Page 21 of Snug with the Mountain Man
“Maisie, listen to me.” He turns fully, his knee brushing mine. “You’re not lost. You’re figuring things out. There’s a difference.”
“I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels for months,” I admit. “I don’t know where I’m going.”
He reaches over and cups the side of my face. “Then I’ll walk with you until you find out.”
That simple. That steady.
Something breaks open in my chest. “You mean that?”
“I see you, Maisie. All of you. The smart parts. The scared parts. The parts you try to hide.” His thumb strokes my jaw, rough and gentle all at once. “You don’t have to have a plan for me to want you. Whatever you decide to do next, I’m behind you. One hundred percent.”
The honesty in his voice hits deeper than I expect. “You’re making it easy to believe in us.”
He smiles faintly. “Good.”
When he leans in to kiss me, it isn’t hurried. It’s slow, searching, like he’s making sure I have time to change my mind. The moment our lips meet, all that worry dissolves. His mouth is warm and certain, his hand slides into my hair, anchoring me.
As we separate, Ford quickly turns the truck back on and drives quickly to the cabin.
He closes the door behind us, and the sound echoes through the quiet house. The fire from earlier still smolders in the hearth, throwing a low orange glow across the room.
He starts to say something, but I press a finger to his lips. “Show me,” I whisper.
He nods once.
He takes his time, tracing my collarbone with the tips of his fingers, brushing a kiss to the hollow of my throat, unhurriedly tugging my sweater over my head. Every move feels perfect.
When his mouth finds mine again, I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair. His stubble scrapes my skin, rough and perfect. He smells like cedar and rain-damp flannel, and when he breathes my name, it’s half prayer, half growl.
He lifts me easily, setting me on the edge of the table. My legs part around him, pulling him close. We move together slowly, rhythm building, hands exploring, laughter catching between kisses.
He whispers against my mouth, “You still scared?”
“Only of you stopping.”
“Not a chance.”
Ford’s mouth brushes mine, slow and hungry, his fingers curling around the back of my neck like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. I press in, kissing him harder, until our lips are slick and open, our breathing tangled.
“You keep looking at me like that,” I whisper, teasing, “like you’re starving.”
His voice rumbles low. “That’s because I am.”
His hands travel down, rough palms grazing my breasts, my ribs, and my hips. His mouth drops to my collarbone, pressing kisses across the skin, soft at first, then sharper as he reaches the side of my neck. I gasp, my fingers diving into his hair.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice gravel and heat. “Always have been.”
I work at the buttons of his flannel shirt, tugging them open and pushing it from his shoulders. He’s warm and solid under my hands, chest dusted with hair, muscles tense with restraint.
I trail kisses across his chest, slow and teasing, until he groans, catching my wrist. He quickly carries me to my bedroom and sits me on the edge of the bed.
“Maisie.” His eyes burn into mine. “Lie back.”
I do. On the bed, with my legs hanging off the edge and his big body between my thighs.
He kneels between my thighs, brushing his fingers over my skin, watching every reaction, every shift of my hips, every hitched breath.
His mouth follows, lower and lower, each kiss like a claim. My back arches. My thighs part.
