Page 13 of Snug with the Mountain Man
“You’re gorgeous, Maisie. Fucking irresistible.”
We fall onto the rug, the fire roaring behind him. I climb into his lap, straddling his thighs, kissing him like I’ll never get another chance.
“I dreamed about this,” I whisper. “About you.”
He grabs my ass, pulls me tighter. “Keep talking, baby. Tell me what you dreamed.”
“Your hands on me. Your mouth. You inside me.”
His eyes flash, wild and hungry. “You’re killing me.”
I grind against him, gasping at the pressure, the friction, the way his head drops back with a groan.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he mutters. “So soft. So warm. You want it rough or slow?”
“Yes,” I whisper, dizzy from the tension in his voice.
He flips me suddenly, pinning me to the rug. My legs wrap around his waist, and he ruts against me, both of us still half-dressed, the ache building fast.
His voice drops to a filthy rasp. “I’m gonna take my time with you, baby girl. Going to make you scream. Gonna make you mine.”
“You already have me,” I whisper.
That breaks him.
Clothes are ripped the rest of the way off. My thighs are parted, my wrists pinned. He leans in, biting my lower lip.
“I’m going to fuck you right here, in front of the fire, where no one else gets to see you like this. Just me. Just us.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe.
His eyes roll back. “Goddamn.”
And then he does what he said he would. Hard, deep,perfect. He moves like a man who’s been waiting years for this moment.Who’s finally been handed the thing he never thought he could have.
He doesn’t hold back. He repeats the same words over and over—so tight, so sweet, so good for me. He tells me I’m his. He worships my body as if it were sacred.
I come apart first, gasping and crying out. He follows with a guttural moan, spilling inside me, holding me so tight I don’t think he’ll ever let go.
After, we collapse together, tangled and breathless. The storm rages outside. But in here? Everything’s finally calm.
Chapter eight
Maisie
The storm broke overnight, but the world still feels soaked through. The air is damp, the trees are dripping, and the ground is slick with mud.
I wake up tangled in the blanket on the couch. Ford’s jacket hangs over the chair. He’s still here.
He’s standing by the stove, coffee mug in one hand, his shirt clinging in all the right places. The fire he built last night has burned down to embers. Outside, fog drifts between the trees. Inside, it’s just us.
Quiet. Still. Dangerous.
He doesn’t see that I’m awake at first. I take a second to watch him and the way he moves. He’s the kind of man who keeps everything neat and in order because the alternative might be chaos.
The kind of man who kissed me like he couldn’t breathe without it.
I sit up, the blanket slipping off my shoulder. “You make a habit of pacing around women’s cabins at dawn?”
