Page 32 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

“Oh no. You’re not going anywhere.” He tightens his arm around my waist and effortlessly lifts me so I’m perched on the edge of the bar. “We’re just getting started.”

He re-latches to my breast, cupping it with is calloused palm. Massaging it with his hand and tongue.

His other hand explores the rest of my body. He makes long, leisurely strokes up and down the curve of my waist and hips.

Quickly losing my ability to think straight, I slide my hands down his chest. “I want to feel you too.”

I flip open the buttons on his flannel shirt. I trace the lines of his muscles up his chest until I once again reach his shoulders. I force him to stop his torment of me, just long enough to push the shirt off of his shoulders.

“At last.” I pull him back close, digging my fingers into his skin and pulling his mouth back against mine.

Our tongues tangle, teeth clash. He seemingly can’t get enough of me. I know I’ll never get enough of him.

With every touch and every temptation, I want more.

I won’t be denied. Not after this sensual game of will we or won’t we that we’ve been playing from the second he brought me home. I wrap a leg around his ass, pulling him closer until his throbbing shaft is pressed against my pussy. I move against him, exchanging groans as he grows harder and I get wetter.

“Damn, but I want you,” he says, when we pull apart to breathe.

“So take me.”

His smoldering stare flickers. He reaches into his back pocket and retrieves a foil square. I rip it open as he tugs down my leggings and panties.

I reach for the button at the top of his jeans and lower the zipper. Reaching in, I find his cock. I wrap my hand around him and give a playful squeeze.

His eyes narrow. “Stop playing around.”

“Yes, sir.” I slide the condom down his length and pull him back toward me. “Are you ready to fuck me?”

With a growl he thrusts forward. I cry out and he stills.

Panting, he rests his forehead against mine. “Are you okay?”

I nod, and lift a leg to wrap around his backside. “Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. As we ride each other, galloping to the peaks of our desire, I feel like heaven. He feels like home.

TEN

GAGE

I pace the narrow path behind the cabin, boots crunching over pine needles, fists shoved deep in my pockets. The late afternoon sun slices through the trees in golden slashes, but the tight coil in my chest hasn’t let up since we left the bar.

Since I fucked her in the bar last night.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it was. That guy grabbed her wrist.

And I nearly lost it.

I’m not the type to go charging into town to play white knight. But the second I saw that slick-haired asshole leaning too close—touching her without permission—every buried instinct I thought I’d buried came roaring back.

And she’d looked at me like…

Not like I was some grumpy mountain recluse. Not like I was broken or dangerous.

She looked at me like I mattered.

And hell if I hadn’t been able to stop myself from going back and making her mine. It didn’t stop there. I claimed her again as soon as we were back in the cabin.

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