Page 15 of Snug with the Mountain Man
The sound he makes, a growl buried in his chest, sends heat straight through me.
He backs me against the counter, the edge biting into my spine. His mouth leaves mine only to trail down my neck, hot and open, teeth scraping skin.
“Ford—”
He catches the sound against my throat, breath rough. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Then show me,” I breathe.
That’s all it takes.
He lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the counter, stepping between my legs. My body arches toward him, his hands spreading over my thighs, sliding up, rough and steady, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I tilt my head back as he mouths along my collarbone, the heat of him everywhere, the air thick with the scent of coffee and smoke.
My fingers find the back of his neck, nails grazing skin. He groans, low, guttural, and presses closer. The hard length of him drags against me through my thin sleep shorts, and the sound that leaves me is pure need.
“Ford,” I whisper.
His hand slides up my shirt, calloused palm on bare skin. His thumb traces the underside of my breast. I tremble.
“Tell me to stop,” he says roughly.
I don’t.
He kisses me again, deep and filthy. His tongue tangles with mine, his breath hot against my lips.
“God, Maisie,” he mutters against my mouth. “I want to bend you over that table.”
The words hit me like a spark, sharp and electric.
My hands fist in his shirt. “Then do it.”
He freezes, just for a second. Then he pulls back, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.
“I can’t,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t start something I can’t stop.”
The sound that leaves me is half-laugh, half-sigh. “You already did.”
He steps back, running a hand through his hair, chest still rising fast. “You make it hard to think.”
“Maybe stop thinking.”
He laughs once, short and strained. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I really would.”
He shakes his head and grabs his jacket from the chair. “You need to eat something. I’ve got work.”
“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel.
He pauses at the door, looking at me for a long second, the counter, my rumpled shirt, the heat still between us.
“This shouldn’t happen again,” he says finally.
