Page 14 of Falling for the Mountain Man
This moment—her wanting me, trusting me—this is the memory I will cling to in the quiet, lonely nights to come. Her words will be my mantra, her image etched behind my eyelids when I sleep.
I commit her to memory. The flush on her cheeks, the way her breath hitches, it’ll all be brought back in my head. But she is not a statue to be admired; she is a living, breathing dream, squirming with need, waiting for me to make it real.
I slip my hand between her thighs, and my breath lodges itself in my throat.
She is so warm, so wet, already aching from our shared anticipation.
Her eyes flutter shut as my fingers glide through her slick heat. I deliberately bypass her throbbing clit—not to deny her, but to savor the exquisite tension coiling within us both. I push one finger inside, and the world narrows to the breathtaking tightness that envelops me, a fragile barrier she has entrusted me to claim.
As I work a second finger into her yielding warmth, I watch, mesmerized, as her body stretches to accommodate me. Her breath hitches, a sharp little gasp, and the fluttering pulse of her inner walls answers the demanding throb of my own cock.
I curl my fingers, finding that perfect spot within her, and her breath shatters. A soft cry escapes her lips as her sex clenches around my hand, pulling me deeper into her heat.
“Ryder—” She moans my name like a curse, her thighs instinctively trying to close, a movement halted by the solid weight of my body between them.
“That’s it, let go,” I murmur, working her gently through the waves of her climax. A smirk tugs at my lips. “But that was just the beginning, sweetheart. You can take more. I know you can.”
She wanted my cock; now she will have all of it.
I withdraw my hand, eyes glued to my glistening fingers. With her essence clinging to my skin, I wrap a firm hand around my length, slicking myself with her arousal.
It’s nowhere close to the real thing, but I squeeze myself tighter nonetheless.
Normally, I am a master of control, able to cage this ravenous hunger. But with her laid bare beneath me, that control is a phantom. This need is a living thing, ready to devour me whole.
Dazed and exquisitely sensitive, she watches through heavy-lidded eyes as I guide myself to her entrance, a blunt, insistent pressure against her swollen, slick folds.
A nudge against her oversensitive clit makes her jolt, a sharp gasp catching in her throat as she bites down hard on her full lower lip to stifle a cry. The sight is pure, undiluted temptation.
“It won’t be painless,” I murmur, my voice a low gravel against the shell of her ear. “But you have to try to stay relaxed for me, alright?” Dragging my tip through her wet heat, I circle her opening, feeling her tremble. My jaw tightens with the effort of my own control. “You have to let me in.”
She nods, a frantic little motion, but her grip on the sheets is relentless. I push forward, a slow, inexorable invasion, and the way her breath hitches—a sharp, stolen lungful—tells me it’s more, so much more, than she ever imagined.
Leaning over her, I catch her by the chin, forcing her glazed eyes to meet mine before I crush our mouths together. I swallow her next whimper, tasting the faint metallic hint of where she’s bitten her lip.
With a groan, I thrust a little deeper, burying myself in her devastating tightness. So close to her limit, a ragged sound tears from my throat when her nails find my back, scoring lines of fire into my skin.
“You’re doing so well for me,” I grit out, the words anything but steady now. I tuck my face into the crook of her neck,inhaling the scent of her skin and our shared arousal so she can’t see the raw need contorting my features.
Every clench of her around me is a silken vise, a perfect, wet agony. Her pussy is going to suffocate me at this rate, and I can’t think of a better way to die.
I need inside.
Pulling back only slightly, I push her thighs further apart, making sure there’s plenty of room for me. Then, I plunge deep.
We groan in unison, but she silences her pain by sinking her teeth into my shoulder. It’s a pain I’m willing to bear as I feel her clench around me. Hell, I can feel the race of her pulse. Maybe it’s mine. I don’t even know at this point.
We groan in unison, but she silences her pain by sinking her teeth into my shoulder. It’s a pain I’m willing to bear as I feel her clench around me. Hell, I can feel the race of her pulse. Maybe it’s mine. I don’t even know at this point.
Then, something shifts. The world narrows to the space where we are joined. My vision blurs at the edges, my focus tunneling on the exquisite sight of her body moving beneath me. I watch, mesmerized, as her back arches off the bed with every slow, deliberate thrust, a perfect, strained bow. The pale curve of her stomach tenses, her breasts sway with the rhythm I set, and I am lost in a daze, studying her like a piece of art I am desperate to memorize.
The sounds are a symphony I conduct. Her high, breathy whimpers meet my own guttural groans, each one a little less pained, a little more pleading. The wet, slick sound of our joining fills the quiet room, a beautiful tune that drives me on. The air is thick with our heavy, mingled breathing, each exhale a hot puff against damp skin.
I fall into the rhythm, into her. The sharp sting of her nails, the dull throb of her teeth in my shoulder—they are just anchors, tethering me to a reality that is otherwise melting away. There isnothing but the glide and the clutch, the gasp and the groan, the sight of her taking every inch of me, over and over again.
Moving on instinct alone, a creature of pure sensation, drowning in the feel of her and fighting the inevitable tide that threatens to pull us both under.
Sweat collects against my brow, and my lungs burn, but I can’t stop. Ican’t.
