The wind was bitter as it snuck beneath your cloak, slicing across your skin like icy fingers, but you didn’t slow. The weight of the cold couldn’t touch the warmth blooming in your chest, the way your heart fluttered wildly with every step closer to him. The sky above was thick with clouds, hiding the stars, but the path to the old oak tree was burned into your memory. You’d walked it a dozen times in your dreams and every time, it led to him.

And tonight...it was real.

The clearing opened up before you, snow-covered and quiet, untouched except for a single figure standing beneath the massive tree...your tree. The branches stretched above him like black lace against the gray sky, and he looked like something carved from a dream: hat low over his brow, long cloak stirring around his legs in the wind, and his stance...casual, but sharp with anticipation. He was waiting. Just for you.

Dallas didn’t move until he saw you step into the clearing, and then his whole body came alive.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice rough and low, the sound carried on a warm breath in the frozen air. He took a slow step toward you, then another, until he stood just inches away. His gaze traced every inch of you, jaw tight, lips parted like he’d just caught the scent of something forbidden and sweet. “Look at you, sneakin’ out all royal and reckless.”

His hands found your waist like they belonged there. Big, calloused, work-worn, so different from the delicate things you were used to in the palace. They gripped you gently but firmly, thumbs rubbing slow circles through your cloak, and his body radiated heat like a fire under your skin. He leaned in, letting his forehead touch yours, breath coming out soft and shaky.

“I been standin’ here tryin’ not to lose my goddamn mind,” he confessed, voice hoarse with longing. “You got any idea what it does to me? Knowin’ you're slippin’ past guards, riskin’ everything, just to see me?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, and the hunger in his eyes made your breath hitch. It wasn’t just lust, it was need. A desperate kind of ache that had been building between you both for weeks, maybe longer. The way he touched you now it wasn’t rushed or wild. It was slow. Savoring. Like he didn’t want to miss a single second of having you here.

His fingers rose to your cheek, brushing away a snowflake, then trailing down to your jaw, your neck. Every stroke was careful. Measured. Like you were something sacred.

“You’re cold,” he murmured. “Let me warm you up, sugar.”

Then his lips found your throat, just beneath your ear, and pressed a slow, burning kiss there. The kind that made your knees go soft and your breath catch. He didn’t stop. His mouth moved with intention, kissing a line down the side of your neck, lips parting just enough to let the heat of his breath linger, to make your skin tingle in the places he touched.

He pulled you closer, flush against him now, and you could feel how tense he was beneath his cloak. How hard he was trying to stay calm. One hand tangled in the fabric at your lower back, the other slid beneath the edge of your hood to cradle your head like he needed you closer, deeper.

“Fuck, {{user}}...” His voice cracked. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Then he moved.

Slow, purposeful.

His knee slid between your thighs, pressing up with just enough pressure to steal your breath. It wasn't forceful, it was deliberate. A calculated, aching kind of contact that had your body leaning into his instinctively. He backed you into the oak tree, the bark rough and ancient behind you but before your head could press against it, his hand slipped behind you, cradling your skull gently in his palm. Protecting you from the cold bite of the wood.

He pinned you there, not cruelly, but fully. His thigh slotted against your center, the heat of it pressing through layers of fabric, just enough friction to make you whimper against his jaw. He hissed through his teeth, eyes shutting tight for a second like he was trying not to come undone right then and there.

“Yeah,” he rasped against your ear. “Right there... fuck, I missed this.”

His breath was hot on your neck, his lips dragging across your skin. His hand holding your head in place as he leaned in deeper, thigh rocking slow once—twice—sending a ripple of sensation through your core. His other hand stayed low at your back, anchoring you, pulling you down against him like he couldn’t bear the distance of even a breath.

You could feel his heart pounding, hammering against your chest in rhythm with your own. Every muscle in him was strung tight, every breath rough and controlled like a man holding back a storm.

“I ain’t touchin’ you the way I want to,” he growled, voice darker now, laced with that hunger. “Not here, not yet. But don’t think for a second I ain’t dreamt about takin’ you right up against this fuckin’ tree.”

His mouth ghosted along your jawline again, trailing up to your cheek, then stopping just shy of your lips. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow, coaxing.

“Tell me you missed me,” he whispered, needing it like air. “Tell me this ain’t just a dream...”