Page 65 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

“This waterfall comes from Canada and is cold as hell, but this water is a hot spring, heated by hydrothermal vents on the ocean floor,” Warrick said, pulling off his shirt. “The water is not scalding hot but a shock, so enter from that spot where the cold water mixes with the warm.”

Crouching at the edge, I dipped my fingertips in. The water was perfect, like a tepid bath.

Warrick was perfect, his chest muscle-packed and hairy, his waist narrow, and that pale hair tapering into a line that went straight to his groin. After he toed off his boots and removed his pants, the thick appendage between his legs had my pussy aching.

“Take a picture, sweetheart. It lasts longer,” he said while wading into the water.

My nipples were hard, my pussy ached with want. I removed my clothes, waded into the spot he told me to use, and eventually joined him on the pool's edge. Looping both arms around his neck, I kissed him with all I was worth, as I was afraid I’d never get a chance to again.

He cupped and squeezed my breast, then pinched my nipple. I gasped and opened my thighs wider as he gripped my hips and lifted me. I rocked my center into him. Despite the water, I could feel my pussy getting wet.

He dipped his head to flick his tongue over a nipple, tracing it with the tip, then sucking, then nipping. When I pulled back, he latched on. Holding onto hard shoulders, I felt the sprinkling of dark hair leading down below the groin on my belly. His arousal was so intense that I could almost feel it in the air.

The crown of his dick flared, curving up my butt, pre-cum oozing from the slit. I rolled my hips. “I’m ready.”

“No, you're not.” He screwed one finger into me and pumped it before he worked a second into my tight channel and curled both of them, seeking my G-spot. “You’ve got a tight little pussy, and I’m big.”

He towed us back to the bank and pulled a condom from his discarded jeans pocket, and I slid it on before he lined up his turgid cock and pulled me down on him. I sank my nails into his back and held on as he fucked me, his thrusts increasing in speed and depth.

My eyes rolled back in my head as he took me hard, bottoming out with every pass. His hips slammed into me harder and faster, plowing into me like an animal. I would never get enough of this…of him. I bounced on his cock, loving every harsh rub of his chest hair on my nipples and his rough calluses on my thighs.

“Warrick!” I cried as the mammoth orgasm began to build inside me without him even rubbing my clit. “I’m coming!”

He gripped my hips as he roared into my ear, his cock pulsing inside me; he buried his face into my throat, sucking in breath and breathing in my scent. I felt his heart pound through his chest as he sucked in stabilizing breaths.

I love you.

I want to stay with you.

But can I have you without damning you to death?

Pulling away, I kissed him softly, suckling his tongue then biting his bottom lip tenderly. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I want you to stay,” he kissed my chin. “Stay with me, Zoe, stay here, in Montana. I don’t think I can let you go now that I’ve found you.”

My head spun as my heart swooped. “Warrick, I don’t know?—”

“Think about it,” he whispered in my ear. “Just think about it. That is all I ask, Zoe. Think about it.”

My phone rang about 9:23 the next night. The number was private. It had to be my handler, Agent Boyne.

“Hello,” I said.

“Zoe, are you near anyone?” Boyne asked.

“Yes, but good people,” I said. “The game is up, Agent. Warrick Donovan knows. Whatever you can say to me, he can hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I pulled the phone away and pressed speaker. “Go ahead.”

“We looked into this Jake O’Hara’s finances and history, and while he had some concerning things in his history, like this loan from the Draytons, he had no family in New York and no ties to the Italian mafia in Manhattan. In his history, we found a link to a Mr. Carl Benson, and this is where it gets dicey.”

Warrick did not look pleased. “Dicey how?”

“The man is riddled with debt,” Boyne replied. “His businesses are failing with their merchandising operation, but money, and I mean hundreds of thousands, are transferred into his accounts every month under the guise of investment and then sent out. Shell companies. No merchandise was bought or sold from this money, and we realize it is a classic money laundering scheme.”

“Zoe, in all our best efforts, we sent you far away but still landed you in the belly of the beast,” Boyne sighed.

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