Page 11 of The Mountain Man's Prize

"Here," she moans, rocking against my hand. "With you."

"That's right, little dove." I withdraw my fingers, ignoring her whimper of protest. My hands move to my jeans, unfastening them just enough to free myself. "Right here. With me. Always."

I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging against her. She's so wet, so ready, but I hold back, making her wait, making her want it.

"Please," she whispers, trying to pull me closer with her legs around my waist.

"Please what?" I need to hear it. Need to know she understands.

Her eyes meet mine, clear and certain despite the haze of desire. "Please make me yours. Keep me. Don't let me go."

Something breaks open in my chest, a flood of emotion too complex to name. I thrust forward, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion. She cries out, body arching, inner muscles clenching around me like a fist.

"Never," I promise, beginning to move, setting a punishing rhythm that has the table creaking beneath us. "Never letting you go."

I take her hard and fast, all finesse abandoned in favor of raw, animal claiming. Her nails rake down my back, her cries growing louder with each thrust. I mark her with my mouth—her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Each mark is a brand, a visual reminder that she belongs to me.

"Everyone will know," I growl against her skin, hips never slowing. "When you wear your hair up, when you bend over, when you stretch—they'll see my marks on you. Know you're taken. Know you're mine."

Instead of frightening her, my words push her closer to the edge. Her inner muscles flutter around me, her breathing turning to short, sharp gasps. She's close. So close.

"Come for me," I command, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb. "Come on my cock, little dove. Show me you're mine."

She shatters with a cry that echoes off the cabin walls, her body convulsing around me, pulling me deeper. The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her pulsing around me, the knowledge that I've claimed her so completely—it's too much. I follow her over the edge, burying myself deep and releasing with a guttural groan that comes from somewhere primal and possessive.

In the aftermath, I gather her trembling body against mine, holding her close as our breathing gradually slows. I'm still inside her, neither of us willing to break the connection just yet. Her face is pressed against my neck, tears dampening my skin—from intensity, from release, from emotion, I'm not sure.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, stroking her hair, suddenly aware of how rough I was, how consumed by fear and possessiveness. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes still damp but clear. "You didn't," she says softly. "Not the way you think."

I study her face, searching for any sign of regret or fear. "I meant what I said, Lila. I can't let you go."

Her hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where my scar twists my lips into a permanent half-snarl. "I know," she whispers. "And that should terrify me. But it doesn't."

"What does it do?" I ask, voice rough with emotion.

A small smile touches her lips, sad and sweet and knowing. "It makes me feel like I've finally found home."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. Home. Yes. That's what she is to me. What I am to her, if she'll let me be.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. "Stay," I whisper, the word more plea than command this time. "Please, little dove. Stay with me."

Her arms tighten around me, her body melting into mine. "Where else would I go?" she murmurs. "You're right. I belong here now."

With her in my arms, marked and claimed and choosing to stay, I finally feel the terror recede, the beast inside me settling. She's mine. She's staying. And I'll spend every day making sure she never regrets that choice.

seven

Lila

I waituntil Beau is gone, his broad shoulders disappearing into the treeline, rifle slung across his back. He's hunting, which means I have at least two hours. Two hours of freedom. Two hours to remember who I was before I fell into his arms and his bed. I pull on his spare boots—comically large on my feet but better than my still-damp sneakers—and ease the cabin door open, wincing at the loud creak. The mountain air hits my face, fresh and clean after the storm, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine. I hesitate, glancing back at the warm safety of the cabin. Am I making a mistake? But my phone weighs heavy in my pocket, calling to me with promises of reconnection. Just one bar. That's all I need.

The storm has passed, leaving behind a transformed landscape. Broken branches litter the clearing, and mud sucks at my oversized boots with each step. The sky above is a perfect, pristine blue that seems to mock the chaos the storm left in its wake. I breathe deeply, savoring the feeling of open space after days confined within the cabin's walls.

Not that the confinement has been unpleasant. Far from it. Every moment with Beau has been intense, consuming—his eyes watching my every move, his hands constantly finding reasons to touch me, his body covering mine at night. The thought sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool air.

I pull my phone from my pocket, tapping the power button. Miraculously, it still has a sliver of battery left. No signal, of course, not here by the cabin. I cast my eyes toward the slope rising behind Beau's home. Higher ground might offer better chances.

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