Page 19 of Wild Peak

Hunter’s growl echoes through the cabin, then he’s rubbing my clit with merciless precision, working me higher and higher again. Everything goes fuzzy, my pulse thudding in my ears, then I’m tipping over the edge again, falling into space, and all I can do is writhe and moan as Hunter wrings every drop of pleasure from my body.

As soon as I flop back to the patchwork quilt, sweaty and sated, Hunter hitches my leg up to his ribs and wedges himself as deep as he can possibly go inside me. He leans over me, every line in his body taut as his cock swells and spills.

One, two, three hot bursts. Then another one, and another one, and it’s like Hunter’s been saving all his seed for me, to spill in a hot, desperate bloom of need.

God, why does that feel so good? There’s something primal about it. Something wild and carnal, and Hunter must agree, because he buries his face in my throat and groans with relief. My laugh is shaky, and I loop my arms around his neck.

As we lay there, our breathing slows. Somewhere outside, an owl hoots.

“I’m gonna need another shower,” I point out at last, scritching my fingers through his hair. “And a third set of bandages, most likely. Worst patient ever.”

Hunter snorts and rolls to the side, then reaches out and drags me close.

“Agree to disagree.”

And we should get up and get clean, we should make some dinner at last and discuss the new life that may be winking into existence inside me as we speak—but for now, we lay in each other’s arms, drawing lazy patterns on each other’s skin.

It’s quiet and calm, but if you listen you might hear a whole new reality slotting into place.

One where the curvy bookworm gets the rugged mountain man for good.

* * *

Three years later

We walk side-by-side down the rocky trail, chatting quietly about everything and nothing. It’s mid-afternoon, and the sun is warm and bright. A gentle breeze tousles our hair and pulls at our clothes, and the whole mountainside smells like spring blossom. It’s gorgeous.

“Playing hide and seek,” Hunter suggests.

“Hm. Maybe.”

“Or reading books together.”

I shake my head, dried twigs and old pine needles crunching under my boots. Mywell wornboots, that over the last few years have walked over nearly every inch of this mountain range. How’s that for a former indoor girl?

“No, I bet they’re baking sugar cookies. Jake always pretends that it’s for Ellie, but we all know the truth.”

Hunter snorts. “You might be right.”

It’s a beautiful spring day, and we’ve spent the last few hours of it hiking up to the peak together, sneaking some alone time while my older brother watches his niece. The fresh air and exercise has been good for the soul, and I always crave alone time with Hunter, but to be honest… even after just a few hours, I miss my little girl. Every step we take back toward our cabin, my heart flutters with excitement.

“Do you think they’ve had a good time together?” I ask for the millionth time.

Hunter laughs, never annoyed by my silly anxieties or the way I repeat myself sometimes. He’s always patient, steady. Reassuring.

“Of course they’ve had a good time. They always do. They’re partners in crime, you know that.”

It’s true. To the untrained eye, my brother Jake looks like any of the other rugged mountain types around here: bearded, tanned, always dressed in flannel shirts, jeans and leather boots. Often found chopping logs for firewood or pulling shifts for Mountain Rescue.

But put our toddler Ellie in his arms, and you can watch his grizzled heart melt in real time. Whenever he babysits, he gets this misty, far-away look in his eyes, and he gets kinda quiet and broody once it’s just the adults again.

“I give it a year,” Hunter says, cupping my elbow to guide me around a tree stump. I’d love to say that I don’t need him fussing over me anymore, that I’m like an agile mountain goat, but nope. I’ve tripped over that specific tree stump at least four times. You can put the bookworm in hiking boots, but you can’t rewrite her DNA. “A year until he has one of his own.”

Um, what?

My startled laugh spooks a nearby bird from its tree branch. It flaps past overhead, squawking and clattering.

“A year? That’s insane. Jake doesn’t even date. How’s he gonna get someone pregnant in a year when he’s even more of a loner these days than you used to be?”

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