Page 11 of My Forbidden Mountain Man

I could laugh. Doesn’t he know? I’ve danced on stages slick with sweat, leapt from platforms in heels, spun until the world blurred—balance is my job. But the protest dies on my tongue when I look up.

His gaze is locked on my mouth as quickly as his fingers lock around my arms to steady my body.

Slowly—I drag the tip of my tongue along my bottom lip. His breath hitches.

I want to kiss him.

Even with all this fresh air, I feel the need to.

“Violet—” He chokes on my name, and he sounds apologetic. At the same time, he doesn’t pull away.

He wants to touch me as much as I want to touch him. I can feel it in my gut.

It’s also why I feel confident that in this moment right now, he’d let me touch him too. So, I do.

My fingers find his jaw, going rogue as they trace the rough stubble there, and his name slips out in a whisper.

“Logan.”

A warning for what is to come. A warning for what I plan to do.

He should stop me. He knows he should. I see it in the way his throat works, the way his fingers flex like he’s debating putting space between us, but he doesn’t.

We’re playing chicken now. A breathless standoff where neither of us blinks.

One of us will pull away first, if we’re smart.

Except—he’s a brick wall. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy by being the first one to crumble.

It’s a good thing I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.

So, before I get cold feet, I lift onto my toes and kiss him.

4

Logan

My body won’t listen to me.

I tell myself don’t touch her—then my hand is under her shirt, palming her breast through the lace of her bra, thumb dragging over a nipple already stiff for me.

I tell myself let her breathe—then I’m swallowing her moan, my other hand gripping the curve of her ass, hauling her tighter against me. She arches into it, and fuck, the way her body fits mine—like every inch of her was designed to ruin me.

That soft little kiss of hers? A match to gasoline.

Now I’ve got her backed into the nearest tree, giving her something to rest against as my hands explore without restraint. Never mind the way the bark bites into her skin, she’s begging for more, her soft moans nothing but music to my ears.

Years of watching her through a screen, of biting my tongue raw to keep from telling her how fucking pretty she looks inthe mornings, how bad I wanted to pin her against the nearest surface…

Now she’s here. Warm. Willing. Whimpering against my mouth like she’s been waiting just as long. We’ve both hit our limit, and now, I’m not sure a few kisses will be enough. I’ll want more.

I always want more.

My cock aches, hard enough to throb against her hip. I should stop. There are hikers on these trails—hell, I wanted to stop them from looking at her, and now I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself.

But her fingers are in my hair, tugging, and her tongue is sliding against mine, and—

“Logan.” My name is a gasp, a plea, a demand for more.

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