Page 10 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Bride

The thought hits me square in the chest. She’sminenow, in every way that counts. And while I might be a rough-around-the-edges mountain man who’s more used to handling timber and tools than tender moments, I’d tear down the world to make sure she knows how cherished she is.

She makes a soft sound against my mouth—almost a whimper—and it shatters the last bit of hesitation I was clinging to. I nip at her bottom lip, then soothe it with my tongue, coaxing her to open up for me. When she does, it’s like a dam breaking. The sweet taste of her, the way she melts into me, her hands fisting in my T-shirt—it all combines into a rush of pure, blinding need.

I slide my hand higher, feeling her heart race under my palm, and ease her onto her back. Her hair fans out across my pillow, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a mix of nerves and want that damn near undoes me.

“Wes…” she breathes, my name barely more than a whisper, but it lights me up from the inside out.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” My voice is low, husky, and rough with all the things I’m feeling.

She bites her lip, like she’s trying to hold back, then finally lets out a shaky breath. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all the permission I need.

I lean down and kiss her again, slower this time, savoring every tiny hitch of her breath. My hand drifts to her thigh, slipping under the hem of her nightgown. Her skin is silky-smooth and so damn warm, and when I squeeze gently, she lets out a little gasp that shoots straight to my gut.

I pull back just enough to look at her—her eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen. “Tell me if it’s too much, Daisy. I’ll stop. I swear it.”

She shakes her head immediately, her hands sliding up to cup my face. “No, Wes. Please… I want this. I wantyou.”

A groan tears out of me, deep and guttural, because there’s nothing in this world I could ever want more than to be hers like this. I capture her mouth again, pouring every rough-edged promise I have into that kiss, determined to show my new bride exactly what forever with me is going to feel like.

She spreads her legs, and I thank the heavens above for bringing this woman to my front door. I keep layering kisses down her neck as I position myself between her inviting legs. I can’t believe I’m about to fuck my wife.

Is it too soon? I don’t want to scare her.

I gaze down into her big blue eyes, making sure this is okay for her. “You sure?” I grunt out the question.

She nods, biting her lower lip. “Yes, I know my wifely duties include this.”

Fuck. Hearing her say these words kills my mojo. It takes my dick from rearing to go to nothing. I sit up, pushing the covers over her body.

“Daisy, I’m not doing this because we’re contracted to do this.” I feel like a monster.

She shakes her head, placing her tiny hand on my arm. “Oh, I know you’re not. Neither am I.”

Daisy’s a people pleaser. That’s why she’s doing this. It’s the only reason. She wants to make me happy.

I applaud her drive, but it’s not what I’m looking for. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” I grab a pillow, and a blanket from the closet.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, sitting up in the bed. “Wes?”

I glance at her over my shoulder. “No, Daisy. You’re perfect.” and I walk out the door, leaving her in my master bed.

A part of me thinks I’m crazy. I should march back in there and claim my wife. A huge part of me wants to, but I can’t. Not like this.

When I fuck Daisy, it’ll be because she’s begging for it.

I make my way down the hallway to the couch in the living room. I’m grumpy as ever, but I need to put this night behind me. I need sleep.

I need to stop thinking about how badly I want inside of my wife.

8

Daisy

The morning sunlight dances through the cabin windows as I hum happily, tackling my latest mission—cleaning out the back closet. It probably hasn't been touched in years, judging by the dust and cobwebs I've already uncovered. I'm armed with a broom, dustpan, and fierce determination, eager to bring order and cleanliness to every corner of our cozy home.

"Daisy, you really don't need to do that," Wes grumbles from the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, eyebrows knitted into an adorably grouchy expression. He's been trying to deter me from this project since breakfast, but I remain undeterred.

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