This is from the super secret project I mentioned in my last Annagrams. It will be a novella eventually, but I’ve written only sex scenes thus far and no plot and I can’t say it’s the best way to write a story but I also can’t say it’s the worst :)
(It will have a plot though.)
What else can I say about it? Cass and Ingrid don’t like each other. They’re in a snowy mountain setting. This is the first time their fighting gives way to passion.
Cass stepped toward Ingrid, deliberate, eyes blazing. Ingrid gave ground without meaning to, a single, fragile step back—until a tree caught her. Rough bark bit into her shoulders, snagging briefly on her braid. The shock of it steadied her, held her in place.
Cass closed the distance again. She placed a hand against the tree near Ingrid’s face—a dare.
Ingrid forced her breath to slow, though her heart thundered wildly. Cass bent toward her, unhurried—offering her every chance to refuse, to push her away, to end this before it began.
Ingrid didn’t. She closed her eyes. Every nerve in her body started begging.
Cass’s mouth found hers.
Ingrid’s lips parted on instinct, as though they had been waiting for this exact moment. Heat flooded her, fierce and dizzying, at the contact. She wanted this—wanted Cass’s hunger, the way she took and took, as if she’d been starving too.
Cass kissed with her whole body, surging into Ingrid, lips and tongue and hips pressing, straining against the fabrics between them.
The kiss deepened. Cass’s hands slid up the outside of Ingrid’s thighs, firm and claiming, her hips arching forward. Ingrid’s head tipped back against the tree, her gaze catching on green-gray branches overhead, on a shard of pale winter sky. Cass’s dark hair against the snow-bright world felt unreal, like a flame alighting the ice.
Layers separated them—thermal shirt, snowpants, too many barriers. Ingrid felt absurdly grateful for them and furious at the same time. The distance was protection. The distance was torture. She craved the safety of it even as she ached to tear it away, to get close enough to lick Cass’s bones.
Cass pinned her there, against the tree, and Ingrid widened her stance, spreading her legs without thinking, silently asking for more, to be filled.
Suddenly, Cass’s mouth left hers, trailing down to her neck. Teeth grazed the strip of exposed skin above her collar, sharp and hot and devastating.
Ingrid groaned.
“Fuck, Cass,” she whispered, the words breaking apart in her mouth.
