Page 12 of My Forbidden Mountain Man

I break just to drag my lips down her throat, teeth scraping where her pulse jumps. I growl, but my hands are already moving, already taking—hiking her leg up around my waist, grinding her against me until she shudders.

I’m out of control. Ineedto reel it back before I do something I can’t take back.

“Please, touch me.” Her next moan leaves her breathless as my erection nudges her just right.

“Someone will see,” I argue, trying to convince myself while I’m at it. “You’resomebodynow. I don’t want a hiker to recognize you and—”

She’s shameless, pulling my hand away from her chest before she’s dragging it down to the button of her khakis. With one hand, she abandons my hand long enough to pop the button. Through half-lidded eyes, her smile is mischievous.

“You want to touch me, Logan. Just do it already.”

Saying the words so confidently, they make my head spin.

She knows how I feel, and yet, she still wants my touch. Wantsme.

As badly as I don’t want to risk ruining her reputation, this sort of hunger is impossible to ignore.

Releasing her thigh, I’m dragging my fingertips toward the metal teeth keeping the flaps open. Just the simple drag of her zipper is enough to feel the heat radiating from her pussy.

Her breath hitches as I graze my fingertips along the front of her underwear, and a growl escapes me at the discovery of the way the damp fabric is already clinging to her skin. The heat is staggering—an almost sinful promise of how wet she is.

Not from our short-lived hike. This is all arousal.

“Fuck,” I grit out, palming her through the lace, and her hips jerk against my hand. A whimper escapes her, her fingers digging into my shoulders as if she’s already losing her grip.

I don’t tease, already knowing my patience is running thin, and I push past the soaked barrier, groaning at the slickness that greets me.

Her folds are swollen, aching, and the second my thumb grazes her clit, her entire body tenses.

“Oh!” Her voice is a shattered thing, her forehead dropping against my chest as I circle that sensitive bundle of nerves, slow and relentless. Every stroke pulls another broken sound from her, her thighs trembling as her legs barely hold her up.

If this had happened while we were home, I could have had her flattened on my bed. Instead of tucking my hand between her thighs, I could’ve spread her wide open and had my tongue buried deep.

Next time.There has to be a next time.

I can feel her tightening, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and I press deeper, curling two fingers inside her just to hear her sob.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her ear, my own control fraying. As my breath comes out heavy, I feel the pricking of goosebumpsforming along the crook of her neck. “That’s my good girl. You like my fingers, don’t you?”

As her breathing catches, her pussy flutters around my invading fingers. Add in the addition of my thumb pressing against her sensitive nub, and I can’t blame her answer coming out as nothing but a whimper.

God, how many times have I fantasized this? I’ve imagined her juices pruning up my fingers more times than I can count. Pretended I knew what she’d sound like when she moans, but didn’t come close.

This is a wet dream come to life, one I never want to end. However, Violet is too worked up. She doesn’t stand a chance against my onslaught.

Each hitch of her breath tells a story. She’s getting closer and closer to her climax. It’s the way she reaches down for my wrist, her paint-covered nails digging into my skin as her hips roll against my palm that paints an ending.

“Come for me. Let me feel it.” I don’t recognize my voice or the desperation dripping from my lips.

Her climax hits like an ocean wave during a storm, crashing in violently. Her back arches, her nails scoring my skin, and she muffles a cry against my shoulder as she pulses around my fingers.

I don’t let up, drawing out every last shudder until she’s boneless against me, her chest heaving, her lips parted in a dazed, satiated haze.

For a long moment, all she can do is cling to me, her breath warm against my neck. And despite the guilt gnawing at me—the knowledge that I’m playing with fire—the possessive thrill of wrecking her like this drowns out everything else.

My cock continues to throb against my jeans, begging to join my fingers, but when I pull back, I don’t go to free myself. Instead, I carefully button her bottom.

She leans back against the tree, and confusion slips around in her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed red, growing deeper in color as she watches me bring my fingers up to my lips.

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