Page 9 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

I’m asleep before I have time to conduct any.

Chapter 6

Hunter

Abby moans in her sleep. Tiny, quiet little moans that I want to press my mouth against and tear out of her with my teeth.

Her so-called chastity pillow brushes against my side, serving only to remind me of why she needed it in the first place. What I wouldn’t give to rip that pillow to shreds. It makes her feel safe though, so I shift restlessly beside it and try to drown out the sound of her delicious moans and all the feelings they’re stirring up inside me.

It’s definitely been too long.

It’s not like I’m a hermit who never ventures into town. I go to Gatlinburg once a week to stock up on groceries and supplies. Sometimes I stop by the bar for a beer with one of the guys or grab a bite to eat at the diner before heading back to the cabin. I’ve even been on the occasional date…although those have rarely ended well. The only thing I hate more than small talk is the tell-me-your-story part of any date. My story isn’t exactly pleasant and it’s certainly not something I like talking about. It’s easier to just have the occasional hook-up. No small talk, no unpacking of our pasts. Most of them have the same story to tell anyway: grew up in a small town nearby and moved to Gatlinburg for some touristy job that pays better than what they could make back home.

Something tells me that Abby’s story is different though, and for some reason, I want to know what it is.

She moans again, drawing my attention towards her side of the bed. Her long eyelashes squeeze together and the curve of her lips is illuminated by the firelight.

Go to sleep,I tell myself. The last thing I need is to hook up with one of these lost women. Lost in the woods and lost in that damn book. She might seem different, but she’s still in the middle of some misguided attempt at fixing her life by nearly dying in a forest far from home. She can’t bethatdifferent.

Eventually, I manage to drift off again, but my sleep is short-lived.

Abby isn’t moaning this time. Her breath is quick. Her arms and legs make stiff motions, tugging at the covers. She repeats the ghost of a word that I can’t understand. ‘Hooters,’ maybe? She’s having a nightmare about a sports bar? Or an owl? When her breath becomes increasingly ragged and her movements verge on violent, I throw the chastity pillow aside and reach out to wake her.

“Abby,” I whisper. My palm rubs the t-shirt fabric on her upper arm. She shudders and jerks away. “Abby.” My voice is louder now. She thrashes and I reach for her waist to steady her. My thumb and forefinger find a thick band of gathered fabric; the rest of my hand lands on bare flesh. The shirt has worked its way up during her nightmare. The feel of her soft skin against my fingers and the knowledge that nothing is guarding the flesh below it sends a sharp ache through me.

“Abby,” I repeat.

Finally, her eyes flutter open and find mine. Her fingers wrap around my forearm as I keep my hand firmly planted on her waist. She squeezes hard. I can’t see her very well, but I know from the rhythm of her breath that she’s silently crying. The hand on my forearm travels upward, settling on my shoulder. Her head falls to my chest, soft hair pooling against my neck and arms. I rake my fingers through it, cupping her head and pulling her closer with the hand still at her waist. There’s only an inch or two between us now. Between me and the soft, exposed skin below her waist.

I’m breathing faster now, too.

“It’s okay, it was just a bad dream,” I whisper against her hair. Forget tearing out her moans with my teeth; now all I want is to lick up every one of her tiny sobs. I want to drink them down and let them burn their way into my core, like good whiskey.

“It’s okay,” I repeat.

Abby melts into my hands. She’s soft and warm. Her thighs brush against mine, her breasts press against my chest, and her mouth is only an inch from my neck. She isn’t crying anymore, but she’s still seeking relief and I want to give it to her the only way I know how.

My rough palm travels down her hip and the outside of her thigh. When she responds by pulling me closer, my restraint dissolves. My fingers tangle in her long hair, and my lips are right next to her ear.

“You want me to take it away?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Please.”

I capture her small plea with my mouth. Salty tears stain her lips as mine crash against them. Her fingernails dig into the flesh of my arm as if she’s closer to clawing me apart than letting me go. The soft skin of her inner thigh slides across mine until her leg is hooked around my hip, pulling me even closer to her. With every little move she makes, the fabric of my boxers becomes more of a burden – the only thing separating me from the bare skin between her legs. She presses herself to me, her clit finding pleasure against the hard ridge of my arousal.

Part of me wants to watch her make herself come without me even having to touch her, but a bigger part of me wants to savor every last inch of her.

Guiding her onto her back, my fingers slide across her stomach and then between her legs. I let them brush against her most sensitive spot and she responds with an entirely different sort of moan than the ones she made in her sleep. Her hand coils around my bicep, urging my fingers inside of her.

This time, it’s a gasp instead of a moan.

For the first time since she woke up, her eyes find mine. They’re locked on me through heavy lashes as she responds to every movement of my fingers. Even in the dim firelight, it’s the most intensely sexy thing I’ve ever seen.

Without dropping her gaze, her fingertips find their way past the waistband of my boxers and wrap around me. For a few seconds, it’s fucking incredible.

Then a loud pop from the fire behind me startles Abby. Her body tenses and her gaze drops from mine. The hand that was wrapped around me is gone in an instant, now draped across her forehead as she releases a slow, measured breath. I study her for a second before laying back and taking a deep breath of my own.

I don’t know what it was exactly that gave her second thoughts, but it is clear that the spell was broken by that single noise.

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