Page 52 of Mountain Man Bad Boy

“I went to a meeting,” he said, inching one of my feet above the surface.

I lay back, allowing him to continue. As he rubbed the loofah over the sole of my foot, I felt a sob growing in the back of my throat. I let it out, releasing all the tension I had been carrying. He stripped his jeans off, flinging his boxers and his socks onto the back of the toilet, and sloshed into the tub beside me.

There wasn’t enough room for the two of us. My hips squeezed painfully against the sides. Water spilled over the rim, soaking the bathmat. I didn’t care. I circled my arms around his neck and cried into his naked chest. He just held me, smoothing damp hair from my eyes.

“It was awful,” I said finally. He didn’t respond, just listened. I spilled the entire story, from the altercation in the entryway to the desperate flight through the city. I relived the parked car behind the 7-Eleven and the gunshots on the second floor.

When I was done, he laughed. The sound was both jarring and refreshing, as if maybe the event hadn’t been so traumatic. “You are such a badass,” he replied, pulling me in for a kiss.

I found myself grinning. After all I had been through, I didn’t feel like a badass. I felt like a flower that had been crushed beneath someone’s shoe and peeled off the sidewalk. But from his point of view—no, from any point of view—I had saved myself. I had saved everyone in the treatment center, and I had probably saved George as well. I fell into the kiss with renewed vigor.

One arm was crushed beneath the weight of my body, submerged in the tub. With the other, I pulled him closer. He slid his palm down the curve of my spine, lighting a fire deep in my core. Suddenly, falling asleep wasn’t so important; it had been replaced at the top of the food chain by something even more primal.

He cupped my rear end, trying to bring me around on top of him. My knee hit the side of the tub, blocked by the porcelain wall. I flinched. There was no room to maneuver, and I wanted desperately to drape myself all over him.

“Let’s get out,” I breathed, hauling myself to my feet.

He watched me land safely outside the tub before following. I grabbed a towel, running it down my body superficially before flinging it over to him. As he dispensed with the worst of the runoff, I pulled the bathroom door open and raced to the bed. He joined me in a moment, and we fell down together, laughing.

Now that we had room to move, he climbed on top of me, stretching my arms out. He kissed me hungrily, first on my lips, then my jaw, and then my neck. I felt my body awakening to the new sensations, growing in power like a rosebud in the sun. I arched up to encourage him, to stretch my spine and press my chest into his. He took the invitation, kissing his way down to my breasts.

I sighed at the first brush of his tongue against my flesh. All thoughts of George vanished, replaced by a hunger that had only one cure. Porter found my nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth. He slipped one arm under the curve of my back, giving him leverage to work his magic. I spread my legs automatically, yearning for him at the center of my being.

As he sucked, he pressed gently against me in a slow rhythm that promised more to come. I matched his thrusts, leaning into his embrace and relaxing when he pulled away. He responded by abandoning my breast and searching lower, down to my navel. Painting it with kisses, his tongue explored the indentation in my abdomen as if I were a delicate dessert.

I knew where he was going, and I wanted to stop him. I didn’t want to be the star of the show—I wanted to share my passion. I reached down to his shoulders, gently guiding his lips back to my mouth. With soft fingers, I traced the curve of his spine down to his buttocks. They were so firm and fit magically into my hands. After giving them each a squeeze, I skimmed around to the front, finding him stiff and ready for action.

Using two hands, I primed the pump, massaging his manhood from base to tip. He put his hands on either side of my ears and let me touch him, rocking into my embrace. When I was ready, I guided his head to my entrance. As soon as he was in position, Porter took over, lowering himself carefully into my canal.

I let him fill me, feeling my passage expand to accommodate him. The sensation was so delicious, so welcome, and so comforting. After the explosion of activity and the aftermath, sex burned all the negativity away. My body came alive but in a gentle, glowing way that made every fiber of my being sing.

He just sat there for a long moment, completing me, buried deep within my soul. When he moved, it was with luxurious strokes, more refined than frantic, like fine dining compared to ravenous consumption. I ached every time he withdrew and rejoiced when he reconnected.

Together, we built slowly toward the finale. I pushed upward, eager to take every inch of what he had to give. He restrained himself to the very end, allowing me to luxuriate in the sensation. I rose by degrees to the top of the mountain, as if I were floating into the sky on gossamer wings. At the very peak, he sped up, hammering his tool into place, breaking the gentility of our encounter.

I cried out, thrust over the edge into an abyss of pleasure. We came as one, grinding together in our relief. I felt my inner muscles grip his cock, pulsing around him with infinite delight. He pressed forward, emptying himself into me, crawling even deeper.

I inhaled triumph, weary from the journey. He relaxed on top of me, dropping his head into the space between my neck and shoulder. I felt the comforting weight of his body, his cock still inside me, and drifted deliciously toward slumber. The last thing I remembered was Porter disengaging, helping me find the pillow and climb beneath the covers. I fell asleep with his arms around me, safe and sound after a whirlwind of a day.

29

PORTER

The morning after, I woke up before I was scheduled to be at work. I didn’t know how—something about being sober and responsible had brought me from a deep sleep to wakefulness. Gina’s bed was softer than mine, her comforter more luxurious. I opened my eyes to find her tucked beneath my arm, her hair fanned out across my chest.

I tried to extricate myself from her without waking her, but she stirred the moment I pulled my arm from under her.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m supposed to be at work today. I need to call your dad.”

Gina frowned for a moment before saying, “No, I should call him. He needs to know what happened with George. And since I have no intention of letting you go, we might as well tell him about us too.”

I was both nervous and excited about this prospect. “Are you sure?” I asked her.

“I’m sure,” she nodded.

Gina dialed her dad’s phone and relayed the information of what had happened the night before and that George was in police custody. After that part of the conversation was over, she said, “And, Dad, there’s something else you should know.” Putting her phone on speaker, we told her father that we were a couple.

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