Page 21 of Protected By the Mountain Man

Instead, my thoughts stubbornly clung to Gabe. I bit my lip, letting out a sigh. My hand, almost of its own accord, began to trace the contours of my body, gliding over wet skin.

“Damn it…” I whispered, knowing this was wrong, hating that part of me didn't want to stop. My fingers lingered on my breasts, circling with a touch that grew increasingly purposeful. Heat coiled deep in my belly, spreading down to where my hand now rested. I swallowed hard, the reality of how many feelings I'd repressed crashing into me. My fingers dipped lower, exploring with a hesitant touch that quickly found a rhythm.

“Fuck…”

I found myself leaning back against the cool tile wall, my breath hitching as my mind conjured up images of Gabe stepping into the cascading water. What tattoos were hidden beneath those clothes? I pictured ink snaking across his broad shoulders, down his solid arms—each mark telling a story I suddenly yearned to read.

My hand moved frantically now, driven by those forbidden thoughts. I wanted him. God, I wanted him, and I despised myself for it. He was just down the hall, within reach…

Imagining his hands on me, rough and yet so tender, I lost myself in the fantasy. My pace quickened, breaths coming out in sharp moans. The thought of him touching me, soothing the wildness inside with a touch, it was intoxicating.

The way he’d spoken to Shadow, in that low, rough voice…I could imagine him using that tone with me.

“Easy…good girl…”

My mind painted a vivid scene; riding him, feeling that rugged body under mine.

How would he hold me? Would it be with restraint or a desperate need mirroring my own?

His name slipped past my lips. “God, Gabe…”

I tipped over the edge without warning, overwhelmed by the fantasy of Gabe inside me, his hands on me, his tongue tracing my lips. Pleasure crashed over me in waves, and I stifled a cry, gripping the edges of reality as the fantasy shattered, leaving me gasping and alone in the shower.

Dragging myself out from under the water, I fought to steady my breath. I wrapped a towel around my body, chastising myself for the fantasy. With every tingling sensation fading from my skin, remorse sank its claws in deeper.

He was my enemy. He’d hurt my family. He’d hurt me.

“Damn it, Kat,” I muttered, toweling off with more force than necessary. This wasn't me—I didn't lose control, especially not over Gabe Mitchell, of all people. The guy who'd made my life hell now had me coming undone with just the thought of him? Pathetic.

But my hand paused on the bathroom doorknob as I went to leave, heart revving up again. It would be so easy. Just a few steps. He might even be waiting, hoping…

No. No way I was going to be that girl—the one who threw herself at a guy because of some deluded, post-orgasmic haze.

In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin as if they could shield me from my own desires. Sleep would come, eventually. It had to. Because the alternative—that I'd lie awake all night, yearning for something that could only end in disaster—that wasn't an option.

Not for me.

NINE

Kat

Gabe…Gabe’s hands on my hips, his cock buried inside me, his lips on mine. “More…” I gasped. “More…”

I jerked awake, breaths coming in short gasps. That dream had been graphic. My cheeks flushed as I looked around like someone might have seen me.

Nope. I was all alone in my bedroom.

Still, I had this horrible sense of shame. Gabe was here in the house last night…and I had some absolutely filthy fantasies about him. I touched myself thinking about him, came with his name on my lips…

I was a monster.

A horny, traitorous monster.

It took me a few minutes to recover, pulling my fluffy plaid robe on over my thin tank top and shorts, trying to put a face on like I wasn’t thinking dirty thoughts. It was only once I’d cleaned up my thoughts that I trudged into the kitchen, blinking at the morning light. Livy was at the table, a plate covered in syrup in front of her.

I frowned. “Did you cook?”

“Uh-uh, Gabe did,” Livy said. “He made us both pancakes.”

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