Page 14 of Healing with the Mountain Man
7
Dean
The couch creaks beneath her as she shifts, her thighs trembling under my touch. I stir between them, the old floorboards groaning under my weight, the sound loud in the quiet room.
My cock aches in my hand, already so fucking hard, already begging to be inside of her—but I give myself a rough squeeze, holding back. Not yet.
One finger sinks into her slowly, her breath hitching, her body clenching around me like a fist. Her nails dig into the couch cushions, her head tipping back. I watch her face—memorizing every gorgeous feature—as I push deeper, curling my finger just right.
Her eyes pinch shut, and her lips part, another delicious sound leaving her lips.
She’s so fucking tight.
I stroke that spot again, slow and deliberate, and her hips jerk. She bites her lip, trying her hardest to keep all these sounds to herself.
I can’t have that. I want them all for myself.
Adding a second finger, stretching her, there’s no stopping the next moan from leaving her lips. She’s so wet, so sensitive, every little movement making her squirm.
Leaning back in, my tongue flicks over her, light at first, then firmer, until she’s panting, her back arching off the couch. So sensitive over the lightest of pets.
She won’t be able to contain herself once I’m thrusting in deep, sandwiching her body between mine and the furniture.
The floor creaks as I shift, my free hand stroking myself in time with the thrust of my fingers. I’m so hard it hurts—but watching her come apart is worth every second of the ache. My fingers grip tighter, using my precum to keep my motion steady.
After waiting all this time, it’s a miracle I haven’t shot my release against the couch. Instead, I’m leaving my knuckles slick, the thought of pushing inside her keeping me grounded.
Another thrust of my fingers, another curl, and I know she’s ready. Hearing the warning signs of her approaching orgasm, I listen to her groan next as I pull back.
I want her first orgasm to occur once she’s sheathing my cock.
Moving to stand, I reach behind me. Feeling like the entire room has grown hotter, I grip the back of my shirt and yank it off.
Alani sucks in sharply, taking in the dips of my chest. Even if I have twenty years on her, she looks at me like I’m not a day older than her. Amazed, aroused, all of the above. Hell, she even reaches out to touch my stomach.
Her thumb traces a scar below my ribs. An old injury I got while I was serving. Then her eyes flicker down, like she’s justnow remembering my cock is right there in front of her. Her eyes go round.
Her lips part slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she stares. I can see the hunger in her gaze, the way her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip—like she’s already imagining the taste of me.
The urge to push into that pretty little mouth is almost unbearable. Almost.
I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to mine. Her breath hitches, pupils blown wide.
“Later,” I growl, the promise rough in my throat.
I step back, just out of reach, and her hands drop to the couch, gripping the cushions like she’s stopping herself from reaching for me again. The look of need on her face fuels my arousal.
I shove my jeans down, taking my boxers right with it. Her gaze follows every movement, her chest rising and falling faster.
“Still want this?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Alani doesn’t speak. She just nods, slow like she’s in a daze.
Moving to sit down, I pat my thigh. “Come here.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Alani crawls into my lap, her thighs bracketing mine, warm and soft against my hips. The second she settles, I groan—the heat of her pressed right against me without anything separating us now.
I grip her waist, grinding her down just to hear the sharp little gasps she makes each time her clit nudges an inch of my length. “That’s it, just like that.”
