Page 16 of My Bossy Mountain Man

The realization steals my breath.

He’s not done.

As if I could possibly doubt the effect I have on him, he guides my hand lower with deliberate slowness, his grip firm but not demanding—an invitation, not a command.

My breath stutters as my fingers skim the cold metal of his belt buckle, then lower still, until the heat of him sears through the rough fabric of his jeans.

Even through the denim, he’s hard—so hard. Thick and straining, the outline of him unmistakable beneath my trembling touch. Only a few desperate layers separate my palm from his cock, and the thought sends a sharp, liquid ache between my own thighs.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me? This is the result of just being near you.”

His voice is gravelly, low enough that I feel it in my bones before it even registers in my ears. Goosebumps erupt across my skin, a shiver chasing down my spine as his hips flex instinctively into my touch, betraying just how badly he wants this—wants me.

One little squeeze is all it takes to make him hiss under his breath.

“Does it hurt?” Chewing on my bottom lip, I ignore my curiosity to continue touching.

Shaking his head, he cracks a smile. “I’ve become a master at ignoring it.”

I shouldn’t laugh, but I do. The fleeting sound catches in the back of my throat as he continues.

His hands return to the straps of my overalls, his fingers brushing my sides as he pushes the denim down my hips. The fabric pools at my feet, and I step out of it, suddenly hyper-aware of the cool air against my skin. My shirt follows, fluttering to the floor like a surrender flag.

Now it’s just me—stripped down to cotton and vulnerability.

Dallas goes utterly still. His breath catches, ragged, as his gaze drags over me. For a heartbeat, I brace for hesitation, for the flicker of doubt I’ve imagined a thousand times.

Instead, he releases a rough curse through an exhale before giving me a single nod.. “Perfect. I knew it.”

Then his mouth crashes into mine, hot and insistent, swallowing my gasp as he walks me backward. My knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sink into the mattress, his body following—a delicious weight pressing me into the sheets. His jeans are gone somewhere in the tangle, kicked off in a hurry, and now there’s nothing between us but the pesky thinness of our undergarments.

My hands roam, learning the planes of him—the dip of his spine, the flex of his thighs—until my fingers reach the band of his briefs. Before I can pull them down to see what he’s hiding beneath, he’s already moving on.

His lips and teeth nip at my throat, following the dip in my collarbones. Hardly smooth, he buries a hand behind me to unclasp my bra. Once it’s gone, I expect him to take in my breasts with the same adoration he’d given the rest of my body.

The hunger behind his gaze is intense enough to swallow up anything he’d given me in the past.

His gaze drops, heavy and deliberate, and suddenly the air between us is thick enough to choke on. I should feel exposed, trembling under that look—but the hunger in his eyes pins me in place, burning away every doubt.

“Tulip.” His voice is wrecked already, rough as his hands skim up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts like he’s memorizing the shape. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Then his mouth is on me, hot and insistent, and I gasp. He doesn’t tease—not at first. He devours. His tongue swirls around one nipple, then the other, swapping sides with a groan that vibrates against my skin. When his teeth graze the peak, sharp and sweet, my back arches off the bed.

“Dallas—!”

His palm presses my hip into the mattress, holding me down as he licks a slow, tortuous path down my stomach. Every inch of skin he passes trembles in his wake. The scruff of his jaw rasps against me, marking what his mouth hasn’t yet claimed.

He noses the lace edge of my panties, breathing me in. “I’ve been dying to know how you taste.”

The confession spills against my skin, searing. I’m panting now, fingers tangled in his hair—not guiding, just anchoring, because the world tilts when his tongue dips lower, just once, just to tease.

“Lift your hips for me,” he orders as he sinks his fingers into my underwear. When I do, he wastes no time pulling the fabric down my thighs.

Cool air hits my flushed skin in a rush and another shiver wracks through me.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “So fucking pretty.”

And then—he looks. Really looks. Like I’m something sacred. He cradles my knees with his palms before he pushes them apart, giving himself a new sight for his hungry eyes to drink in.

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