Page 13 of Falling for the Mountain Man
I love every word that leaves his lips. While he’s satisfied with looking, I’m happy to hear him speak such words.
“Then keep watching me.” My voice is a husky command, barely a whisper yet it seems to echo in the space between us. I cup the weight of my own breast, arching into my palm, while the fingers of my other hand find a slow, deliberate rhythm against my clit.
My lungs seize, my own breath catching as I watch his gaze—fever-bright and starving—locked on my every movement. “Don’t you dare look away.”
He doesn’t. A raw, guttural groan is torn from his throat, a string of curses following as we become a spectacle of mutual hunger, each displaying ourselves for the other’s rapturous consumption.
With every circle, every drawn shape, pleasure arcs up my spine in heavy waves. My toes curl into the sheets, a faint tremorstarting deep within as my stomach coils into a tight, exquisite knot of anticipation.
His brows furrow in a look of intense, almost pained concentration, and his own hand moves in a frantic, blurring pace. Suddenly, his body tenses, a strangled gasp escaping him. “Fuck, I’m going to—”
The sentence shatters, lost to a low, visceral moan that seems to vibrate through the very air.
The world narrows to the sudden heat that splashes against my stomach and breasts, a stark contrast to our cooler surroundings. The sound that follows is just as intoxicating. The ragged symphony of his heavy breathing, punctuated by soft, helpless pants. His hand, still moving, squeezes the last pulses of his release against my thigh, a final, claiming shudder.
Then, he collapses into the aftermath. One hand buries itself into his hair, the other rests on my leg. A slow, utterly sated smile curves his beautiful mouth, and I swear, in that vulnerable, unguarded instant, I fall for him all over again.
He looks devastating when he’s pleased. But right now, drenched in the evidence of his pleasure and mine, he looks absolutely delighted. It’s a look that is raw, stripped bare of all pretense, and it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“Talk about feeling humbled.” He sighs and forces himself to blink. Burying his fingers into my thigh, he spreads me more open so he can drink in the view. “Don’t worry. I’ll still take care of you. I’ll be damned otherwise.”
When he drags his hand toward my pussy, I can already see what he has planned before he does it.
He’ll get me off with his fingers—efficient, expert, an easy task to finish the job. Then, he’ll clean me up, and that’ll be that. The intimacy will be neatly packaged and put away. In a blur, this precious, vulnerable connection will be over.
“Wait.” The word is a sharp breath, a fracture in the moment, and he freezes instantly.
The weight of his stare is heavier than gravity, pinning me to the sheets. Hoping to reassure him, I let a small smile curve my lips.
My hand moves before my courage fails. Gathering his release from my stomach, the scent of us, musky and intimate, fills the space between us. I keep my eyes locked on his as I drag my slick fingers toward my swollen folds.
He watches, mesmerized, as I mark myself with him. Still warm against my skin, I shiver as I reach my destination.
Mixing my arousal with his, a broken moan escapes me at the graze against my clit. I was teetering on the edge before he hit his limit.
Even if I had come, it would have been a hollow victory. I’d still ache. I want more than his skilled hands. More than this delicious aftermath. I want the crushing weight of him, the stretch, the connection of him buried inside me.
If he thinks I can go months without knowing that, he’s a fool.
“I don’t want to wait to find out what your cock feels like, Ryder. I don’t think we’ll get another chance. Don’t make me beg.” My voice is low, laced with all these sensations I’ve never experienced with another person.
I will beg, I’ll get on my knees and plead, but the fire in his eyes tells me I won’t have to.
A low groan rumbles in his chest as his cock twitches against my leg, already filling, hardening anew at my words—or perhaps at the sight of me, glossy with his release, laid bare and claiming myself for him.
I can see the moment the war in his head comes crashing down—the last vestige of his resistance shattering into athousand pieces. The deliberation in his eyes is replaced by something feral, something purely and completely mine.
7
Ryder
A soft sigh escapes Zaria’s lips, and in that moment, I feel the word “no” dissolve from my world entirely.
She stares up at me, her eyes wide and luminous pools of trust, and any resistance I might have had melts away. How could I deny her anything? Especially when every fiber of my being has ached for her since the moment she offered herself to me, a gift I still can’t believe is mine.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, my voice husky with a need I quickly leash. I would willingly bear any pain for her if such a thing were possible. “The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure. So, we’ll go slow. I’ll use my fingers first. But yeah, I will give you everything you want.”
The smile that dawns on her lips then is pure sunrise. It doesn’t just strike chords in my chest; it plucks a melody that resonates deep in my soul, making my heart beat a frantic, joyous rhythm meant for her ears only.
