Page 46 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
I raise my arms immediately, and he strips the sweater from my body in one smooth motion. His eyes sweep over my white lace bra and he makes a low groan. He leans in, kissing along my collarbone, taking his time.
His hands move to the button of my jeans, easily unhooking it. I reach for his shirt, tugging it up his chest, and he lets me peel it off. My fingers splay across his torso—broad, inked, warm under a trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband. He shudders slightly when I touch him, a quiet inhale that sends heat rushing through me.
“I need you,” he says, voice gravelly.
Before I can answer, he scoops me up with startling ease, carrying me like I weigh nothing. The bed is massive, the navy comforter rumpled and soft. He sets me down like I’m fragile, though the look in his eyes says he wants to ruin me.
He steps back, undoes his jeans, and pushes them down along with his boxers. My mouth drops at the sight of him—thick, hard, already weeping precum. I shimmy out of my jeans, nerves flaring and fading all at once under the heat of his gaze.
He climbs onto the bed, straddling my thighs, and unclasps my bra with one quick flick. It falls away, and he pauses fora second—just looking. Like he needs to take it all in before touching me.
“I want all of you,” he murmurs. “Slow, fast. Soft, rough. Every way you’ll let me.”
A nod is all I can manage. “I’ll let you have me any way you want me.”
He leans in and starts with my neck, kissing and nipping lightly. His hands slowly explore my body—palms over my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, fingers teasing my nipples until they ache. When his mouth replaces his hands, I almost lose it.
I reach for him, threading my fingers into his hair, holding him there as he sucks harder, tongue flicking, one hand sliding down my stomach, fingers slipping beneath my panties.
He looks up at me as he slides two fingers through me, circling gently, deliberately. “Tell me, Skye. What do you want right now?”
“Your hands. Your mouth. All of you.”
He grins before his mouth claims my breast again while his fingers find their rhythm between my legs—pressing, stroking, sliding inside me with a slowness that feels more like torture. The stretch of two fingers makes my hips jerk. His thumb teases my clit in slow circles.
“You’re already so close,” he mutters against my skin.
And he’s right. It’s unbearable—in the best possible way. My body winds tight, the pressure building fast.
“Come for me,” he says. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
I break with a cry, thighs shaking, back arching off the bed. His fingers slow only after the tremors fade. He moves down my body, kissing the inside of my knee, the curve of my hip, then slides my panties down and off.
I watch, still breathless, as he rolls on a condom. Then he’s over me, between my legs, his cock heavy against my inner thigh.
“Still good?” he asks, looking down at me.
“God, yes,” I whisper, eyes locked with his. “I need you inside me.”
He pushes in slowly, deliberately. The stretch feels so fucking good, and I moan as he fills me completely. He stays there, buried deep, while both of us tremble from the intensity.
“You feel…” he breathes, jaw clenched. “I can hardly stand how good you feel.”
He starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust dragging across every sensitive spot inside me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, grounding myself in the overwhelming feeling of him—his weight, his breath, the raw focus in his eyes.
Then he shifts his angle, and somehow it feels even better.
“There,” I gasp. “Oh my god—there.”
He keeps hitting that spot, perfectly. Relentlessly. I claw at his back, chasing the edge. Then his fingers find my clit again—just the right pressure—and the second orgasm crashes through me, even stronger than the first.
“God, yes,” I cry out as I shatter around him.
He groans, hips slamming into mine with final, desperate thrusts, before he falls over the edge with me.
He lowers himself gently, head buried in my neck, arms braced around me like I’m breakable. We lie there, his heartbeat pounding against my chest.
His hand slides up my side, slow and lazy. “You’re not what I expected, Skye McMillan,” he says into my skin. “You’re even better.”
