Page 36 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
My maroon chunky sweater has ridden up, exposing the soft pooch on my stomach. Instinctively, my thighs press together, and my hand rests below my belly button. Owen finishes removing my ankle boots and socks before he slides back up, but pauses at my upper thighs.
His large hand takes the one at my stomach. “What’s this?” he asks, removing it gently. “Are you trying to hide this gorgeous body from me just when I’m finally getting you naked in real life?”
“Real life?” I ask, softly panting, feeling his hard ridge in his jeans resting on my leg.
“Oh, Lettie,” he whispers, reaching down and pressing the softest kisses on my hip, then around my stomach. “From the moment you busted into Ezra’s office that first day, bright and festive, I’ve dreamed of you in my bed, naked, writhing as I worship every part of your sexy body.”
Every disgusted touch Trent bestowed on me, every ruthless passive-aggressive remark, every dark night he refused to turn on lights, and only rushed to his release under the covers, bleeds away into an evaporated mist.
Owen doesn’t know it, but his words and, more importantly, his actions, are freeing me.
I slowly open my thighs, giving Owen all of me. I reach for the hem of my sweater and sit up, ignoring the roll that creates on my stomach, and take off the warm, chunky material, leaving me in a white, lace minimizer bra that does wonders for my triple Ds.
Owen’s desire is ablaze on his face as he, too, sits up on his knees and reaches around my back, unhooking my bra and revealing the heavy drop of my breasts.
“Holy fuck,” he growls. “Look at that feast.” Both of his hands take my aching breasts and massages them, which sends a jolt of electricity straight to my wet core.
I run my fingers through the back of his head, grabbing onto the shorter hair there, panting. “Owen,” I moan, my head tipping back when he starts playing with my pebbled nipples.
“Please,” I whisper. For what? I don’t know. Everything?
His hands guide my back to rest against the mattress. He slides those strong hands down my curves, squeezing my hips before pulling off his dark gray sweater.
“Holy Mountain Man,” I breathe out, running my palms over his burly pecs that are dusted with dark blonde hair. “You’re so manly,” I unconsciously say out loud.
The deep chuckle he releases has my womanhood clenching to be filled. I whimper watching him unbutton his jeans and take them off.
Oh my word, he’s massive.
My eyes bug out. The clear imprint of a very long and thick erection fights to escape his navy blue briefs.
Owen lays his body against mine, and the skin-to-skin pulls moans from both of us. I run my hands up and down his back. He brushes my hair off my face.
“Hey, Snowflake,” he whispers.
My cheeks almost hurt from how big I smile at the nickname. “Hey. You feel really nice.”
“So do you,” he rasps before kissing me.
It starts slow, sensual, worshiping. Owen’s hand lightly brushes my skin. My body knows what it wants. My hips lift, and his erection sinks between my lower lips, the perfect friction for my sensitive bundle of nerves.
I whimper, rotating my hips for more.
“My Snowflake needs to come?”
Oh my word. I’ve never experienced dirty talk in real life. I’ve read books. Plenty. I love my endless romance TBR. Steamy Christmas romances? Yes, please.
Trent never spoke during sex. Hell, he barely made noises at all. Most times, the room was dead quiet the entire session.
I can already confirm, I am a fan of Owen McKenna talking dirty to me.
“Please,” I cry out when he takes my puckered nipple in his mouth and circles it with his hot tongue.
I raise my leg and wrap it around his butt. Owen switches to the other nipple, then tucks his hand between our bodies. His long, slightly calloused fingers go hunting and find my bud of nerves and starts gently rubbing it.
I cry out. Every nerve from the waist down fires at will. My core pulses and leaks.
“You’re so wet for me, Lettie. Can I fill you with my fingers, beautiful?”
