Snowed In Neighbor MILF

The wind howled like a living thing outside the heavy timber walls of the cabin, driving snow sideways against the windows in thick, blinding sheets. Elena Voss stood at the kitchen island with a glass of merlot in her hand, staring at the whiteout beyond the glass. Forty-two years old, bestselling author of twelve steamy novels that paid for this luxurious mountain retreat, she was used to isolation. What she wasn’t used to was the sudden, electric jolt that hit her the moment the heavy knock sounded at the front door.

She opened it to find Jake Harlan, her twenty-two-year-old neighbor, hunched against the storm. Snow clung to his dark hair and broad shoulders. His flannel shirt and jeans were soaked through, plastered to a body that looked like it had been carved by the gods of college athletics. The wet denim clung obscenely to thick thighs and the unmistakable heavy outline of his cock, outlined perfectly by the clinging fabric. Elena’s pulse kicked hard between her legs.

“Truck’s stuck halfway up the drive,” he said, voice low and rough from the cold. “Phone’s dead. I didn’t know where else to go.”

For a long second she simply drank him in. The way his chest rose and fell. The sharp cut of his jaw. The raw masculine heat rolling off him despite the freezing temperature. Her nipples tightened beneath the thin silk robe she wore over nothing but a lace thong.

“Come in before you freeze to death,” she said, stepping aside. Her voice had dropped half an octave, already thick with the hunger that had been building for the two years she’d watched him shovel her driveway shirtless every summer.

Jake stepped inside, bringing the scent of pine, snow, and warm male skin with him. Elena closed the door against the storm and turned to find him standing in the foyer, dripping onto her hardwood. She grabbed a thick towel from the hall closet and handed it to him, deliberately letting her fingers brush his.

“You’re soaked to the bone,” she murmured, letting her gaze drift openly down his body again. “Get those wet clothes off before you catch pneumonia. I’ll pour you something stronger than coffee.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. In the living room she built the fire higher until the flames roared and cast dancing gold light across the thick fur rug. Two heavy crystal glasses of whiskey followed. By the time Jake reappeared wearing nothing but the towel slung dangerously low on his hips, Elena’s silk robe had loosened at the belt. The deep V showed the inner curves of her heavy, still-firm breasts and the soft swell of her belly.