Snowstorm Confessions

By Nell Iris

When Philippe breaks the number one rule of his and Jona’s friends-with-benefits relationship by falling in love, he considers if it’s time to pull away to protect his heart. Jona is honest from the start -- only physical, no romance -- even if the tender caresses when Jona thinks he’s asleep contradict his words.

But when Jona shows up at Philippe’s cottage in the woods on the eve of both Christmas and a looming blizzard, seemingly intent on being snowed in together, Philippe can’t help but wonder. What lies behind Jona’s aversion to romantic relationships? Can honest confessions during a snowstorm reveal if there’s a chance for something deeper?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685506193

Nell Iris

Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love. Nell writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I already know he wouldn’t come at three minutes past nine. He’s always obsessively on time for these…hookups? meetings? fuck sessions?…as though he’s trying to make up for the perceived inexactness of his chosen profession, a meteorologist, by being a picture of reliability. I think I knew he wouldn’t show up when I texted him I’d be late—he doesn’t appreciate last-minute changes of plans, and for a moment or two, I considered heading straight home after a long day at work—and I definitely know now, when it’s been over half an hour.

And yet, I can’t make myself stand up and walk out of here. It’s been far too long since I got to lose myself in his touch, since I buried myself in his body, and allowed myself to nurture my vain hope that our relationship will develop into something more than just people who fuck, which was why I drove to the coffee shop where we’d agreed to meet for a cup of tea before going home to his place and tumbling into bed, hoping that he, too, was desperate for at least some physical contact and he’d show up. Which is why I’m still sitting here.

I wake up my phone, tap on his name, Jona Wester, and look at our message thread, staring at the checkmarks next to my hastily written text—telling him I had to work late and wouldn’t be able to make it until nine—letting me know it was received and read.

My head swirls with questions. Did he even consider replying? Was he disappointed I had to postpone? Annoyed because the change of plans messed up his schedule? Was he so horny and desperate that he decided to go out and find someone else who could fuck him boneless?

That last thought makes my heart prickle with anxiety, and I drop the phone on the table, twitching at the loud, clattering noise it makes when it meets the hardwood surface. I press the heels of my hand into my eyes to erase the image flashing in my mind of him naked underneath a faceless stranger, moaning in that intense way he does just before he cums.

Stupid. I’m so stupid.

Jona and I have a deal—only fucking, no emotions—but I broke our agreement many months ago, and the thought of someone else touching him, kissing him, breathing in his scent, fills my stomach with acid.

I shake my head and groan, drawing attention from a couple seated by a table close to me. I should give up and go home before the snow starts falling, making the winding, narrow forest roads leading to my place even more treacherous to drive in the December darkness.

But something keeps me here, staring at the rapidly cooling cup of tea. Hope, probably, hope that he’ll rush into the coffee shop, sweep me off my feet, beg for my forgiveness—I’m sorry, Philippe, we had a meteorology emergency at work and I couldn’t text you to let you know—before carrying me away, bridal style, to the nearest bed where we’ll spend the next few days making passionate love.

I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry at the absurdity of that mental image. Even if Jona returned my feelings, he’s a laid-back kind of guy, not prone to dramatics, and I wouldn’t allow anyone to carry me bridal style anywhere. And meteorology emergency? Hah. I’m being ridiculous.

Then my evening gets even worse, and I groan internally as I catch sight of my best friend Adam approaching the table. I glance at the door, calculating if I can grab my things and sprint out of here before he’s close enough to start berating me about Jona again, but no such luck.

Are you waiting for that bastard again?

Exhaustion settles on my shoulders, pressing me into the earth. I’m so tired of having this conversation over and over again. Hello to you, too, I say.

Fuck. If I’d left when Jona was five minutes late, or even ten, I would’ve escaped Adam’s scowling face at least. The last thing I need is another rant from him on how stupid I am for falling for someone unavailable, and what a jerk Jona is for toying with me. I’m sure Adam means well, but he has an aggravating way