Page 16 of Restored By the Mountain Man
My. Ass.
“This is so much hotter in books,” she grunts as I purposely adjust her body, her stomach digging into my shoulder.
Opening the passenger door, I gently place her in the seat. Her face is flushed, her long, dark waves wild around her face.Shit. This is what she might look like after getting fucked.
“You did not just do that.” Her brows shoot to her hairline.
Afraid to speak, I don’t trust what will come out of my mouth right now, so I lean in and buckle her seatbelt. My arm brushes her full, soft breasts. Her gasp at the touch is the final straw that takes me from half-mass to full-on hard as a rock.
When was the last time I’ve gotten hard other than morning wood? The blood has left my brain. I snap the seatbelt in place, then lean my arms on the doorframe. It’s a face-off. Her breathing has accelerated, as has mine. Her chest rising reveals her plump cleavage over her blouse. I close my eyes and groan involuntarily.
Stepping away, I shut her door harder than I mean to. I cross the truck, get in my seat, and turn on the ignition.
We drive in thick silence. The tension fills the cab with an energy I don’t ever recall experiencing. Thankfully, my flannel covers my lap because the sexual need pulses a steady heat. From the corner of my eye, her hands grip the seat, her knuckles white.
If I don’t get this woman home and drive away as soon as possible, I fear our next move.
And I invited her to spend a weekend out of town. Just the two of us. In this same damn truck.
Fucking masochist.
I park outside Laurel’s old cabin she rented after the Cedar Solutions bullshit. Neither of us makes a move. Only the moon and her porch light illuminate inside the truck. I finally turn to face her. She inhales deeply before looking at me.
“Will you be in tomorrow?” she asks.
It’s whiplash, which takes me a minute to clock onto what she is asking. No, I won’t be. I need to mentally prepare for this trip. I need to go home right now and fight doing something I can’t remember the last time I did. And I’m already anticipating the self-loathing that’ll follow.
“Depends.” That’s all I give her.
She nods, unbuckles her belt, and opens the passenger door. “If not, I’ll see you bright and early, Saturday.”
I nod.
We both search for unspoken questions, neither willing to go there.Professional. This needs to remain professional.
“Please lock the door when you get in,” I say, keeping my voice low so she can’t hear what’s lying beneath, dying to crawl out.
“Will do, Mr. Hunter.” She salutes, then hops out.
A vivid image of her tied to a bed, edging her pleasure for sassing me has me almost coming in my pants. I want to peel out of her driveway, but I refuse to leave until I know she’s safe inside.
She unlocks her door and looks over her shoulder.
God help us both this weekend.
CHAPTER 6
ZOE
Five AM comes way too early but I'm already dressed and waiting with my overnight bag when Ezra's truck rumbles up my driveway. The sound sends an unexpected flutter through my stomach and I take a deep breath to center myself.
This is a business trip. Professional. Important for the distillery.
The fact that I changed outfits three times this morning is completely irrelevant.
I settled on dark jeans that hug my curves without being inappropriate, a soft cream sweater that's professional but not stuffy, and my most comfortable boots for walking around the farm. My hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and I've kept my makeup minimal but polished.
When I step outside, Ezra is already out of the truck, moving to take my bag. He looks devastatingly handsome in worn jeans and a dark green Henley that clings to his broad shoulders. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered and the scent of his cologne mingles with the crisp mountain air.
