Page 5 of One Night with a Mountain Man

Leaning forward, I brace my hands on his sweat-slicked chest as I ride him harder, faster. "Touch me," I pant. "Make me come on your cock."

Dillon obeys, snaking a hand between our writhing bodies to find my aching clit. He rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub and pleasure explodes through my veins like fireworks.

"Yes, just like that! Don't stop!" I cry out, my inner walls starting to flutter and clench around him.

He pistons up into me at a relentless pace, hitting that magic spot deep inside me with every powerful thrust. I'm so close, teetering on the knife's edge of rapture.

"Come for me, Natalie. Let go, I've got you," Dillon coaxes, his voice raw with lust.

A few more skillful flicks of his fingers and I'm flying apart with a keening wail, wave after wave of pure bliss crashing over me. Dillon follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout, spilling himself deep inside me as he finds his own release.

Collapsing onto his chest, I'm spent. Both of us are gasping for air as we float down from the high. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close as our racing heartbeats gradually slow.

In the afterglow, a satisfied smile tugs at my lips. Best workout ever.

Five

Dillon

Sunlight filters through the blinds, painting my bedroom in a warm, golden hue. My eyes crack open to the promise of a new day, and I reach out, expecting to find Natalie's warm body next to mine. But the sheets are cool and empty, her silhouette imprinted on the pillow where her blonde hair should be cascading.

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, confusion clouding my thoughts. We'd fallen asleep tangled in each other's arms, our breaths syncing in the quiet of the night. The memory of her laughter, her soft sighs, and the touch of her skin against mine still lingers. I scan the room for any sign of her, but there's nothing—no note, no text, not even a coffee cup left on the counter.

I push the covers off and swing my legs out of bed. The floorboards are cold beneath my feet as I pad across the room. I check my phone—no messages. A hollow feeling starts to take root in my chest.

I'd hoped this morning would be different. That we'd wake up together, I'd tease her about how she hogs the blankets, and we'd share smiles over coffee and scrambled eggs. The simplicity of it all had felt within reach.

Last night was... incredible. The way we moved together, it was like we were made for each other. Every kiss, every touch was electric. We weren't awkward together or hesitant. It was pure connection. And now this silence screams louder than any words could.

What could have made her leave like this? Did I say something? Do something? Or worse yet—did I not do something? My mind races through every moment we shared, dissecting them for any hint of discomfort or regret on her part.

But I couldn't think of one damn thing that would have made her leave without a word.

"Fuck, Natalie. Why'd you leave? You didn't even leave a note. I thought… it was good." My thoughts come in bursts as I speak them out loud to my lone, neglected houseplant.

The absence of a goodbye sits in my stomach like a stone as I head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The rich aroma does little to soothe me. Every part of this place whispers Natalie's name—the indent on the couch cushion where she sat last night, the wine glass by the sink that still bears the imprint of her lipstick.

As I pour myself a cup, black and steaming, I can't shake off the loss. Natalie Stevens walked unexpectedly into my life with a storm of blonde hair and blue eyes that saw right through me—and now she's gone like a wisp of mountain mist at the sun's first rays.

I take a sip, letting the heat from the coffee spread through me, offering at least some semblance of warmth against the chill of an empty home.

I drag myself into Blaze Security, my mind still tangled up in the mess of this morning. The front door swings open with a creak that's become as familiar as my own heartbeat. The place smells like coffee all day every day—a scent that usually grounds me, tells me I'm where I belong. Today, it adds to the weight on my shoulders.

"Morning, Hanley!" Mitch's voice cuts through the lobby like a beacon. He's back from his trip, standing there with that lopsided grin and a spark in his eyes that spells out trouble—or at least a long story.

I muster up a half-smile. "Hey, Blaze. Good trip?"

"Better than good," he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he ushers me towards my office. "Landed us a big fish. This one's gonna be a game-changer."

That's Mitch—always chasing the next big thing. I nod, but my head's not in it. I need to bury myself in the research for next week's job—a routine security assessment for some tech company worried about industrial espionage.

But Mitch follows me into my office, still riding high on whatever adrenaline his out-of-town job pumped into him. "You should've seen it, Dillon. Up in the high-rises, rubbing elbows with the suits and tech moguls. This new client?—"

I sit at my desk and flick on my laptop, hoping he'll take the hint. There'll be plenty of time for me to hear all about the new client and what my role will be. These deals get made and lots of work goes into getting things up and running. None of it happens overnight and nothing turns on a dime. The startup screen stares back at me as Mitch leans against the doorframe.

"They've got this cutting-edge tech—stuff that'll make your head spin," he continues, unfazed by my silence.

I try to focus on booting up the security databases we use, but Mitch is like a kid with a new toy he has to show off.

---