Waiting for Joy: a Forbidden Affair
Copyright© 2026 by Lina Da Silva
Chapter 4: Up and Down the Slope
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: Up and Down the Slope - She waited her whole life for love—just not like this. In her forties, Rose meets Steve, a man she cannot have but cannot resist. Their connection ignites into something raw and consuming in a secluded winter escape. But when desire clashes with reality, she must face the truth: is stolen passion enough when your heart demands more?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating BDSM DomSub Interracial White Male Oriental Female Masturbation Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Slow
The big rustic studio room in Ottawa is filled with the smell of butter, pancakes, soft scrambled eggs with milk, bacon and brewed coffee. Steve hums a tune as he makes two plates. As he sets the table, he calls for his girlfriend, Rose, to wake up and join him for breakfast. She barely moves and remains curled in bed.
Steve approaches the bed as Rose opens her eyes. She forces a smile. Her body is betraying her once again. She feels like her bones will break when she does some stretching. Her muscles tighten around her hips and neck; she feels they’re very sore.
“Good morning, my Rose.”
“‘Morning, my heart ... I smell breakfast.”
“Come on, it’s gonna be a fun day. The snowmobiles will be waiting.”
“Sorry, my body aches terribly. Why don’t you have breakfast while I stay in bed?”
ROSE TRIES TO HIDE under the covers as the sunlight peeking into their bedroom is starting to give her migraine. This illness has caused her to live like a vampire at times – too scared of direct sunlight, she shared with Steve before, when they were getting to know each other on a writing platform.
“You don’t seem okay ... Is it fibromyalgia?” he asks with much concern.
“Uh-uh,” she hesitatingly answers. “I just feel very tired. Everything hurts.”
NOW STEVE RECALLS HOW rough he was with her last night. And now he regrets it. Without saying anything, he immediately searched his luggage for Tylenol in his med kit. When he finds the small kit, he takes one out and places it on a tray where he moved the two plates. Then he pours two cups of light roast Arabica into each black mug from the kitchen counter.
“A dark blend can probably help your migraine go away,” Steve says as he lays out the breakfast in bed that he prepared.
He carefully put it on the side where he slept, then helped his sweet girlfriend sit up. Rose admires him more. His scent lingering on her skin and the way he is much gentler now than last night make her forget how her body aches, at least a little bit. When she decided to welcome this man into her life two years ago, she also vowed that she would love all of him – even the ones that she might not easily understand. She believes that Steve did not want to really hurt her. It was just his reaction towards frustration about his nightmare. Even if her body receives that angst and fear, she embraces the pain. That’s what love is supposed to be, she tells herself.
When Steve notices that she can’t grip the fork and the knife firmly, he initiates to slice his own pancakes and feed her some.
“Open,” he commands.
He gives her a mouthful. To him, watching her lips as she savours the meal is so intoxicating. But he can’t start getting sexy again. He is still guilty about what he did last night.
“Listen. I ... I am sorry about last night ... I was foolish. I got carried away by that bad dream.”
“I know what it feels like to be scared ... Uhm, I thought of losing you every time you won’t send me a message for longer than 24 hours.”
“But it was not an excuse. You were tired from all the fucking that we did since I got here, and to be rough on you was stupid. I should have let you rest.”
ROSE TOUCHES HIS FACE. “I know you, and I trust you. I am sure you did not mean to go overboard.”
He gives her a reassuring grip on the same hand that touched his face. He plants a couple of kisses on it and resumes giving her some pancakes and coffee. He presses the button that closes the window blinds. His fair, almost pinkish skin seemingly glows in the dimly lit room.
“I love our breakfast in bed. Thank you,” she says with a smile.
NOW HE CAN SMILE AGAIN. A while ago, the cold was seeping into his skin, but with her smiling and being effortlessly sexy like this, he is a bit relieved. He has never met anyone as forgiving and kind as this woman. Sometimes, he forgets if he first got attracted to her wits, her looks or just her ability to make him feel things that he has never felt before.
There’s this silent depth in the way they connect. That’s a weird way to describe what he feels about her. But heck, he won’t push himself to know up to which level of depth he is being pulled towards her. He just wants her to himself. Period. That’s all that matters now.
In her mind, an item on her bucket list has just been checked – to be lovingly served breakfast in bed. What is excruciating pain compared to this happiness – starting a lazy, snowy day with this blue-eyed man who cares for her passionately?
THERE IS A KIND OF love that grows in silence. Probably because it is unexpected. Probably because it has always been perceived as wrong. Yet, the moment it feels like it is impossible to go on, the attraction just becomes more intense than any sane and righteous reason.
Rose knows this well. Sometimes she feels that she is still dreaming. She vowed not to commit the same mistake that her mother had. But the more she resisted Steve, the less she felt alive ... He said she is his fairy, yet for her, he is love personified, if one can touch such an abstract concept.
The battle between her moral compass and this deep ache in her heart had left her stuck in bed so many times before this. She was raised to know better, but what is ‘better’, really? Her art would raise this question from time to time. Soon, she will write a book about her story with this man, who showed her what it’s like to be kept.
They are pulled into this loop of passion – because they suffer when they are apart, of excitement – because they can’t just have enough of each other, and of seemingly sacred space created just for the two of them. And that space that they share is always warm, electrifying and yes, comforting.
NOW HE IS MAKING HER some ginger tea. She watches him doing the dishes. She tells herself how manly he is for taking care of her like this. He is so different from too many men who shove machismo down their wives’ or girlfriends’ throats back home.
She hopes this ginger tea will soothe her sore throat. An American package is not that easy to handle, she realised. So she hopes he will be creative if he wants to get sexy tonight. She is still a little wary that he might not be pleased when she can’t keep up with his desires.
“How do you feel now?” Steve feels a little uneasy with the unusually quiet woman that Rose is.
“Happier,” she says with a smile.
“The tea will be ready, then you can go back to sleep if you want. Or maybe you want to sketch? Although it is a bit dim there now. Is your migraine getting worse?”
Rose smiles even more, not knowing which one to answer first. If only her boyfriend knew how he makes her feel. If only this could happen every day, even after this winter getaway. She is like snow that melts in the warmth of his presence.
“I can probably read ‘Stir’.”
She slowly climbs down the bed, but he is quick to rush to her side.
“Please stay in bed. Where’s the book?” he protests.
“In the pocket of my luggage. Thank you.”
He hands her the book and makes sure that the pillows support her back. Then he turns on the nightstand lamp.
“I will be spoiled if you treat me like this every day.”
“I enjoy spoiling you. And I bet your memoir will be a lot better than that.”
They hold their gaze for a few seconds, relishing their sacred space. The kettle whistles, and so Steve goes back to the kitchen and prepares her salabat, as they call ginger tea in Manila.
He sets the hot cup on the nightstand. Then he brushes her shoulder with the back of his hand.
“If you don’t feel like going out, we can stay here today. I can cook for you as you write or sketch. Then you can read to me the story that you’re working on ... Shopping can wait. Even the snowmobiles.”
“Let me rest for a few hours. I am excited about riding with you.”
“Hmm. Not riding me?”
They both giggle at the naughty thought.
She takes a sip, and it is a treat. She continues to read the teal-covered paperback. “You must have some tea, too, and maybe sit with me as I read.”
“Oh, you know I don’t like tea, unless you are the tea.”
Another laughter fills the room. She quickly remembers how, in their heated texting, he would describe how he wants to drink all of her. Her pulse palpitates faster, but her body is still antagonising her longing.
“I will have to make some calls. I just want to check the projects and, of course, the kids,” Steve says.
Rose nods as he turns his back on her to walk towards the foyer. He dials the number, and he instantly sounds perkier.
The snow is falling outside. Seeing him get closer to the light coming from the foyer is such a beautiful contrast. Her heart skips faster. This once very cold man has warmed up to her. She did not even know why.
She grabs her pen and notebook on the nightstand, and scribbles:
SHE IS FIRE. HE IS ice.
He melts into her embrace
like a tired warrior longing for rest,
taking off his heavy armour
and dusting off his sandals
at his own door—
attended to by a pair of hands
that perfectly knead his every ache.
Tonight, she is the fire
that he needs in his freezing bed.
The helmet is gone,
so she twirls her fingers
around the locks of his auburn hair.
He savours how her fingers trail
on the bruises of his bearded chin.
Eyes linger on his face, still.
Then he hears her whisper,
“We are in your sacred space.”
Rose takes a deep breath as she hears her boyfriend chuckle on the phone. Unbeknownst to her, as she puts her pen down, there’s this invisible thread tied to her heart that is connected to Steve’s. Forged in fire and dust, the crimson string floats in that cabin, glowing and sparkling, just like what the man saw in his dream.
She puts the notebook and the pen away. She lies down again, still smiling at the sound of Steve’s voice. An unexplainable warmth filled her whole being. Flashes of light fill her sight as she drifts to sleep.
IT WAS A 45-MINUTE drive to the Calabogie & District Snowmobile Club Trail. From the window, the couple surveys the area. Steve learned that the K&P Trail, a 180-kilometre route, provides easy access to the 255-kilometre trails near Calabogie. He chose this place because it is said that it is the top trail system in Ontario. He is excited to be the first person to make Rose experience the beauty of winter. And snowmobiling is a perfect way for her to savour her stay here.
For Rose, two weeks may not be enough. Everything around her looks like a dream. The pile of snow on the sidewalk, the long line of restaurants and shops at the bottom of the hill, and on top of it all, the freezing -20 degrees at three-thirty in the afternoon.
There are a lot of people gathered around a big fenced area, and the sound of snowmobile engines roars. Once he’s done securing the parking of his car, he carries his big tunnel bag and grabs Rose’s mitten-clad hand. She smiles and takes his gladly.
“This is perfect!” she exclaims like a child.
“Well, yeah ... Everything, except that our winter gear prevents me from touching your hand,” he smirks.
“You have me for two weeks, Sir!” she giggles.
“Oh, don’t call me Sir now; not here. And you’re not ready,” he reminds her as they both walk towards the fenced area.
The snowmobile show attracts tourists around the world. And suddenly, Rose does not feel out of place, as she sees many Asian holidaymakers watching Canadian riders fly above the ramps. The audience exclaims and claps their hands in awe. Yet for Steve, he is more attuned to the number of times that Rose smiles in amazement. He is so relieved that she is enjoying their time, especially after having a bad flare-up this morning.
In the middle of the show, Steve checks his watch and urges Rose to head to NeXt, a highly recommended oyster and wine place. They enter the wide glass door and take their seats. He reserved a table in advance. When the food is served, Rose asks the waiter to take a photo of them. The guy responds in Filipino, and she’s not so surprised. The Filipino immigrants in Canada have dramatically increased as their needs for healthcare workers have opened better opportunities.
After an hour of enjoying salad, oysters, fruits and wine and some good folk music from a few local artists, the couple is ready for their snowmobile trail.