Page 32 of Mountain Man Bad Boy

I held out my glass. “To clandestine meetings.”

He toasted me, his eyes alight with a devilish flame. “Clandestine meetings.” He signaled the waitress. “Are you ready to order?”

I grabbed the menu and flipped through it. I hadn’t had a chance to look properly, but that didn’t seem to matter. All of a sudden, we were both eager to have dinner done with and out of the way. I opted for an omelet, always keen on having breakfast at night. He ordered fried chicken with a side of coleslaw, and we made small talk until the meal came.

“How’s Evil?” Porter asked.

“Good, I think.” I smiled guiltily. “I had to leave her with the vet.”

“This doesn’t bode well for my position in her government,” Porter teased.

“She’ll get over it after a few chicken gravy treats,” I said.

“So, is it weird for you to be back here?” Porter asked. “You mentioned you haven’t been in a while.”

I nodded. “It is a bit strange, yeah. It hasn’t changed much, that’s for sure.”

Our food arrived, and we dug in, each famished but saving room for a dessert that wasn’t on the menu. My omelet tasted good, like a home-cooked meal loaded with veggies and herbs. I was halfway through it before my stomach began to settle, and I was able to finish another quarter before I was full.

He started on his coleslaw, licking his thumb to capture some of the residual chicken grease. I wanted to lick his hands clean for him, to taste the salty sweetness of his meal and the underlying flavor of his skin. He caught me looking and grinned. All bets were off now. He knew what I wanted, and he wanted to give it to me. I felt my breath catch in my throat. Tonight, maybe minutes from now, I would experience what I had longed for all those sterile weeks we were forced to maintain our distance. Tonight, Porter would be mine.

There was an awkward pause as we both realized we were finished with our meals. It was time to move on to the main attraction. Porter twisted in his seat and flagged down the waitress. She left the check and gathered our plates, sparing only a tight smile.

I reached for my purse, but Porter shook his head. Instead, he peeled two bills off a fold and lay them on the table between us. “Where are you staying?” he asked, taking one last drink of water.

“At the hotel,” I answered.

“I’d invite you back to my place, but it’s one room with a communal bathroom I have to share with the entire floor.”

“My place, then?”

“If you don’t mind.” He slid out of the booth, reaching a hand back to help me rise.

“I don’t mind,” I demurred. Quite the opposite—I was ready, willing, and able.

We had each driven to the diner, so we had to part, get into our individual vehicles, and drive to the rendezvous. We were so focused on getting into a room together, putting a door between us and the world, that we didn’t even speak in the diner parking lot. There was no kiss, no hug, no parting words. We leapt into our respective drivers’ seats and peeled away.

Porter made it back to the hotel first and was waiting outside his truck when I pulled up. I hopped out of the car, pressed the lock button on my key fob, and grabbed his hand. The touch was electric. There were so few times in our history when we had been able to make contact that even the pressure of palm against palm felt erotic. My insides churned in anticipation of the evening. If holding his hand felt this good, I imagined what the rest of the conquest would feel like. But I didn’t have to imagine for long. It was happening; it was finally happening, and my heart soared up to the sky on wings of lust.

We broke through the lobby to the elevator, stepping inside and closing the doors. The moment we were alone, we were in each other’s arms. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders, grabbing my thigh with the other and lifting it to his hip. I ran my fingers through his hair, yanking his shirt from his trousers with the other hand. Our lips locked, our tongues wild and frenzied. A month’s worth of pent-up frustration exploded between us, and we were savages.

The elevator door opened, and we dropped the embrace, taking a step back from each other in case anyone was watching. The corridor was empty; we were alone. I dashed for the bedroom, plastic key card in my hand. It took me three swipes to make the red light turn green, each attempt generating more frustration, and eliciting a chuckle from behind me. When the lock finally gave and the door swung open, we rushed for the safety of the bedroom like two shipwrecked survivors.

I threw my purse in the corner and turned on him. He slammed the door shut, his eyes hungry in the dark. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off, giving us very little to go on except an orange finger of sun in the slit between the drapes. Neither of us cared.

He finished what I had started in the elevator, tearing his shirt up over his head and casting it aside. I had only enough time to kick off my shoes before he was on me, pressing me to the wall, hand cradling the back of my head. He brought his mouth down on mine, his lips soft and his tongue hot. I welcomed him in, sucking, licking, reciprocating. It was a sensual kiss, not as insane as it had been in the elevator. Here, we had time. We had the entire night.

I threaded a hand between us to reach up and stroke his jaw. He gripped me at the waist, sliding both hands around behind me to cup my bottom. I wished then that I was wearing my clubbing skirt. How masterful it would be for him to have such easy access to my private assets. How smooth the fabric would feel between our bodies while it lasted.

But alas, I was wearing jeans. I hadn’t been sure of myself enough to bring out the big guns and had opted for something more casual. The bulk of the denim between us was almost too much, and I reached for my own zipper.

He felt what I was doing and released me from our embrace. Standing back, he pulled down his own pants, throwing them away on the carpet. I slipped out of the confines of my own garments, revealing my true self in all my glory. We fumbled toward the bed, he in his underwear and me in mine. He pulled down the comforter in one massive swoop, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor.

He took me in his arms and laid me down on the mattress, the urgency in his movements draining away. Gazing down at me, he paused, as if considering his good fortune. He climbed on top of me, crushing me to the bed and stealing my breath. In a fluid motion, he pulled my hips against his and rolled to the center so that I was lying on top. He put his hands down my panties to cup my backside, spreading my legs so that his erection fit neatly into place.

I gasped. The bulge in his crotch felt so big, pressing against my intimate flesh. It sent shivers of pleasure dancing through my core as I rocked back and forth against it. He reached up with shaking fingers to unlatch my bra. My breasts fell free, catching the dying light as it turned from orange to purple behind the curtains.

He fit one hand over each breast, gently tracing their curves as I bounced. The sensations, both in my groin and in my chest, were so enchanting they stole my breath. I wound further and further out on a ledge, over a precipice of shimmering pleasure. He was my one-way ticket to freedom. I shuddered, reaching an orgasm before he had even penetrated me.

---