Page 52 of Restored By the Mountain Man
“Yes,” she chants quietly, biting her lip to keep from screaming.
I take the hand at her throat and move it to the back of her head, placing her face at my neck. I dig my own against her shoulder and let my body take over. The moment her body locks up, I go blind. I thrust wildly, feeling my balls explode. Pure, delicious heat shoots up my cock. My ass almost cramps flexing and releasing.
I shout her name into her skin as Zoe bites me–hard. Her nails dig into my back, and I can’t think about anything but this feeling only her body can give me.
Come leaks out between us as I shoot once more, grunting. We both slowly loosen our tight holds but remain attached everywhere. Panting, I kiss her skin up her face until her face turns and she kisses me back.
“I love you,” I whisper into the kiss over and over. “Fuck, baby. I love you so much.”
Catching her breath, Zoe keeps kissing me, replying, “I love you. You’re mine, Ezra.”
Once the sudden high mellows, I exhale, turning us so she’s lying on my chest.
“Mija! Ezra! Vamos. Desayuno,” her mother, Alba, calls from the top of the stairs, behind Zoe’s closed door.
“Okay, Ma!” Zoe calls back.
Groaning, I turn into her, digging my face into her chest. “I don’t know if we were quiet enough.”
Laughing, Zoe finger-combs my hair. The view is tempting here. I nibble on her nipple, still erect and divine looking. I lick lightly around it.
A soft puff of air meets my head as her soft ministrations turn to her gripping my hair.
“If we don’t get cleaned up quickly and get our asses to breakfast, she will come down and pull us both up by the ears. Naked. She won’t care,” Zoe chuckles, but spending the last two weeks here with the Diazs for the holidays, I’ve come to know both Alba and her dad, Daniel, really well.
She’s one hundred percent right. Alba would.
Placing one last kiss for the morning on her left breast, I push up and kiss her.
“Let’s shower.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re clean and at the table eating her mother’s Puerto Rican mashed green plantain dish called Mofongo. Her breakfast version has bacon, garlic, jalapeno peppers, and is topped with a fried egg. I’m having my second helping happily.
Zoe leans back, sipping her coffee as we chat with her mom, when Daniel busts out of the garage with a large bin.
“Lord, here we go,” Alba mumbles, putting leftovers away.
“Ezra, help me a minute?” Daniel asks.
“Dejalo. He’s still eating,” Alba reprimands.
“I’m finished,” I lie, wiping my mouth and getting up.
“Dad,” Zoe rolls her eyes.
“Baby,” I chuckle. “Let me help your dad.” I kiss her respectfully in front of her parents and help Daniel take out three large bins to the front of their house.
The cold, damp December morning bites. Crazy how Eden Ridge is only three hours south and is blanketed in snow rightnow. Zoe mentioned last month how her dad is obsessed with beating all the other houses on the block every year. She grew up on a famous Christmas lights street everyone knows as Lady Amherst Lane.
Sparkling lights line the community sidewalks with sporadic lit up arches, and every house in this block on both sides commits to setting up displays that many come from all over the state to walk through every night from mid-December till the thirtieth.
I suggested we spend Christmas with her parents this year, to which she knocked me over from excitement, peppering kisses all over. That quickly turned into hours of pleasure.
“We’re the ‘Home Alone’ inspired house. I put up nostalgic pieces from the movie, but I add a new surprise element every year,” Daniel explains, untangling a string of lights.
“What’s this year's?” I ask, helping organize lights into one pile and lawn pieces in another.
The giddy joy on Daniel’s face. “I’m recreating the icy slip and the paint cans to the face.”
