Page 9 of Longing for the Mountain Man

“You’ve got it.”

As he said the words, he’d already pushed away from the door and was unbuttoning the dress shirt he’d worn. It didn’t seem like his normal attire. I wondered if he’d dressed up for me.

All coherent thought went by the wayside as soon as I got a look at what was going on under that shirt. Muscles. Pecs and abs and biceps. With each inch of his bare body he revealed, my body temperature increased by a degree or two. I might even have to start fanning myself soon.

And then he reached for the fastening on his pants and that unmentionable area of my body contracted a little. Was that normal? I was warm and wet, but I hadn’t expected things to move down there.

He dropped the pants and kicked off his shoes to remove them. That left him wearing navy blue underwear with a gray waistband. But what I couldn’t stop staring at was the bulge behind the material. I knew that meant he had an erection, but it was much bigger than I expected.

Did that mean his penis was big?

“Have you ever seen a man naked?” he asked.

I shook my head, my eyes wide. “Not in person.”

“Really?” he asked. “You’ve seen a penis before, though.”

I nodded, almost a little embarrassed to admit it. “I’ve watched porn.”

He had his hands in the elastic waistband, but my words froze his movements. “Did you touch yourself while you watched it?”

I started to say no. If anyone else had asked me that question, that was exactly what I would have said. But I could open up to this guy. It would turn him on to know the truth.

“I tried,” I said. “I never could make it happen.”

His eyebrows rose. “Make what happen?”

“You know.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t know.”

“An orgasm. It was embarrassing, really. I looked up online exactly what to do. I tried and tried. But it was like there was some sort of mental block. There are some women who can’t orgasm. I might be one of them.”

He’d see that as a challenge. He was a guy—of course, he would. He’d say he was sure he could make me come. And then I’d feel pressured to make it happen, and I might even have that same mental block all over again.

“Show me,” he said.

I’d been so sure of how he’d react, the two words threw me. “Show you what?”

“Show me how you touch yourself.”

“I only tried a couple of times. I’m sure I was doing it wrong.”

“Show me,” he repeated. “I want to see.”

“With the robe on?”

“Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Earlier, he mentioned taking it off to avoid getting something on it. That was probably a wise idea now, but it acted like a security blanket of sorts.

So I struck a compromise. I wiggled around, pulling it up above my hips, leaving it covering the top half while I bared the bottom half of my body to him.

I should feel terrified at the prospect of a man seeing that part of me. I’d never even seen it—not the way he would. But instead, I was exhilarated. Maybe I was more adventurous sexually than I imagined I’d be.

“Now uncross your legs,” he said, leaning against the door again.

He had a slight smile on his face. And it was the sexiest sight I’d ever seen. Biting my lip, I did exactly as he commanded by uncrossing my legs, but I still kept them close together.

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