Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Secret Baby

“I’m a CEO. I own a fucking hotel. There’s no such thing as “getting away from work.” I live to make money and it’s not a burden.You’rethe burden.”

Then, he gets up and stalks into the bedroom before slamming the door. I let out a sigh before standing up and collecting the dirty dishes to dump in the sink. Well, I guess our little truce is over already, if it ever began. Christian Degas hates my guts ... and has no trouble letting me know it.

The tension easesa bit in the afternoon, or at least Ithinkit does. I cleaned up the kitchen, which included mopping the floors again, and then straightened what I could of the living room. Unfortunately, the furniture is mismatched and old, and the cabin itself is old too. There’s no way to get out some of the grime, even after I’ve scrubbed with all my might.

But Christian was true to his word. I could hear the shower running after breakfast, and he didn’t come out again afterwards, but hedidcrack open the door to the master bedroom. I figure it’s just a precaution. He might be on a zoom call without the ability to get up if I knock, so he wants the door open so that I can steal in like a mouse to use the bathroom if needed.

Of course, I had to use it, but it turned out fine. Christian wasn’t on a call, but I pushed open the door and caught sight of his massive form at a desk in the corner. He has an entire workstation set up with two monitors, not one, and his handsome face was furrowed with concentration as he scrutinized a bunch of flickering numbers. Quietly, I stole across the bedroom and let myself into the bathroom before using the facilities. Then, I washed my hands and came back out, without the grouch ever turning to look my way.

We had an uneventful dinner of hearty stew paired with thick Texas toast, and managed not exchange any harsh words during the meal, which is a total miracle. But now, with the dishes done, I clutch my toiletries in one hand before knocking hesitantly on the bedroom’s partially open door.

“Christian,” I call. “I need to take a shower. I haven’t showered since I’ve gotten here, and it would be nice. Is this a good time?”

At first, there’s no reply, but then a grunt sounds.

“Fine,” he says.

Hesitantly, I push open the door to see the CEO still at his desk, staring at his dual monitors.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Then, I steal across the bedroom and into the bathroom before quietly shutting the door behind me. Blessedly, the bathroom has a heated floor, and if I’m not mistaken, a heated towel-rack as well. The water is piping hot and I let out a grateful sigh as it streams over my curves, the fragrance of my scented shampoo filling the small stall. This is obviously an awkward and unfortunate situation, seeing that my hunky ex-stepdad is right outside, but I have to make the best of it ... no matter what the mountain man does.

8

Christian

Emily is more than what I gave her credit for. I thought she’d reveal herself as a pampered brat, accustomed to the luxuries of the big city. But instead of complaining non-stop, she actually went to work. When I stepped out for dinner, I saw that she’d cleaned the cabin from top to bottom, scrubbing even the fronds of the big ceiling fan in the living room. The curvy girl’s also an incredible cook, and the stew that we had for dinner was mouth-wateringly delicious. My stomach growls now with appreciation because I don’t think I’ve ever had stew so good. It was a thick, stick-to-your-ribs concoction filled with hearty chunks of meat and cut-up root vegetables, and I have half a mind to ask her to pass on the recipe to my chef in Vegas.

So yes, the curvy girl is much more than what I anticipated. I thought she’d be a whiny princess, used to having her face glued to her phone while watching TikTok videos and reality TVshows. But instead, Emily’s made herself useful, and if anything, my time at the cabin is more comfortable because she’s here.

I stretch both arms over my head, cracking the bones in my shoulders and neck. Fuck, as a man in my forties, my body gets stiff sometimes. I’m still an athlete, don’t get me wrong, and adhere to a rigorous workout regimen that’s given me the sculpted build of a gladiator. But still, age catches up to everyone and I haven’t been immune.

But as I stretch, my chair rotates a bit and I accidentally glance in the direction of the attached bathroom. That’s when a fucking heart attack practically makes me fall to the ground because the door to the bathroom has come ajar. This cabin is old, and a lot of things don’t fit perfectly together. Floorboards creak, the walls curve, and random doors are always coming open, the bathroom door included.

My mouth drops as my cock stiffens because holy shit, I can see the curvy girl as she showers. Sure, my vision’s obscured by billowing wafts of steam, but I get a glimpse of Emily’s lush, nubile form. She’s humming a little as she soaps herself up, and I can make out the outline of a big breast, perfect in its teardrop shape, with the faint pink of her nipple visible. Her waist is small, and her hips wide, the perfect build for a woman. Her long blonde hair is wet, streaming down her back, and I have a vision of wrapping it around one big fist before pushing her down and entering her from behind.

Emily has no idea that I’m watching though. She’s innocent and continues to hum as she lifts one leg up to brace it against the wall. Holy fuck, what the hell is going on? I watch, palming my fuckshaft, as the young woman reaches for a pink razor and then begins to shave herself there. What the hell? Is this something young girls do now?

Even more, I can see it all. I watch, rapt and hungry, as she gently pulls her labia tight, getting a close shave on her fat bottom lip, before turning to her other labia and shaving that one well. The beautiful blonde taps her clit lightly, teasing herself, before letting out a satisfied sigh. Then, the unspeakable happens. Yes, my little brat is more than just dirty. She’s fucking filthy, and as I watch, she props her knee up even higher against the slick tiles of the wall. Then, she bends forward, parting the big white cheeks of her bottom, and begins shaving that tight pucker.

My cock jerks in my hand, an involuntary gush of ejaculate wetting my palm. Holy fuck ...? Is this really happening? But sure enough, Emily is gently swiping her back buttonhole, making sure to get all the hair there so that she’s as bare and clean as a baby. Not only that, but she switches positions. She straightens, still with her knee propped against the wall, and then twists and stretches so that one hand is in back of herself, wielding the razor as she scrapes against that delicious knot from a different angle.

I’m overcome with desire. I can’t help it. I never thought I’d have a beautiful young woman in my cabin, with giant Double Ds and a pretty pink pussy. Not to mention that tight, vulnerable asshole .... FUCK! With a growl, I rush out the door and hurl myself out of the cabin, disappearing into the forest behind the property. My thick shaft is in my hand and within seconds, I’ve ejaculated like a madman against a tree. Hot spurts of come erupt like a machine gun going berserk, spraying filth all over the pure, innocent snow as I howl with release. I desperately crave the innocent woman in my house ... but I can’t have her because she’s my ex’s daughter.

9

Emily

Christian’s been acting weird lately. I thought we’d reached a truce, seeing that he enjoyed the hearty stew I made last night. He actually thanked me for my efforts, and said he appreciated the gesture.

But something’s changed, and it happened in the blink of an eye. We settled in for the night, and I fell asleep almost immediately, tired from scrubbing, cooking, and cleaning all day. The next morning, the alpha male appeared for his morning run, but he wouldn’t talk to me at breakfast, not even to compliment my apple flapjacks. He wouldn’t meet my eyes either. When I spoke to him, he grunted something in return, and then immediately disappeared out the door and into the woods.

It was like that for lunch and dinner too. Christian was a wall of non-responsiveness, and I gave up because there was nothing I could do. Now, it’s time for sleep, and I’m warm and rosy after my evening shower. I stand at the foot of the sofa beforeplumping the cushion that I use as a pillow. My favorite sleep t-shirt is on, transparent and soft from years of use, and I slide onto the couch before pulling the thick woolen blanket over my curves. Who knows what Christian Degas is doing right now? A light glows from the crack beneath the bedroom door, and I can hear the faint clacking of his keyboard. Fine, he’s a workaholic. I get it. It’s not my business, and I close my lashes, resolving to get some rest.

But sometime during the middle of the night, my eyes fly open because there’s a person in the room. I can feel it, even in the darkness. Someone’s here.

A low growl sounds, almost tortured in its tone.

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