Page 11 of Possessive Mountain Man

We volley back and forth. Learning more about each other and laughing as the level of whiskey in the bottle grows lower and lower.

After confessing that I have, in fact, kissed a woman—once on another college dare—his knee brushes mine. Our gazes connect, and the desire between us burns hotter.

His hand moves against mine, deliberately tracing a design with his fingertips.

Heat blossoms low in my belly.

I clear my throat. “Never have I ever… gone skinny dipping.”

Hayes lifts his glasses, drinking deep. My mouth goes dry.

“I bet there’s a story there.” I slide my teeth over my bottom lip. “I’d love to hear it sometime.”

“Maybe someday.” His fingers trail higher, sliding up my forearm.

The fire pops, the only sound in the room aside from our breathing.

I set my glass down carefully. “Your turn.”

He leans in. “Never have I ever wanted someone I shouldn’t want so badly.”

Instead of sipping my glass, I lean forward for a taste of his lips.

Hayes groans low in his chest and pulls me closer. Wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his lap.

I part my lips for him, welcoming the caress of his tongue against mine. Tasting whiskey, tasting him. I’m not sure which is more intoxicating.

My hands slide under the hem of his flannel and trace the lines of his muscle. His skin his hot. Tight. His muscles clench under my fingertips. He growls into my mouth.

His hands rove up and down my back, sliding to my thighs, kneading them in his grip.

I’m vaguely aware of my own shirt sliding up my body. Of his work-hardened fingers trailing along the smooth skin of my waist.

He kisses down my jaw, nibbling at the sensitive spot below my ear. With a gasp, I clutch him, my eyelids fluttering in pleasure.

Hayes shifts our position, lowering me to the rug, his body covering mine. His weight, his heat, his scent—it’s overwhelming and perfect.

His hand continues its upward progressing, cupping my breast through my bra. His thumb slides over my nipple, hardening it. I arch against him with a cry.

His other hand slides between my thighs, and my whole body coils in anticipation.

But just as he starts to reach the edge of my leggings, he stills.

His forehead drops to mine, his breathing ragged. “We have to stop.”

My eyes fly open. “What?”

“We can’t.” His voice is rough. “Not like this.”

Some of my irritation lessons. “Like what then?”

“I want…” He presses a kiss to my temple, my cheek, my lips. “I want us to be sober. I want us to both be completely aware when I take you.”

I whimper, but nod. I can’t deny he’s correct. I don’t just want a drunken tumble with him. I want to be completely aware of everything he does to my body.

I want to be fully aware of everything I do to his.

He tugs a blanket over us and wraps his arms tightly around me. Pulling my back against his chest.

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