humming under her fingers.

When she relaxed and opened her eyes, she saw the candle. It had burned halfway down, the flame dancing on a small breeze.

“Was it good for you?” he asked, his voice low and dramatic. As if on cue, Rebecca giggled. She always giggled after a really good one, and that was right up there in the top ten. He laughed with her, and that made her feel warm inside. So what if he was thousands of miles away? At moments like this, he felt close enough to touch.

After long minutes of talking about what had just happened, he yawned. She knew he would be going to bed soon, and, even though her time zone put her an hour ahead of him, she would be awake for hours yet, thinking about the coming week and what it might have in store.

He was thinking of it, too. “Have you decided what to pack?” he asked.

“I’ve already packed one bag with the essentials.” She stretched, delighting in the feel of her legs, a little too tense, reminders of what she had just done. The orgasm still thrummed through her now and again. “It’s going to take two bags, though—I’m doubling up on everything to survive those chilly temperatures.”

“Iowa is chilly in the fall,” he agreed.

“You can keep me warm.”

“Don’t forget the vibrator,” he teased.

“Gene,” she teased right back. “I thought we were just going to have coffee.”

“Of course we are. The morning after.”

She giggled again and nestled deeper into the couch. The thought of going to see him was like an adventure. She was always the good girl, the one who was reliable and safe and careful, and this felt like doing something she had always wanted to do, but had never had the nerve. She was going to meet her online boyfriend and she was going to fuck him silly, and then she was going to fuck him some more, and to hell with the good girl act.

“The morning after sounds good,” she said. “Are you going to make it for me?”

“You’re the woman,” he replied. “It’s your job.”

That was the only thing about Gene that drove her crazy. She always hoped he was joking about the macho way he viewed things; that he really did believe in equality, that he wasn’t as chauvinistic as he seemed. But the more time went on, the more she thought maybe he really believed a woman’s place was in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Each time the thought came up, it made her wonder: what in the world was he doing with a woman like her, who ran her own business and was determined to make a name for herself?

“Speaking of jobs, mine is waiting on me, and I need to get a few things done before I go to sleep,” she said, dangling more bait. “I have to wrap up this latest project before I come to see you.”

Gene yawned, as though the project she had going wasn’t interesting in the least.

“Okay, babe. I’m going to go to sleep. You might want to get some sleep, too, so you can make that drive.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you won’t fly?”

She didn’t want to fly, and she had told him that over and over. She wanted to drive her way up from Florida to Iowa, her camera on the seat beside her, ready for good light. She could already imagine all the farms along the way, the old barns begging for a picture, the town squares that deserved to be caught by her lens. The point of the trip was to see Gene, but what was wrong with taking some time of it for herself?

“I really want to take some photographs on the way up.” She had said it a hundred times if she had said it once, and she was getting tired of the same old saw. She carefully filtered the note of wariness out of her voice.

“Okay.”

His tone was curt, almost hurt, but she stood her ground. “I’ll leave tomorrow, and I’ll see you on Friday. Want me to call you before I leave?”

“Before you leave, and while you’re driving, and while you’re at the hotel, and everywhere in between,” he said. “I can’t wait for you to get here.”

No matter their differences, she knew that much was true, and it warmed her from the inside out. “I can’t wait, either.”

“Goodnight, Becca-girl.”

Before she could say anything in response, he hung up. She clicked the phone closed and dropped it on the table, where it slid to a stop against a stack of photo proofs. She stared at the candle until it started to blur, trying to hold on to the good sex and the even better orgasm, but it was already a distant memory. Now she was thinking about the hours of work still ahead of her, the proofs to organise and the mailings to be done. Just thinking about it made her tired.

She sat up on the couch. The sudden wetness between her thighs reminded her of what she had just done with Gene, and what she could expect to do much more of as soon as she got to his house in Iowa. She padded to the bathroom and cleaned up, smiling as she thought about climbing into the shower with Gene after making love, washing away the remnants of him, leaving only the tiny little bruises and love bites that would remind her for days of what they had done.

But first, she had work to do.

Rebecca grabbed the proofs from the living room table and took them to her office, where she sat naked at her desk and pulled out the envelopes. Taking pictures of school kids and dogs and families was the way she paid the overheads, but her real passion was creative photography. In between the shots that took her breath away, she had to do the monotonous jobs—like stuffing four hundred proofs into mailers and getting them ready to drop off at the county school.

She studied the envelopes, glanced at the clock and got to work.

By the next nightfall, she had made it to the Georgia border. It would take another two days of steady driving to get into Iowa, but she felt more than up to the task. As she watched the sun set over the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, she thought again how good it was to drive the stretch. She pulled over to the side of the road and took pictures until the sun went down, then headed into town for a motel.

She called Gene as soon as she got to her room. He was already asleep, so she quickly told him she was safe in Georgia, and let him go back to dreamland. When she hung up the phone, she crawled under the cool, impersonal covers. She tried to sleep but soon found it impossible—the excitement of the day, the travel, all the new things she had seen, flashed through her head and refused to give her rest. The anticipation of seeing Gene for the first time was the thought that came to her most often, and she finally kicked down the covers, resigned to not going to sleep for a while.