Page 16 of Mountain Man's City Girl
I trail kisses down her stomach, pausing at the waistband of her leggings. Looking up, I find her watching me, bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Still yes?" I ask.
"Still yes," she confirms, lifting her hips to help as I pull the leggings down her legs.
She's left in just her underwear—simple black cotton that somehow looks more erotic than any lace could. I can see the damp spot at the center, evidence of her arousal that makes my cock throb painfully against my jeans.
I press my palm against her through the fabric, feeling her heat. She moans, hips bucking up to increase the pressure. "Please," she breathes.
I hook my fingers in the waistband and slide her underwear down, revealing her completely. She's wet, flushed pink, perfect. I can't resist trailing my fingers through her folds, collecting her wetness, circling her clit with gentle pressure.
Her reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, thighs falling wider open, hands fisting in the sheets. I continue the slow circles, watching her face as pleasure builds. When I slip one finger inside her, then two, her eyes flutter closed, head tilting back to expose the elegant line of her throat.
"God, Victor," she moans as I curl my fingers upward, finding the spot that makes her shudder. "That feels—ah!"
I lean down to taste her, tongue replacing fingers on her clit while I continue to stroke inside her. Her thighs tense around my head, one hand tangling in my hair, guiding me to where she needs me most.
"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
I increase the pressure, the pace, driving her toward release. When she comes, it's with a cry that might be my name, her body arching off the bed, internal muscles clenching around my fingers. I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks subside.
When I look up, she's watching me with wonder and something deeper, more dangerous. "Come here," she says, voice husky.
I move up her body, and she pulls me into a kiss, tasting herself on my lips without hesitation. Her hands are at my belt, then thebutton of my jeans, impatient and sure. When she pushes the denim down my hips, I help kick them off, along with my boxers.
My cock springs free, hard and aching. She wraps her hand around it, and I have to close my eyes at the sensation—her soft palm, the perfect pressure, the slight twist of her wrist that tells me she knows exactly what she's doing.
"Jade," I warn, voice strained. "It's been a while."
She smiles, understanding without judgment. "We have time," she says, continuing her slow strokes. "All night, if you want."
The thought of having her all night—of exploring every inch of her body, of falling asleep with her in my arms—nearly undoes me. "I want that," I admit. "I want you."
She guides me between her thighs, positioning the head of my cock at her entrance. We both pause, eyes locked, the moment suspended between us. I'm suddenly aware of the weight of this—not just physically, but emotionally. What it means to cross this line.
"I shouldn't want this," I confess, even as I press forward slightly, feeling her heat. "You should be off-limits."
"Too late," she whispers, wrapping her legs around my waist, drawing me in.
I enter her slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. She's tight, wet, perfect around me.
"Move," she urges, hands on my back, nails digging into skin.
I begin to thrust, slowly at first, drawing almost completely out before pushing back in, savoring the exquisite friction of her body gripping mine. Each time I push forward, her lips part slightly, small puffs of breath warming my face.
"You feel incredible," I murmur, voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.
She smiles, a flash of that brightness that's been undoing me since she arrived. "So do you." Her hands slide down to grip my ass, urging me deeper. "I've been thinking about this since I first saw you in that diner."
The confession sends heat surging through me. I increase my pace slightly, rolling my hips to change the angle. When I hit a particular spot, her eyes widen, a small "oh" escaping her lips.
"There?" I ask, doing it again.
"Yes," she gasps, arching beneath me. "God, yes."
I maintain that angle, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her cheeks are flushed, a light sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim afternoon light. I dip my head to kiss her neck. She tilts her head to give me better access, moaning when I find the sensitive spot just below her ear.
Our bodies find a rhythm, the initial tentativeness giving way to something more primal, more urgent. The sounds of our coupling fill the cabin—skin against skin, the wet heat where we're joined, our mingled breathing growing more ragged with each passing moment.
"Harder," she demands, and I comply, driving into her with a force that makes the headboard knock against the wall.
