The blizzard hit hard that first Friday in December, wind howling around the cabin like it wanted in. Em's text came through just as the power flickered:
*Parents are stuck in Billings till Sunday—roads closed north. House is empty. Fire's going, I've got cinnamon whiskey and my guitar. If you can make the walk… I'd really like to see you tonight.*
Kai stared at the screen, pulse already kicking. This wasn't a casual hangout invite. They'd been circling this for weeks—stolen kisses at her car, heated make-out sessions cut short by parents or curfews. He'd only had one girlfriend before, a short thing junior year that never went past second base. Em was a virgin too; they'd admitted it awkwardly one night after the fair, both laughing at how nervous it made them.
He showed the text to Marcus.
His dad glanced at it, raised an eyebrow. "Storm's bad. If you go, text when you're there. Stay till roads clear if you need to."
Kai packed a small overnight bag—toothbrush, clean shirt, condoms he'd bought weeks ago and kept hidden—and layered up until he looked like a walking snowbank. The walk took forty-five minutes instead of twenty, snow up to his shins in drifts, wind stinging his face. By the time Em opened the door, he was iced over but burning inside.
She pulled him in fast, shutting the cold out. The house was warm—woodstove roaring, cinnamon candles flickering. Em wore an oversized black band hoodie that hung to mid-thigh and thick fuzzy socks. Her wild curls were loose, framing her face; amber eyes nervous but bright.
"You're insane for walking in this," she said, helping him peel off layers. Her fingers shook a little on his jacket zipper.
"Worth it to see you."
They started safe—hot chocolate spiked with Fireball, her playing soft chords on the acoustic while he thawed on the rug. But the air between them crackled. Every brush of shoulders, every shared look lasted longer.
Eventually she set the guitar aside and crawled into his lap, knees straddling his thighs.
"I've been thinking about this all week," she whispered, cheeks flushed. "I'm nervous."
"Me too," he admitted, voice rough. "We can go slow. Or stop anytime."
She shook her head. "I don't want to stop. I want you."
The first kiss was soft—testing, lips brushing, then deeper. Tongues tentative, learning. She tasted like whiskey and heat. Hands started careful: his at her waist, hers on his chest. When he slid them under the hoodie and found bare skin, she inhaled sharp—no bra, just warm, soft weight.
He cupped her breasts gently, thumbs brushing nipples. Too light at first; she guided him firmer, arching into his touch with a soft whimper. The hoodie came off slow—getting caught on her curls, both laughing breathlessly until it dropped.
Firelight painted her caramel skin gold. Full breasts, dark nipples tight, gentle curve of stomach, flare of hips. She was beautiful, and the awe on his face made her smile shyly.
"Your turn," she murmured, tugging his thermal up. Shirt off, then his undershirt. Her hands explored his chest and stomach, tracing muscle earned from training, nails scraping lightly.
Pants were harder—jeans stuck on boots, laughter again when he nearly toppled trying to kick free. Finally naked, they knelt facing each other, taking in every detail. He was already hard; she bit her lip looking at him, hand reaching hesitant then pulling back.
"You can touch," he said softly.
She did—fingers wrapping around him, stroke too tight at first. He showed her rhythm, both breathing faster. When he slid a hand between her thighs, she was soaked, trembling. First touch too light; she covered his hand, guiding circles until her hips rocked on their own.
They moved to the quilt she'd laid out earlier. Condom conversation was awkward but necessary—she was on the pill for cramps, but they wanted double safe. Packet shook in his fingers; she helped roll it on, giggling when it snagged.
Positioning took tries—missionary first, her legs not quite sure where to go. He pressed too fast once; she winced, and he froze.
"Sorry—too much?"
"No, just… slow."
They found it—inch by inch, eyes locked, her nails digging his shoulders. Tight heat gripped him; both gasped. He held still until she nodded, then shallow thrusts, building as she adjusted.
It was clumsy in the best way—rhythm off at first, a knee cramping, laughter when hips bumped wrong. But every adjustment brought them closer. When she came—sudden, surprised cry, inner walls fluttering—he followed seconds later, burying deep with a shaky groan.
After, they lay tangled, hearts hammering, quilt pulled over sweat-damp skin.
"That was…" she started, then laughed softly. "Messy and perfect."
"Yeah," he agreed, kissing her forehead.
They dozed by the fire, woke later for round two—her on top this time, slower, more confident. She found her rhythm, hands on his chest, curls cascading around them. Still awkward in spots—balance shifting, a cramp—but laughter turned to moans. When she came again, head thrown back, he gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her, spilling with her name on his lips.
Between rounds they talked, bodies entwined.
"I've been on the pill a few months," she said quietly, tracing his collarbone. "But… if it ever didn't work, if I got pregnant… I wouldn't mind. Not with you."
He stilled, then pulled her closer. "You serious?"
"Yeah. You're different, Kai. You make me feel safe. Wanted. If we made something together… I'd want it."
He kissed her slow, deep. "I'd want it too. We'd figure it out. Together."
The words hung warm between them.
They managed one more round near dawn—side by side, slow and sleepy, her leg hooked over his hip. Gentle thrusts, soft gasps, coming together quietly as snow whispered against the windows.
Sunday morning, roads barely passable, he walked home sore in the best way, her scent on his skin, her taste on his lips.
Texts waited:
Lila: *Hope you stayed warm in the storm. Thinking about you.*
Sierra: *Heard the blizzard was wild. You okay?*
Jazz: *Missed you at the garage. Come by soon—I've got new coveralls to model 😉*
Em's came last: *Still smiling. Still sore. Still want more when you're ready.*
Kai grinned at the screen, snow crunching under his boots.
Winter was cold outside.
But everything that mattered was burning warm.