Page 9 of Noel with the Mountain Man
"Please," I whisper.
He pulls them down along with my underwear, and then I'm completely bare beneath him. The vulnerability should be terrifying—we barely know each other—but instead it feels right. Like this was always going to happen.
His hands slide up my thighs, spreading them gently. "So perfect," he murmurs.
And then his mouth is on me, and I cry out, hips bucking off the mattress. He holds me steady with one arm across my hips, the other hand joining his tongue in driving me absolutely insane.
He's thorough. Patient. Like he has all the time in the world to learn what makes me fall apart. When he slides two fingers inside me while his tongue circles my clit, I come with a sharp cry, my whole body tensing and then releasing in waves.
He doesn't stop until I'm gasping, oversensitive, pulling at his hair.
When he finally moves back up my body, his beard is damp and his expression is pure male satisfaction.
"Smug looks good on you," I manage breathlessly.
He grins. "Just getting started."
I reach for his jeans, popping open the button. "Then maybe you should have less clothes on."
He helps me push his pants down, taking his boxer briefs with them, and then—
Oh.
He's... impressive. Thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. I wrap my hand around him, and he groans, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"Noel—" My name sounds like a prayer. "I need—"
"Condom?"
"Wallet. Jeans pocket."
I lean over the side of the bed and fish through his discarded jeans until I find it—a single foil packet. "Optimistic," I tease.
"More like hopeful." He takes it from me, tearing it open with his teeth. "Wasn't planning on needing it."
"Lucky for both of us you packed it anyway."
He rolls it on, and then he's settling between my thighs, the head of him pressing against my entrance. We lock eyes.
"Last chance to change your mind," he says.
I wrap my legs around his waist. "Stop talking and kiss me."
He does, claiming my mouth as he pushes inside in one slow, devastating thrust. We both groan at the sensation—he's stretching me, filling me completely, and it's almost too much and not enough all at once.
"Okay?" he asks, voice strained.
"More than okay." I rock my hips experimentally, and he groans again. "Move. Please move."
He does, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. He sets a rhythm that's slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, like he's memorizing the feel of me around him.
It's intense. Overwhelming. His eyes never leave mine, and there's something in his gaze that goes beyond physical. Something raw and honest and a little bit terrifying.
"You feel incredible," he breathes. "So tight. So perfect."
I can't form words, so I pull him down for another kiss, pouring everything I can't say into it. He responds by shifting the angle slightly, hitting a spot inside me that makes me see stars.
"There," I gasp. "Right there—"
