Page 10 of Destined for the Mountain Man

“Don’t be sorry,” I answer. “I’m not.”

Chapter 8 - Grant

She can’t say something like that when she looks this damn nervous. I cup her cheek and remind myself to slow down. She doesn’t have experience which means I need to be patient. But just hearing no one has left her with a bad experience makes me all the more determined to give her excellent examples of how she should be treated. She’ll be mine, truly and completely mine.

But that means being a gentleman, respecting her boundaries and earning the right to get more than a kiss. I nod once.

“I just need more time, Grant. It’s not that I don’t want you because I do, I just ... it’s ...” She looks away, biting her bottom lip.

“You don’t have to explain. I don’t want you making this choice to please me,” I say clearly. I offer her a wing. “Make the choice because you want me, because you’re ready.”

We connect so well, we make sense. Charlotte will be mine the right way, the way her parents can’t seem to fathom. I’ll give her the space she needs to make her decision and to allow her to decide for herself.

But my dick isn’t softening. All I can think about is feeling her warm legs around my thighs, her breasts pressed against mychest, her hand tightening in my hair as she meets every curl and stroke of my tongue. I clear my throat.

“In ... unrelated news, I’m going to get a shower,” I say, then kiss the top of her head.

She laughs once and apologizes again, even when I tell her not to. It’s entirely her fault I’m hard, but I’ll never blame her for pumping the breaks. That doesn’t mean I can sit here with a raging hard on.

I squeeze her shoulder to let her know we’re fine and take care of myself in the shower. I think of her hot mouth, her sweet, tentative tongue, every soft lick, the way she’d suck nervously while I praise her, the fact I’d be the first man fucking her mouth, the first man to experience her in any way. She’ll be mine, entirely and completely. And thinking of her blue eyes opening and staring me down as I grip her thick blonde hair and fill her tight throat, owning her fully pushes me over the edge.

I groan her name as I come, not caring if she hears me. I hope she does, hope she knows exactly what she does to me on a regular basis. She did it with her voice alone and now that she’s here ... I’m sure I’m going to lose my mind.

The next morning, I smell coffee and know that Charlotte’s up. I take my time getting ready but find her pulling a sweater down as I leave the bathroom. We stare at each other as she takes in the towel slung around my waist and the beads of water rolling down my chest.

I clear my throat. “I’ll remember to bring clothes into the bathroom.”

“No! I mean ... it’s okay. I’m the guest. I should announce myself or something,” she says.

But she walks by me and I feel her hand coast over my hip, across my wrist, then disappear. This is going to be so hard. I take a few breaths and get changed before joining herdownstairs. Unfortunately, I have to work, but Charlotte tells me she’ll be fine on her own.

After taking care of some lines and ignoring the guys chuckling at my eagerness to get home, I walk in, not sure what to expect. I get why this is a test of compatibility because, for all I know, she could have taken my valuables and run. When she’s not right there to greet me, I’m worried, until I find her on the back porch, reading a book on local birds while watching some robins pick at the feeders.Silly me.

She smiles when I walk out and politely kisses my cheek when I bend down to say “Hi”. A blush coats her face and I’m tempted to kiss her properly, but I can’t forget my reaction or hers. I can’t forget how she felt against me or how hard I got. I have to behave.

“I want to cook dinner tonight. I looked up some recipes and everything,” she says.

“Then you wear the apron,” I reply.

When we get to the kitchen, I tie the apron behind her back, pulling her close until she’s pressed against me. She gasps softly, a moan escaping her as she feels the heat of my body. Her lips part slightly, and she licks her bottom lip, a quiet signal that she’s feeling the same pull I am. I can’t help but smile at the way she reacts, but I keep her from getting too excited as she reaches for the pan, worried she might burn herself.

"Easy," I say, guiding her hands as she stirs the sauce, my fingers brushing against hers. She looks up at me, a spark in her eyes, but I remind my inner self to stay in control of my reactions.God, she’s going to be the death of me.After a few more moments of working side by side, I let her take the reins and finish up the meal. I step back, watching as she adds the final touches, the familiar ease between us settling in. She moves gracefully around the kitchen, her focus on the task, but everynow and then, her eyes flicker up to meet mine, sending a rush of warmth through me that tightens my chest.

Once the food is ready, we sit down at the table, the warm dishes between us. The conversation flows easily, the rhythm of eating and talking almost as comforting as the meal itself. I catch glimpses of her laughter, the way she’s at ease, and it pulls something deeper inside me. I find myself leaning in just a bit closer, inhaling her scent, still stronger than the aroma of the food we ate. My breath catches as I watch her, the curve of her neck, the way her lips move when she speaks, all of it drawing me in, making it hard to stay any farther away.

When the last bite is finished, we clear the table together, and I can feel the change in the air as we move toward the living room. I let her pick out the movie, settling on the couch, my arm naturally finding its place around her as the opening credits roll.

When she gets choked up her hand lingers on mine and it takes effort not to pull her against me, to let her feel it in her own time.

That effort breaks when she looks at me with watery eyes. I pull her into my arms and cuddle her against me. I smile. “I was right. Cuddling you is better than talking about it.”

She laughs and rubs the arm I have wrapped around her.

The next few days start to follow a pattern. Charlotte always wakes up first, always makes me coffee that’s a little too strong – but I drink it anyway – and I always find her reading a new book on the back porch when I come back.

On our fourth day after the kiss, I wake as Charlotte tries to untangle herself from me. I realize I’m wrapped around her and tug her back into bed. “Where are you going in a hurry?”

“Don’t you have work?”

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