Page 21 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

Hunter seems to be handling the situation much better, although I can tell that he’s in the same boat. His jeans are soaked through and stick to his thighs as he stands up in front of me.

Even if it was safe to take a shower right now (which it definitely is not, based on the thunder and lightning that we just witnessed), I consider water to be my arch-nemesis at this point. Whether it’s hot or cold, it is firmly in the enemy camp. I would rather roll around in piping hot Saharan sand than feel another drop of water on my skin at this point. Not to mention the fact that every towel we have is currently even wetter than we are.

“Come on,” Hunter tilts his head to the opposite side of the room, “I’ll get a fire started.”

I follow him to the stone fireplace past the bed, where the unattended fire petered out some time ago. Hunter crouches down and starts arranging new logs and kindling in the hearth. I stand there because, quite frankly, my jeans are riding dangerously low under the weight of the water and bending over would probably end in Hunter seeing my butt.

Again.

Once the fire is restored, Hunter takes his jacket off and rubs his hands together over the heat. I try to follow suit, but my soaked jacket makes a series of squelching noises as it clings even more desperately to my skin. Frustrated, I fight with the sleeve as if it were a deranged mongoose that’s wrapped itself around my arm.

Hunter takes a step towards me to help. His fingers brush against my collarbone as he peels the coat off from me. After it is cast aside, he pulls me closer to the fire and rubs his hands from my shoulders to my elbows several times. It does warm me up, but not in the way he intends. My arms are still cold and damp, but warmth blossoms deep in my core. I feel his eyes on me, melting away any traces of cold.

I think I might spontaneously combust instead.

“You should get out of these wet clothes,” he says without dropping his hands.

The difference between telling someone togetout of their clothes and telling someone tochangeout of their clothes seems anything but subtle at the moment. Whether the implication was intentional or not, it hangs thickly in the air between us. Hunter’s fingers leave my shoulders but reappear a moment later, lightly brushing against my stomach as they curl around the bottom hem of my shirt. He pauses, and I nod at his silent question before he pulls my shirt over my head.

When Hunter’s gaze rakes down my body, I wonder if he can see the race of my pulse against the delicate skin of my neck, or the slow, even breaths I’m trying to draw that make my breasts heave against my wet bra. I’m nervous for him to touch me again. The men I’ve been with before were all like Ben.

Armchairs and shrubs.

Hunter is anything but. It feels like he could tear me apart.

He takes a step closer, his chest barely grazing mine as he unhooks my bra and slides the straps down my arms. His gaze stays firmly planted on my face. My nipples pebble at the cold air and crave the warmth of his hands on them. When Hunter’s fingers find the button of my jeans, I suck in a shaky breath. My hands find his shoulders for balance as he tries to pull them down. His warm breath is on my neck and dancing along my collarbone. His cold, wet t-shirt is grazing my breasts. I clench my hands harder around his muscular shoulders in response.

The jeans prove stubborn in their drenched state, sticking to my legs. Hunter dips down in front of me and continues working to peel them off. He is eye-level with my very practical – and very regrettable – white cotton panties.

Note to self: always pack at least one pair of sexy underwear, even for hiking. I’ll definitely include this advice in my book when I get around to writing it.

My only saving grace is the fact that the rain permeated my jeans so thoroughly that even my underwear is damp. With Hunter’s breath so close to the apex of my legs, that dampness is taking on a new form.

His gaze rakes down me, hitching at the scar on my side. A large patch of bright pink streaked with shiny white tendrils. It’s unmissable. Thankfully, most people don’t know what a bullet wound looks like. They imagine a small circle of evidence, not a wide gash. When his gaze travels down to the smooth, unscarred skin of my thighs, I release a breath and close my eyes.

I nearly fall over as Hunter makes one final yank at my jeans. When they still cling to my calves, he stands and all but throws me onto the bed so that I am perched on the edge. My jeans disappear with one last, rough yank and land heavily on the ground. When Hunter looks up at me, his eyes are filled with hunger. He pulls his shirt off, exposing the firm lines of muscle across his chest and stomach. The cold prickles his skin and tiny goose bumps are illuminated by the fire. He looks down and unfastens his belt before wrestling with his jeans for a second. Once they’re gone, I see the outline of his stiff arousal in the black boxer briefs he’s wearing. Memories of it pressing against my most sensitive spot fill my head. The hunger must be reflected in my eyes as we both pause and look at each other.

A moment later, his lips are on mine. His hand is in my hair, cupping the back of my head as it hits the mattress. The kiss is just as intense as it was the first night. Needy, but in an entirely different way. Our lips press together in slow movements and our tongues search greedily for one another.

My hands explore all the hard muscles of his back, while his erection nudges at the cleft between my legs. Without meaning to, I roll my hips slightly and let it settle there against my clit. Hunter’s deep groan reverberates against my lips and I repeat the motion, intentionally this time. I’m wrapped around him, panties pushed into my folds and I’m convinced I could come from this alone.

My small moans trigger something in Hunter. His kiss becomes rougher before he breaks away to trail hot, slow kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, and through the valley of my breasts. When his lips find my nipple, the first lick is slow and soft before he takes it in my mouth and sucks. His fingers find my other breast, cupping it and grazing my nipple lightly with his thumb. He takes it between his fingers and applies a mounting pressure until I arch my back and let out a breathy gasp of pain and pleasure. A moment later, he’s rubbing the pain away with the soft pad of his thumb.

Hunter stands up at the edge of the bed. He leans forward and hooks his fingers into the sides of my panties. They come off much easier than my pants, possibly because Hunter looks like he would happily destroy anything that dares to stand between us right now.

He takes a moment to admire every naked inch of me. When his eyes find my face, my lips curl into a little smile that I can’t seem to help. He stares at that the longest.

My legs dangle awkwardly off the bed, still pressed together and toeing at the cold floor.

“Let me see you,” he says, glancing down at the narrow strip of hair that disappears between my dangling legs.

I pull my legs up and rest my heels on the edge of the bed, letting my knees fall slightly apart. Hunter takes in every little move and every new inch of flesh presented to him. He steps forward, his hands landing on each of my knees and pushing them back and apart until I am spread wide open for him. When he smiles up at me, my body clenches again, urgently wanting to feel those lips elsewhere.

One hand travels gently down my inner thigh, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. He strokes my outer lips and watches as I silently beg for relief at my center.

“Please.” It leaves my throat as a breathy plea.

“Please what, Abby?” Hunter smiles coyly, removing his hand completely.

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