Page 9 of Curves for the Mountain Man

The feel of her, from her impossibly soft skin to her silky hair, has my insides tied in knots. Her soft, seductive voice … the faint smell of lilacs and roses still lingering at the pulse point of her neck. It’s all too much. The only thing I haven’t indulged in is her taste. Fuck, my cock firms at the realization.

I don’t want to be attracted to her, but she sets my blood on fire. Though I continuously remind myself these thoughts are inappropriate under the circumstances, I can’t deny the chemistry shuttling back and forth between us.

Or the sense that somehow, on some other plane, we’ve done this before. Imbuing the intimacy of the cave with the sense we’ve returned to a state we once inhabited together rather than a new experience. It makes no sense. It sounds woo-woo as shit. But I can’t deny the nudge of my soul.

However, I can deny my right to touch her any further. She’s a woman who needs to get home, not get caught up with a rootless wild man like me. I have nothing to give her. I’m a shell of my former self, wracked by PTSD and thoughts of self-harm.

I gather kindling and logs for a fire, working hard to banish the curvy woman from my mind. I fail miserably. Instead, I focus on all the reasons I have to stop feeling what I feel.

Unlike me, she’s young and innocent. She’s got the whole world at her feet, the potential of life laid out before her. She isn’t jaded or damaged by fate. If I have any say in the matter, for the brief time I’m with her, I aim to keep her that way. Which includes shielding her from me.

Hauling branches and kindling warms me, and I wonder with a pang of yearning how she fares in the cave. I could keep herwarm, safe, and secure, snuggled against my core. But once the fire starts, there’s no need for that.

“You will not touch her again,” I grumble to myself. After all, I may be a lonely mountain man who can’t remember the last time I was with a woman. But I’m no fucking caveman. Despite the monologue, however, my rebellious heart races as I enter the cave, straining to make out the delectable curvy woman’s form in the obscurity of twilight.

“Thank God, you’re back!” she whimpers. For a moment, she looks torn. Like she’s about to cover the distance between us. But I frown, shaking my head. Instead, she continues hugging her shins and resting her chin on her knees.

“Can I help?” she squeaks.

“I’ve got this. Focus on staying warm.”

I remove the paracord fire starter necklace I wear, relieved that my compulsion for survival continues to outweigh the depression that brought me to sheer hopelessness earlier. Pulling the ferro rod back, I scrape the ceramic striker against it, sending a spark into a nest of kindling that I gently lift in my hands, blowing the glowing seed into blazing life.

Ginger’s eyes blossom with admiration, and my heart swells.Dammit, Roscoe, stop this.But fighting the emotions she stirs in me is impossible. Only making them worse, like struggling in quicksand.

Once the fire roars, I lay our clothes out on rocks nearby, where they can soak up the heat and dry. I find a rock with a large concave and set it near the fire ring, retrieving new-fallen snow from the mouth of the cave and piling it high on the rock.

After the first pile melts, the blonde beauty drinks insatiably, sopping up the water from the rock with a delight that makes my insides feel warm and melty. The sight of her curvy, underwear-clad body hunched over the rock is too much, and I look away,ashamed at the way my cock responds to her ample hips and round ass.

Keep it together, Roscoe. Keep it together.

I retrieve more and more snow until she’s drunk her fill, and I take her spot, face-down, lapping at the rock. When I glance over my shoulder, I catch her staring at my ass. The sexy blonde doesn’t know what she’s playing with … every moment with her becomes increasingly unhinged like the rope of my self-will is fraying and unraveling thread by thread.

I can’t do this anymore. Her juicy body, our close proximity, years of denying myself female company. It’s all too fucking much. So, I do the only thing I can.

I sit as far away from her as possible while still enjoying waves of heat from the fire. My hair is damp and falls down my back in thick curtains, cooling my neck and shoulders. I lean back against a boulder, closing my eyes and trying to sleep … before resigning myself to pretend to sleep.

What a fucking coward!

I squeeze my eyes firmly together, determined to keep all future interactions to a minimum.What else can I do?The last thing I need is to get tangled up with another human being when I can barely stand my own company.

A rhythmic chattering arrests my attention. My ears strain towards it. Opening my eyes, I see Ginger still locked in the fetal position on top of the bed of tree boughs, her whole body trembling. Shame grips me.

I thought the warmth of the fire would be enough, but the woman’s body strains to regulate itself. I don’t know why this should surprise me after all she’s endured. I touch her black jogging pants next to me, willing them to be dry.

Not even close.

She glances over her shoulder at me, her skin paper-white, her lips sky-blue. Every part of me longs to hold her, infuseher with more of my warmth. That experience was entirely too intimate, though. It’s still fucking with my head, and I fear what a return to that closeness will do. One more look at her goose-bumped skin and shuddering shoulders, however, and my resolve founders.

Frowning, I move toward the fire, crossing my legs and impatiently motioning the gorgeous, curvy girl, clad only in her camisole and panties, back into my lap. The look of relief that washes over her face incriminates me for not acting sooner. Without hesitation, she sits sideways, and I silently thank her for the reprieve. I don’t know what I’d do if she straddled me again. No, I know exactly what I’d do. That’s the problem.

“You’re cold as ice,” I scold, enveloping her in my arms. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She snuggles against my chest, stammering, “I didn’t w-w-want to b-b-bother you.”

I wrap my arms around her more tightly, pressing my palms against her shoulder and side where they fall. She needs to stay close to me tonight. There’s no getting around it. And she needs to eat something. Get calories back into her body to help regulate her temperature.

But I have nothing with me, thanks to my macabre plan for the day. Motherfucker! I’ll never forgive myself for what this woman’s enduring because of my intentional lack of preparedness.

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