Page 11 of Snug with the Mountain Man
Her tank is up to her ribs, soft skin under my palms. I mouth down her neck, biting, sucking, until she whimpers and claws at my shoulders.
“Off,” I mutter, tugging the shirt over her head. Her tits spill into my hands, soft and perfect. I groan, kissing my way lower. “Fucking gorgeous.”
She’s breathing hard, flushed and needy, her legs tightening around me. “Ford—”
I drop to my knees without a word. Rip her shorts down her thighs and bury my mouth between them.
She gasps, one hand slamming into the table, the other gripping my hair as I lick into her slowly and deeply, savoring every second. She’s wet, slick, and trembling already.
I hum against her clit and feel her buck. I don’t stop. I just keep going, murmuring all the things I want to do to her between strokes of my tongue, how good she tastes, how she’s mine now, how I’m not letting anyone else near her.
She cries out, head thrown back, legs shaking around my shoulders.
“God, Ford, fuck—” she gasps.
I slide two fingers into her, deep and slow, curling just right. She arches like a bow.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her. “Give it to me, baby.”
Her thighs lock around my head as she comes, loud and desperate, riding my mouth like she never wants it to stop. I stay right there, holding her through every wave until she goes slack and panting.
When I finally stand, she’s dazed and flushed, eyes heavy-lidded, lips swollen.
I lean down and kiss her again, slow and claiming.
Then I murmur against her mouth, “You’re mine. Understand?”
She blinks up at me, breathless. “Yeah. I understand.”
I swipe my thumb across her slick mouth. “Next time,” I whisper, “I won’t stop until I’m inside you.”
Her breath hitches, and for the first time in days, I smile.
Chapter seven
Maisie
It starts with thunder.
A low rumble in the distance that barely registers over the sound of the crackling fire. I’m curled on the couch, blanket over my lap, fingers toying with the edges, trying not to glance at the clock again.
Ford said he’d come back tonight to make sure everything was holding up. He hadn’t.
It’s fine. I don’t need him.
I tell myself that again as lightning splits the sky and the lights flicker once… twice… and then go out.
Silence falls, except for the wind and the sharp crack of a branch outside. I swallow hard.
I should be used to this by now. The mountain storms. The isolation. The dark. But there’s something about tonight, maybe it’s the tension still lingering from this morning, from that kiss, from the way his hands roamed my body like he couldn’t stop himself.
I’m still flushed from it. Still aching.
I move to the fire, add another log, and try to breathe.
The knock on the door is heavy, purposeful. I yank it open without thinking, and there he is, soaked to the bone.
His flannel shirt clings to every line of his chest. Hair dripping onto his forehead. His eyes lock on mine like he’s already made a decision.
