Page 10 of Broken Mountain Man

“Yes.” Her voice was steady, certain. “I want this. I want you.”

The certainty in her voice made me want to growl. I kissed her again, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the press of my mouth against hers.

“Lift.” My hands found the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head. When the fabric fell away, I pulled back to look at her. Beautiful. Fucking beautiful. Full breasts that fit my hands like they were made for them, nipples already peaked and begging again for my mouth.

She started to cross her arms over her body, that uncertainty creeping back in.

“Don’t.” My voice was harsh. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not exactly—”

“Perfect? I’m about to prove just how perfect you are.” I caught her hands, gently pulling her arms away from her body. I cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over those hard peaks until she gasped. To prove my point, I rolled one nipple between my fingers while I bent to take the other in my mouth just like I had in the kitchen, sucking and licking until she was arching against me, fingers tangling in my hair.

I could spend hours just exploring her breasts, learning every sensitive spot, every way to make her gasp. The sounds she made now went straight to my cock, but this wasn’t about my pleasure. This was about showing her exactly how a woman should be touched, worshipped, claimed.

“That’s it,” I growled against her skin. “Let me hear you.”

She was responsive as hell, every touch making her gasp or moan or whisper my name like a prayer. It was intoxicating—theway she gave herself over to sensation, the way she trusted me to take care of her.

“You like that, sweetheart?” I asked, my voice dark. “You like how I make your pussy drip? Want my cock now, or should I make you beg for it first?”

I worked my way down her body, trailing kisses across her stomach while my hands dealt with her knit shorts, sliding them down her legs until she was completely bare before me.

I sat back on my heels, taking in every inch of her. Pale skin, soft curves, the dark curls between her thighs already glistening. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

In these last years of self-imposed isolation, I’d convinced myself I didn’t need this—didn’t need the softness of a woman’s body. But seeing the trust in Brittany’s eyes, the way she looked at me like I was something worth wanting instead of something broken hiding in the woods, I realized I’d been lying to myself. But, I just needed anyone. Only her. I needed her.

I leaned forward and buried my nose between her thighs. “Fuck, baby,” I said, voice raw. “You’re incredible.”

The way she looked at me then—like she actually believed me, like she was seeing herself through my eyes—made something shift in my chest.

“Your turn,” she whispered, urging me to stand up while she reached for my shirt.

I helped her strip it off, watching her eyes go wide as she took in my chest, my arms, the scars that told stories I wasn’t ready to share yet. When she reached for my zipper, I caught her hands.

“Not yet, sweetheart. This is about you first.”

“But I want—”

“I know what you want.” I smiled, the predatory expression making her breath catch. “And you’ll get it. But first, I’m going to taste every inch of this sweet body.”

I lifted her easily, putting her in the middle of the bed, following her down, covering her body with mine. She was soft everywhere I was hard, yielding everywhere I was demanding.

I took my time exploring her—kissing, licking, biting my way across her skin until she was writhing beneath me. Her responses were honest, unguarded, nothing like the women I’d been with before who performed their pleasure.

Brittany felt everything. And she let me see it all.

“Open those pretty thighs for me, baby. I want to taste every inch of you.” She obeyed slowly as I watched. “I want your pussy dripping down my beard.”

I looked down at her pussy, glistening with need. “Now, watch while I make you come.”

The first stroke of my tongue made her cry out, back arching off the bed. She tasted like heaven—sweet and tangy and addictive as hell.

I worked her with my mouth, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her grab my hair and grind against my face.

Every little sound she made, every movement of her hips, told me exactly what she needed. I’d done this before, but never like this. Never with someone who responded so honestly, so completely. Never with someone I wanted so damn much.

“That’s it, baby,” I growled against her. “Ride my face. Take what you need.”

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