Page 10 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

Every word is a spark, igniting something raw and reckless inside me. My control is fraying, snapping thread by thread. My blood is rushing everywhere but my head. Not that it matters.

I can’t think. Not about anything but her. She’s haunted me from the moment I laid my eyes on her.

I catch her wrist before she can poke me again, causing her breath to catch in the back of her throat.

“You want to know why?” My voice is rough, barely more than a growl.

She feigns her bravery, tilting her chin up to meet my gaze. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t yank out of my grip. “Yeah. I do.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

I don’t bother thinking anymore. Convincing myself not to be reckless isn’t on the table.

I yank her against me, my other hand tangling in her hair, tilting her head back. There’s no hesitation, no gentle lead-in—just hunger, sharp and consuming.

Our mouths crash together, teeth clashing, lips bruising. She gasps into the kiss, taken by surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. No, she lets my tongue explore and invade, moaning like she’s wanted this as much as I have.

The kiss is not sweet. It’s not soft.

I back her into one of my workbenches, wood creaking under the force, and her hands fist my shirt like she’s torn between shoving me away and dragging me closer. I don’t give her the chance to decide.

My tongue swipes deeper into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her, like I’ve been starving for this for my entire life and she’s the only thing that can fill me.

She whimpers—a sound that goes straight to my cock—and I swallow it greedily.

This is why.

Because she’s infuriating. Because she pushes me. Because I’ve never wanted anyone this much, this badly, and it’s been eating me alive since the moment I laid eyes on her.

She called me out on my dreams, noticing with ease what I wanted. A family big enough to fill every room.

The only problem is that a woman has never jumped out at me. Never made me want to sink to my knees and beg her to accept me.

Lily makes me desperate, and I don’t know what in the hell to do with these foreign feelings. So I kiss her, over and over, until she’s breaking away for air. And then?

I kiss her again.

5

Lily

He’s a pretty good kisser. Better than I’d expect from a reclusive loner who avoids people like they’re carrying the plague.

Maybe that’s why we lose the next ten minutes tangled up like desperate teenagers—all hungry lips and wandering hands, his fingers gripping my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.

There’s too much tongue, not enough air, and a whole lot of heat building between us, but Silas doesn’t seem in any hurry to take things further, which is a problem.

Because right now, my body is a live wire, sparking under his touch, and the ache between my thighs is quickly turning into a demand.

If I asked him sweetly—begged, even—would he finally slide one of those rough, broad hands into my shorts and touch me? Really touch me?

The thought alone sends a shiver down my spine, and an embarrassingly needy sound escapes me as he does the exact opposite of what I crave.

He pulls back, leaving me gasping, my lips still burning from his. A whine lodges in my throat, sharp and desperate, but he only studies me like I’m some unsolvable equation.

Confused. Frustrated.

Maybe because kissing was never part of the deal. In fact, we’re trampling over the rules of this arrangement like they’re nothing. There’s nothing platonic about the way I bite my lip or how his fingers dig into my hips like he’s fighting not to yank me closer.

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