The fire had burned down to a nest of glowing embers by the time the antique mantel clock chimed midnight. Sofia glanced at it, the brass face catching the last orange flicker, and felt the first true bite of the cold seep through the chalet's thick log walls. The storm outside had not lessened; if anything, it had deepened into a low, constant roar that made the windowpanes vibrate in their frames. Wind hissed under the eaves like something alive and hungry. Inside, the temperature had dropped enough that her breath now fogged faintly each time she exhaled.
Gabriel stood first, unfolding his long frame from the rug with a soft grunt. The firelight slid across the tight weave of his black thermal shirt, outlining the lean ridges of muscle along his shoulders and the subtle taper of his waist. His jeans hung low on his hips, the faded denim worn soft from years of use. Sofia's gaze caught on the way the fabric cupped the front of him—briefly, guiltily—before she forced her eyes to the dying flames.
"Bed," he said simply, voice rough from the wine and the late hour. "One bed, one duvet the size of a tent. We'll figure it out."
She nodded, standing too quickly. The oversized university hoodie she wore brushed the tops of her thighs like a whisper, the soft, well-worn cotton already warmed by her body and carrying his faint scent—cedar soap, a trace of climbing chalk, and something deeper, earthier, that made her stomach tighten. Beneath it, her breasts moved freely, nipples still faintly peaked from the earlier chill and the awareness of his eyes on her reflection. The rolled-waist leggings clung to the curve of her hips and the gentle swell of her ass, the thin fabric warm against her skin but offering no real barrier against the dropping temperature.
They moved to the bedroom together, the narrow hallway forcing them to walk single-file. Gabriel went first, his broad back blocking the faint light from the living room. Sofia followed, hyper-aware of every creak of the pine floorboards under her bare feet, the way the cold air licked up her legs where the hoodie ended. The bedroom door stood ajar; inside, the space felt smaller than she remembered from the quick tour earlier—barely three meters across, dominated by the queen bed with its heavy down duvet and four plump pillows. A single reading lamp on the nightstand cast a weak golden pool, its bulb already dimming as the generator struggled against the wind.
Gabriel pulled the duvet back with one hand, the crisp cotton sheets underneath releasing a faint scent of lavender from the rental service. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat on the edge and tugged off his socks, revealing long, arched feet and the fine dark hair dusting his calves. He kept his thermal shirt and boxer-briefs on—simple black cotton that rode low on his hips, the waistband hugging the sharp V of muscle that disappeared beneath. Sofia's throat went dry at the sight. She had seen him shirtless a thousand times at beaches and pools, but here, in this tiny insulated cocoon sealed by snow, every inch of him felt magnified.
She circled to the other side of the bed, the floorboards icy against her soles. The hoodie hem rode up as she bent to smooth the sheet, exposing a sliver of bare lower back and the upper curve of her ass where the leggings dipped slightly. She felt his eyes on her—knew it without looking—and a slow, liquid heat bloomed low in her belly, unbidden and terrifying.
"Back-to-back?" he suggested, voice carefully neutral. "Like when I was little and had nightmares."
She managed a soft laugh that sounded shaky even to her own ears. "Exactly. Professional level spooning avoidance."
They slid under the duvet together. The sheets were shockingly cold at first, raising gooseflesh along Sofia's arms and thighs. She turned onto her right side, facing away from him, pulling the hoodie down as far as it would go. Gabriel mirrored her on the left, his back to hers. The mattress dipped between them, creating a shallow valley. For a long moment they lay rigid, inches apart, listening to the storm howl and the faint tick of cooling metal in the walls.
The first night passed in uneasy stillness. Sofia could not sleep. Every time she shifted, the duvet rustled, and she became acutely aware of the heat radiating from Gabriel's body—like a furnace just out of reach. His breathing was slow and deep, but she could hear the occasional catch, as if he too was fighting the cold. The pillow smelled faintly of laundry detergent and him; she buried her face deeper into it, inhaling despite herself. Her nipples tightened again against the soft inside of the hoodie, brushing the fabric with every inhale. Between her thighs, a subtle, unwelcome slickness gathered—her body reacting to the proximity, the scent, the sheer wrongness of it all. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to think of anything else: Lisbon blueprints, the divorce lawyer's bored voice, the endless snow.
By three in the morning the room had grown bitterly cold. The generator had cycled off; the single lamp flickered once and died. Only the faint red glow of the living-room embers seeped under the door. Sofia shivered hard, teeth chattering softly. The duvet felt thinner now, the cold creeping in from all sides. Behind her, Gabriel stirred, his back brushing hers for a fraction of a second—warm, solid, alive. She froze.
He rolled over slowly, the mattress sighing under his weight. One arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against his chest in a single, instinctive motion. "You're freezing," he murmured, voice thick with sleep, lips brushing the shell of her ear. His breath was warm, carrying the faint trace of red wine and mint toothpaste. "Come here."
Sofia's heart slammed against her ribs. His chest pressed fully to her back now—broad, firm, the thin thermal shirt doing nothing to hide the hard planes of muscle or the steady, rapid thud of his heartbeat. She could feel every contour: the slight rise and fall of his ribs, the heat of his skin bleeding through the fabric, the way his arm banded low across her stomach, fingers splayed just beneath the swell of her breasts. His thighs tucked behind hers, knees bending to cradle her legs. And lower—inescapably—his cock, heavy and half-hard in the confines of his boxer-briefs, nestled snugly against the cleft of her ass through two thin layers of cotton.
She should pull away. Say something light. Joke about mother-son body heat protocols. Instead she lay utterly still, every nerve ending screaming with awareness. The heat of him was intoxicating, a living radiator that chased the cold from her bones and replaced it with something far more dangerous. His scent enveloped her completely now—male, warm, faintly musky from the long day of travel and wood-carrying. She could feel the faint throb of his pulse where his wrist rested against her hipbone. And his erection… God, it was unmistakable. Thick, lengthening slowly against her as his body registered the softness of her ass, the curve where her thighs met. It pressed firmly into the valley between her cheeks, the head nudging just above the waistband of her leggings, separated from her bare skin by only the hoodie's hem and her panties.
A low, involuntary sound escaped her throat—half sigh, half whimper. Gabriel's arm tightened fractionally, his fingers flexing against her stomach. His breath hitched against the nape of her neck, warm and ragged. For one suspended heartbeat neither of them moved, the storm outside the only sound besides their mingled breathing.
Then, slowly—agonizingly—his hips shifted. Not a thrust, just a tiny, unconscious rock that dragged the rigid length of him along the soft fabric covering her ass. The friction sent a bolt of pure heat straight to her core; Sofia felt herself grow wetter, the cotton of her panties clinging damply between her folds. Her nipples ached now, diamond-hard against the hoodie, begging for touch she could never ask for.
Gabriel froze again, every muscle in his body locking tight. She felt the sudden tension in his thighs, the way his chest expanded sharply against her back. "Maman…" he whispered, the single word raw, cracked, laced with something that sounded like both apology and plea.
Sofia didn't answer. Couldn't. Her own body had betrayed her completely—hips tilting back the tiniest fraction, pressing into him, seeking more of that impossible heat. The motion was so small it could have been a shiver from the cold. But they both knew it wasn't.
They lay like that for what felt like hours: his cock now fully hard, pulsing gently against her ass with every heartbeat, her nipples throbbing in time, her pussy slick and aching and empty. The duvet trapped their combined heat, turning the bed into a cocoon of forbidden warmth. Neither spoke again. Neither pulled away.
Eventually his breathing evened into the slow rhythm of sleep, though the erection never fully softened. Sofia remained awake long after, eyes wide in the dark, feeling every millimeter of him pressed intimately against her, the slow throb of his desire matching her own racing pulse. The storm howled on, sealing them tighter together, while inside the bed the temperature rose to something feverish and exquisite and utterly, dangerously wrong.
By the time gray dawn light filtered through the frosted window, the pretense had already begun to crack.