Snowed in with Grumpy (Silver Mountain, #1)

by Olivia Noble

And he’s... dressed like Santa Claus.

“Coffee boobs,” he responds with amusement.

“Okay, Miss Coffee Boobs. I can see you shivering with cold, so maybe you should come inside and help me drink this wine. And tell me why you really came all this way.”

He looks down, as if having forgot what he was wearing. He grunts in embarrassment as he pulls off the fake beard. “Yes, well. I just came from a family thing. I was wearing this for my little nieces and nephews. They always say that Uncle G makes the best Santa Claus.”

Holy Mother of Snowman Penis.

Is he aware that he just put on the sexiest thing a guy can possibly wear? Or is he just being relaxed and casual in his home? Just walking around and being a man, letting his meat hang free. Letting his giant dingaling swing. When he said he was going to get comfortable was he intending to try to seduce me? A quick look at the Internet will reveal that women everywhere are universally affected by grey sweatpants. Thousands of memes would never lie. He must know this, right?

sight of the considerable eggplant outline in those sweatpants—I know there is no way I can stay here tonight.

I reach for my phone and consider texting Rudy a few eggplant emojis, shocked emojis, and question marks, but then I see that there is no cell service. So there goes my only potential source of emotional eggplant support.

I cannot be this close to that hunk and his juicy Christmas cucumber without wanting to taste a little slice.

“Don’t touch me,” I tell him, ripping my hand away with my last ounce of strength. “And the next time you have guests, please put on some proper pants. I can practically see the veins in your Johnson. It’s distracting!” He looks down at his groin with alarm, horrified at my description.

From accidentally popping out my coconuts, to accidentally getting an eyeful of wiener schnitzel, it’s just been one thing after another.

“Coffee boobs, date one,” I say, counting on my fingers. “Wine and sweatpants, date two. Avalanche rescue, date three.”

I pause, reaching down to press a kiss against her forehead. “I’m so sorry for being a dick, Ava.” “No, I’m sorry,” she says hoarsely. “I didn’t want to leave. I just…” “I know,” I tell her. Our faces touch then, and we gently nuzzle against each other. Her lips find mine, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and she presses her mouth against mine. Gingerly at first, but then searching and deeper. More hungry and passionate.

“I would have fewer regrets this time,” she says as she lets her head fall against my neck, peacefully. “I hated the thought of dying without ever kissing you.” “I hate the thought of you dying at all,” I tell her quietly. “So don’t do that. Besides—there are a lot of other things I’d like to do with you, other than kissing. You’ll need to be alive for all of that.” “Only if you take off those damn sweatpants,” she whispers hotly making my cock swell and throb for her.

“You’re going to drive me insane, woman.”

“Why do you have to be so caring and sweet?” I grumble. “Because I really like you, my dear.” “Oh,” I respond, kind of satisfied with that response. “There’s no need to rush anything, kitten. We have all the time in the world.”

energetic little munchkins,”

“Chestnut, Nutmeg, Nutcracker. You must have a thing for nuts.”

“I’m nuts about nuts,” he confesses. “Peanuts, tree nuts, macadamia nuts, brazil nuts. I even have a tattoo of nuts on my nuts.”

“Oh my gosh,” I say with surprise, imagining that and glancing down at his pants. “For...

but within a few seconds, I’m hard as a rock and pitching a tent in my reindeer-covered boxer shorts. Dagnabbit.

While she mostly slept for the first few days after the avalanche, I even decorated a fricking Christmas tree to cheer her up when she awoke.

“Hey now, no peeking,” I scold her. “I just wanted to check if they were anatomically correct gingerbread men,” she says with a giggle. “That’s how my sisters and Rudy make them.” “Anatomically correct meaning…” “Little gingerbread boners and boobs,” she explains with a grin. “Do you have any extra dough? I could make some and attach them. It might be the only way I’ll get to enjoy any dick around here.”

I look down and groan when I realize that I’m wearing an apron that says This Guy Rubs His Own Meat! I thought I grabbed one of the Christmassy aprons, but I guess I grabbed one intended for grilling. It doesn’t seem as appropriate when I’m not cooking meat.

As much as it kills me.

I just can’t do this unless I’m sure. Unless I’m absolutely, one-hundred percent sure. I’ve already lost so much, and I couldn’t bear to get that close to her, just to lose her. Like everything else in my life. Like every other person I’ve trusted and loved. I just can’t. I’m not strong enough. I know she’s stuck here for a while, and that may be the only reason she’s seeking intimacy with me. I’m just the only person around. But I can’t do this unless it’s real. I am too old to play games.