Page 16 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

“I’m not going anywhere.” I cradle his bearded cheeks, my thumbs brushing the sharp planes of his cheekbones. My hips roll again, slower this time, grinding against the hard length of him, and his groan vibrates through my palms.

His mouth is right there—those teasing lips I’ve caught myself staring at all day. A shiver races up my spine as I trace his lower lip with my thumb.

How have I managed to survive this long without it?

I crash into him, sealing our mouths together in a kiss that feels like relief and catching fire all at once. His restraint shatters—tongue sweeping against mine, hands dragging me impossibly closer—and I melt into the heat of him, into the delicious truth that he’s just as gone for me as I am for him.

His hands slide under the waistband of my shorts without warning, those rough carpenter’s palms gripping the bare curves of my ass with a possessiveness that wrings a whimper from my throat. His fingertips dig in just shy of where I need them, teasing the crease of my thighs—so close to my aching pussy I can already feel the slick heat between my legs.

“Do I have to beg you to touch me?” I ask him in a blur, panting against his tongue.

His entire body lights up, and my body aches underneath another heavy squeeze. “Yes.”

That proves it. This man enjoys making me suffer. He might not know it, but his cock does. I don’t think it can get any harder from beneath me.

I want to know what it looks like. Even if I’m a virgin, I want to wrap my fingers around every swollen inch and guide it between my thighs. I want itbadly.

Moving to rest my forehead against his shoulders, I grind harder to get a little friction. How embarrassing. Since we’ve gotten this far, there’s no turning back. No point in telling him anything but the truth.

“Silas.” Pleading his name, my teeth graze his throat. Against my tongue, I can feel his pulse racing. “Touch me, please. I’ve never been this wound up before. I don’t know what to do.”

His fingers inch closer, but it doesn’t matter. My underwear is in the way. If I’d been more clumsy, I could’ve forgotten to put them on. Instead, I’m left with regrets.

As easy as it would be for him to work his way beneath them, he does the opposite. Pulling his hands away entirely, I don’t have enough time to argue. Not when he’s turning me around.

“Lift your hips.” The command rumbles against my ear, rough and deep, sending a shiver down my spine. His voice is pure sin—a promise and a threat all at once.

I didn’t think it was possible to ache more for him, but my body betrays me, heat pooling low as I obey.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts and underwear, dragging them down my thighs with deliberate slowness. The fabric rasps against my skin, and then I’m sinking back onto his lap, bare this time, the hard lines of his body searing into me.

His touch lingers at my knees, teasing, before he shoves the last of my clothing away. Left in nothing but my shirt, I feel the cool air kiss my exposed skin—but it’s nothing compared to the fire of his gaze.

Then his thighs flex beneath me, spreading me open, and my breath hitches. His mouth brushes my ear, lips grazing just enough to make my pulse stutter.

Don’t move. Don’t squirm.

But it’s agony not caving to this. Every inch of me is hyperaware—the cotton of his pajama pants beneath me, the possessive grip of his hands, the way his breath fans hot over my neck.

I’ve never felt so exposed. So vulnerable.

“You say I’m frustrating, Lily,” he murmurs, and the words are a slow, wicked caress. “But you don’t have a clue what that word means.”

His palm skims down my stomach, fingertips tracing idle, maddening circles. Lower. Lower. My muscles tense in anticipation, my thighs trembling as he inches closer—

“I’m at my wits’ end.” The raw hunger in his voice undoes me.

Then his fingers finally find where I need him most, brushing lightly, teasingly over the slick slit of my pussy.

A gasp escapes me, and he growls in response, his touch growing with pressure.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my ear. “What does your pretty little pussy look like? Since I can’t see it… I need to know.”

I whimper as his fingers part my swollen lips, stroking slow, torturous lines through my wetness. His fingers avoid my clit on purpose, deliberately making a whine catch in the back of my throat.

“Is it pink?” he asks, voice rough. “Soft and pink like the rest of you? Or does it blush darker when you’re this desperate?”

“Y-yes,” I pant, arching into his touch. I’m not usually this open, but people don’t normally demand to know things about my pussy.

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