WINTER STORM ERIK CRIPPLES VERMONT

Michonne tucked the fist clutching the remote control under her chin as she stood in front of the television and watched the bundled reporter tell the rest of the country how bad the weather was getting.

"It's not that bad," Michonne disagreed under her breath.

The living room lights flickered, drawing her sharp brown eyes. "Spare me," she plead to the weather gods.

She'd arrived at her late grandparents' winter log cabin just four days ago. She had inherited it six years ago, and, thousands of dollars later, she had remodeled it into her annual winter escape. She fell in love with it every time she looked at it.

She planned to hunker down in her little paradise, so it was easy for her to say that the winter storm wasn't that bad.

A barrage of loud knocks sounded on her front door, startling her. She turned from the television and threw the remote control on the couch on her way to answer. Whoever was on the other side was impatient and knocked two more times before she reached the front entrance. She slipped a curtain aside and peeked out, jolting a bit when the heavily bundled stranger craned his neck to look at her.

"Hi!" he greeted with a wave, bobbing up and down to keep the cold from settling in his bones as the heavy snowfall pelted him. "My truck broke down about two miles back, and I don't have my phone. It's really bad out here. Can I come in?"

Michonne straightened and opened the curtain wider. "You don't have your phone?" she asked incredulously. Who existed without their phone?

"I walked out without it earlier," he said, letting his arms flop to his side. "I swear I'm not a serial killer."

"That's…comforting," she said sarcastically.

"I know it's what you're thinkin' so might as well get it out the way."

Michonne frowned, noting his southern accent for the first time. He was from her region. She closed the curtain and went to open the door, making sure to hide behind it to avoid the cold air that blew in.

The man walked in and started shaking off the snow.

"Not on the carpet!" Michonne said quickly.

He looked down, stepped to the side, and continued taking off his jacket. Michonne couldn't make out his features, his face obscured by large goggles that were meant to protect his eyes from the biting wind.

After transferring most of the snow that was on his bubble jacket onto her floor, he looked at her and did a double take. She was wearing black leggings and a light pink sweatshirt with pink hearts that were a shade darker.

"It's that warm in here?" he asked.

Just then, the power went off.

Michonne's eyes widened. "Oh my God," she groaned. She listened for the television and heard nothing. "You jinxed me."

She left him at the front door and ran to the living room. Her heart sank when she saw the dark screen, her shoulders falling.

A few minutes later, heavy footsteps made their way to the living room.

"Looks like-" she began to quip but stopped short when she saw the man. He was in his late thirties, with a very attractive face, black hair that was slicked back, blue eyes, and a lean figure with a tantalizing promise of muscles under those layers of clothing. "You're the guy from the wine store," she said, surprised.

"You remember me," he replied with a smile that made her belly flip.

"And you remember me," she returned.

"Of course," he said as he walked to her. It was more of a strut, really. "I've been kicking myself since yesterday for not saying hi. I'm Rick."

"Where are you from?" she asked as she shook his hand.

"Georgia. King County."

Michonne caught herself and chuckled. When someone gave you their name, you were supposed to give yours in return. "I'm sorry. My name's Michonne. I was just curious about your accent."

"Where are you from?" he asked as he reluctantly let go of her soft hand.

"Atlanta."

"Really?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "An hour and a half from me. So you're not a native," he surmised as he glanced around the gigantic cabin.

"No, more of a regular. I come here every winter."

"People escape south for the winter," he teased.

"I do what I want," she said with a shrug. "Why are you up here in the dead of winter?"

"I just moved."

"Oh, really?" she asked, slightly disappointed.

"Yeah, I own a few apartment complexes, and I just bought a ski resort, so I figured I might as well move up here to look after everything."

"You're the one who bought Stowe Resort?"

"Yeah."

"I used to…date the owner. A long time ago."

Rick raised his eyebrows. He hoped that spelled good things for him. He couldn't believe his luck. He'd run into the beautiful woman the day before, and all he'd done was smile at her. Despite everything urging him to say hi and strike up a conversation, he had let her walk out of the store.

The lights in the cabin flickered on and then promptly went off.

Michonne sighed. "Looks like you chose the wrong cabin."

"I…disagree. This is beautiful," he added quickly as he looked around. Everything was wooden, including the stairs to the second floor. Huge logs framed the gigantic stone fireplace adjacent to the television stand, some darker than the others. The couch and chairs were stuffed with pillows. The rustic cabin radiated warmth.

"Thank you," Michonne said graciously.

"You own it?"

"Yep and renovated it."

"You have good taste."

"Thank you. We, uh, probably want to start a fire."

"Sorry for jinxing you."

"Maybe you didn't," she said with a small shrug.

Rick raised his eyebrows again, which made her heart jump, and she became a bit self-conscious. "I have wood," she said awkwardly as she turned from him.

Rick had a feeling that if he spent enough time with Ms. Michonne, he'd have wood, too.

They added logs to the fireplace, and Michonne expertly got the fire going. With every little glance of her that he stole, Rick thanked his lucky stars that he'd happened upon her place.

Michonne offered him coffee, and he took advantage while it was still warm.

"Is Erik ruining your Valentine?" he asked in the kitchen after a sip.

"Now that I'm out of power, a little. My plan for today was staying in and catching up on my shows."

"No date?" he asked cheekily.

"Nah, I'm dry this year." Her eyes widened, and Rick snorted into the mug.

"I'm sorry. I might be sixteen," he said, chuckling.

"I really wish you'd ignored that," she said sheepishly.

"I meant to, I swear. I'm dry this year, too."

"Whatever." Michonne rolled her eyes and huffed indignantly. His smile was killer. She was further impressed when he automatically washed the cup after downing a second cup of coffee.

The log cabin was marvelous. On the way from the kitchen, Rick spotted a little nook with a twin mattress. He privately mused that it had to have been made for lovers.

When it came to insulation, however, the cabin left a lot to be desired. The temperature inside dropped quickly. Michonne retrieved her thermal socks and blankets from her bedroom, and she and Rick sat next to each other on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

"It looks like I'd just need to duck my head to get in, and then I could stand up straight in there," Rick said as he stared at the fireplace.

Michonne laughed. "You really like it, don't you?"

Rick chuckled. "This place is straight out of my dream. I can't imagine what the rest looks like. Actually," he corrected as leaned back to look at the stairs on the side of the room and up to the second floor, "I kind of can. I see why you escape north. How did your grandparents manage to hold on to it? It can't have been easy."

"Nice transition," Michonne teased.

"What?" Rick asked

"Escape? North?" Michonne asked as she pegged him with a look.

The lightbulb went on in Rick's head. "Wow," he said, chuckling as a tinge of pink creeped up his neck, hidden by his black turtleneck. "Wow. Jesus."

"It wasn't easy," Michonne said. "Lot of White folks weren't having it. See the darker logs, the ones that look like they were burnt?" she asked as she pointed at the fireplace mantel.

"Yeah."

"They're original to the cabin. A group of them set it on fire when my grandparents went out of town for a weekend. No one was arrested, of course. My grandparents had a hard time holding on to it, but a few well-timed poisonings helped."

Rick looked at her to make sure he'd heard correctly. Her beautiful eyes only blinked. "Alright, then," he said. "Whatever works."

"What about you? Why Vermont?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders to ward off the cold.

"Want to get closer?" Rick offered. He had been hoping to ask since they'd sat down.

"Yes," Michonne said without hesitation. She gratefully shifted closer and under his pile of blankets. She couldn't quite smell him. The layers of clothes were in the way.

"You may have to put some shoes on eventually," Rick said as he looked at her socked feet.

They looked from her feet to each other, and Michonne's breath caught in her throat. She may not be able to smell him, but she was sitting close enough to see how blue his eyes were. She was sitting close enough to see that his brown beard actually contained a few greys. She was sitting close enough to now wonder how soft his pink lips were.

Rick gently tiled her chin up, and she realized that she'd been boldly staring at his mouth. "I'm…sorry," she said, her face heating.

"Don't be," Rick said. He took liberty and traced her plump bottom lip with his thumb. "Uh. I chose Vermont because of the taxes," he said as he dropped his thumb from her lip.

Michonne forced a laugh, missing his touch. "Very practical."

Rick surreptitiously rubbed his thumb against his index finger, the feel of her brown lip gloss doing a lot to wake his member. "I bought the resort, because I love it, and I could see myself doing more for it than Dan."

"Probably," Michonne agreed. "I think he's been distracted the last few years."

Rick was staring at her unflinchingly, which made Michonne's belly quiver. "Do you want to look at something else?" she asked self-consciously.

Rick tore his eyes away and looked at the fire. "I'm sorry," he apologized as he rubbed a hand across his face. He looked at her again, and Michonne bit her lip, holding back a smile.

"I'm doin' it again," he said.

His accent sizzled through and gave her goosebumps. "Uh…you have gloss on your cheek."

"Oh-"

"I can-"

"Go ahead," Rick said.

Michonne held her breath as she wiped the gloss. She couldn't help but think of another liquid she could put on his face. She exhaled, and it came out as a sigh.

"Are you alright?" Rick asked as he turned his head to look at her.

Michonne swallowed nervously. She did not remember his accent being that thick. He sounded like he was from the deep country. Unable to put her thoughts back on the right course quick enough, she simply nodded.

"I don't mean to be forward, but you're beautiful," Rick said.

Michonne was flattered. And relieved. While her mind was in the gutter, he was thinking tame thoughts such as this. "Thank you. I could stare at your face all day," she shared, making him laugh. "You're very handsome. So, Rick, do you forget your phone often?"

"Ah, yes, I do. I always got my Kindle with me, but the phone," he trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"Do you have your Kindle now?" Michonne asked, turning slightly in the direction of the front door.

"I do," Rick answered, laughing. "It's on the table by the door."

"Wow. What are you reading?"

"John Grisham's latest: The Reckoning."

"I've never read a single book by him, but you look like a guy who'd be into something written by a guy named John Grisham."

"What?" Rick asked, laughing.

"Do you ride horses?"

"Yeah," Rick answered, like that should be obvious.

"That's what I mean."

"You know, he's a great writer. If you like thrillers, you should give him a go."

"Does that mean you like scary movies?"

Rick grimaced. "Yeah, but there aren't many good ones out nowadays."

"True. It's a damn shame. I saw Hush recently. That was pretty good. They could've played more with lack of sound to amp up the creep factor for us hearing folks, but I liked it."

Rick titled his head curiously. "Do you go to the theater?"

"Yes," Michonne replied perkily. "I love watching plays. I think actors on the stage are more skilled than the ones on the screens."

"I thought you might like them, based on the play with the lack of sound critique. So, if I find something you like at a stage near us, would you like to join me?"

Michonne tampered down her excitement for the most part, but her shoulders twitched.

"I'd like to see you after the snow melts," Rick added as he gazed at her.

"That sounds like a great idea. I'd join you. And if that goes well, maybe we can figure out who's the best rider."

Rick raised his brows in surprise. "You ride?"

"I do."

The lights flickered on, and Michonne perked up with a gasp. They immediately went off, and she visibly deflated.

Rick chuckled. "Last I heard, we're supposed to get seven inches. Don't get your hopes up about the power coming back."

Michonne wondered how many inches he was working with. Instead, she said, "I'm a city girl, Rick. I can't live without power."

"For your information, us country folks enjoy lights and heat, too." Rick suddenly got an image of her walking around his King County home in the summer: barefoot, wearing shorts that hugged her butt, a pink tank top, and no bra.

"You're staring again," Michonne said quietly.

Rick didn't avert his gaze this time. "Does it bother you?"

Michonne licked her lips before answering. "Not really. What are you thinking about when you stare like that?"

Rick chuckled. "We don't need to go there," he said as he turned his attention to the fire.

"Now I'm really intrigued," Michonne purred as she leaned into him.

Her voice was like silk, making him shiver for reasons that had nothing to do with the falling temperature inside of the cabin. On the contrary, he was beginning to feel quite warm. He couldn't wipe the grin from his face as looked at her, feeling like he was on the spot. "You're an attractive woman. I'm…I'm havin' thoughts about that."

"What kind of thoughts?" Michonne pushed.

He gazed at the lively fire, weighing the risk of voicing his lustful thoughts and the reward of her being receptive. Swiveling his attention back to her, he asked, "Are we just talkin'?"

Michonne grinned. This Valentine's Day was taking quite the turn. Maybe Winter Storm Erik knocking her power out was a blessing in disguise. "No," she answered, soft yet definitive. "We're not just talking."

Rick's belly fluttered in excitement. His eyes dipped to her lips, and he finally allowed himself a taste.

The spark between them combusted into an inferno that put the fireplace to shame. Rick was a talented kisser, making Michonne melt into a puddle of wanton desire. She was pliant as he lowered her onto the carpet without breaking the kiss. She explored his body with eager hands, burrowing her hands under his layers of clothes so that she could get to his warm skin. Rick jerked a little when her cold hands made contact.

She grabbed handfuls of his ass and squeezed, and more blood flowed down to his dick. He began to hump her through their clothes as his hand massaged her breast. Her bra was stiffer than he liked, so he finally broke the kiss. He sat up on his knees and shifted down. He looked into her eyes and hovered his hands above the waistband of her leggings, silently asking for permission.

"Yes."

Rick slid her leggings down, his pulse quickening anew. He took off her thermal socks and then went back for her lace underwear. "You had a theme goin', huh?"

"What?" Michonne asked, confused. She'd been busy watching his strong hands.

"Pink?"

"Oh! Yes, actually."

"I like it. I got a thing about underwear."

"Oh."

Rick shifted the garment to one side and begin eating, catching Michonne by surprise. She cooed, laying a guiding hand on his soft hair. As good as Rick sounded when he spoke, he ate pussy just as well, like it was his last, delicious, filling meal. Her excitement flowed out of her and onto his beard and nose as she writhed on the carpet. He inserted a tentative finger into her vagina and curled it in a come here motion, locking on her g-spot.

"Oh my God," she moaned. He was taking her from ten to one hundred. It was so good that she was starting to drool. She wiped the side of her mouth and thanked God for bringing this man to her front door.

Rick reluctantly paused eating and fingering her. "We're gonna have to do somethin' about all this movin'."

"I'm sorry. But this is…Whew," Michonne sighed as she brought her knees together and wiped her face. He made her feel like she was on a roller coaster. In the dark.

"Hold your knees open, in the air," Rick said. That would stop most of her wiggling.

Michonne did as instructed, and he recommenced the sweet onslaught. He moaned on her clit, which threatened to undo her completely. She got wetter and felt her pelvic floor muscles relaxing.

She recognized the familiar feeling and began to clam up, pushing his shoulders. "Rick. Rick, stop," she said as she squirmed out from under him and sat up.

"What's the matter?" Rick asked, licking his lips.

"If we keep going like this, I'm going to…squirt."

Rick grinned. "So you stopped me?"

Michonne's skin warmed from embarrassment. "It wasn't well received last time. Like, at all."

"Oh," Rick said, his grin waning. "I'm sorry."

"I kicked him out," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But it's not something I want to go through again."

"I get it," Rick said sympathetically. "That's not gonna happen here. I promise. I know what I'm doin', and I like where this is goin'," he said with a sly look between her legs.

A smile tugged at Michonne's lips. "I'm starting to think that accent's a weapon."

Rick laughed, which made him look younger. "I was showin' you my weapon, but you stopped me. Come on," he implored as he stroked her calf.

Michonne bit her lip, teasing him. She shifted back into position and proceeded to have the best Valentine's Day of her life.

The End