Page 11 of The Mountain Man's Flirt

He pulls away from me and I risk opening my eyes, bracing myself for what I might see in his gaze. But there’s only lust, raw and animalistic. He looks like a mighty lion right before it pounces.

Then he’s scooping me into his arms, carrying me into the bedroom as our food is forgotten. That’s because it’s time for the real feast.

He sets me on the bed, letting me slide down his big, strong body. A body I can’t wait to know intimately. I grind against his hardness where our hips meet, and he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. It’s comforting, that he wants me as much as I want him.

I land in the pile of blankets that smell like him. It’s a mixture of leather and Kentucky bourbon, the kind of scent a girl could get addicted to.

“They’re clean,” he says as if what I’m thinking about right now is the cleanliness of his place. “I stay here occasionally when it’s too late to make it back to my cabin.”

“Don’t care.” I peel the towel from my body. I love my curves. I’ve always rocked them, even when I was in high school. But I’m not sure how Amos is going to respond to seeing them.

He cups his cock through his jeans, the single motion erasing my uncertainty. “Fuck, woman. You better be damn glad I never knew those curves were waiting for me. I’d have fucked you right there at your graduation.”

My body is hot all over, my skin too tight. I’ve never felt this way, never wanted a man so badly I was physically aching. “I would have liked that.”

“Lean back and spread those legs. I want to see this pussy I’ve been dreaming about for years.” He’s still towering over me, looking down at my body through a hooded gaze.

I do as he instructs, liking the way it makes me feel naughty to expose myself to him. All of my secrets are laid bare as I stretch out, my wetness and arousal clearly evident to both of us.

A growl of approval is ripped from his throat then he’s dropping down to his knees beside the bed. “Who owns this sweet little pussy?”

I never knew I could get turned on by a filthy mouth, but I know it’s more than that. It’s because Amos is the one saying filthy things to me. “You.”

He spreads my glistening folds, his fingers trailing through my soft curls. “Say it.”

“I just did.”

He looks up from his inspection of my most intimate place. “Say it.”

I finally realize what he’s asking and my cheeks heat. But if I like hearing him say naughty words, maybe he’ll like hearing it from me too. “Amos owns this sweet little pussy.”

“Never forget that.” His gaze darkens and he drops his head.

He runs his tongue along my delicate center, and I buck my hips against his face. He grabs my ass, his strong hands immobilizing me as he continues to lap at me.

With every swipe of his tongue, he growls and snarls. The noises are primal, turning me on almost as much as the sensation of his wet tongue fucking me.

He flicks it across my clit just as he slides two fingers into my aching channel. The combined sensation of him stroking my walls at the same time he’s teasing my swollen nub is overpowering. My body tightens as a flood of pleasure rushes over me.

He keeps eating me, wringing a second orgasm from my body before he finally sits up. His face is coated in a sheen of my juices. Somehow, it makes me even hotter to know it’s my arousal that he’s licking from his lips. He smacks them together. “Sweetest pussy on earth and it’s all mine.”

I thread my fingers through his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. The gesture is probably too intimate, but this is us. Me and Amos. “Let me make you happy now.”

He pulls away from me, mischief sparking in his gaze. “I want your hot little body completely at my mercy.”

I lick my lips, not sure what he’s asking for but knowing instinctively that I want to do it with him. “Show me.”

7

AMOS

I’m a sick bastard. But I’ve been dreaming about this moment, aching for it so many times that I can’t hold back now. I’ll go slow, make sure she doesn’t want to run away from me screaming.

Pushing to my feet, I pull the hunting knife from my boot. I glance at her face to gauge her reaction. She’s led a sheltered life. She’s not used to being around men like me who don’t have a problem fighting to the death to defend what’s theirs.

“How many weapons do you carry on you?” There’s no fear in her voice, only curiosity.

I set it on the floor. I’ve never thought too much about it. Raised in the holler in Kentucky, I’ve been around guns and knives my whole life. “Enough to protect myself and those around me.”

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