Page 112 of Ten Mountain Men

My first instinct is to push him off me, get up, and tell him we need to take a beat. We need to put some distance between us, like miles, because this is supposed to be just friendship and sex.

Sex.

Sweet Lord, I want this man. In a right here right now sort of way.

He seems to be thinking the same thing, because one of his hands has wandered down to the button on my pants.

“Goldie,” he rasps, my name full of questioning. “Can I—”

“Please.” I wriggle beneath him, which I realize isn’t exactly helping him get me out of my pants. But somehow we manage to get me out of mine and him out of his while still kissing each other frantically.

A condom seemingly appears out of nowhere.

“Foreplay?” he asks.

“We’ve been there and done that, let’s go,” I say.

We don’t even bother with taking our shirts off. He rolls me onto my side and positions himself behind me.

“If I look at you while I’m inside you, I’m gonna fall in love.”

“Clay!” I cry.

“I swear it,” he says.

“Clay,” I say again. “No, you won’t.”

He’s joking. He’s joking.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

“Clay,” I say again, and this time I’m begging. My pussy is gushing for him. “Please, please, I want you.”

He doesn’t penetrate me. He doesn’t ease into me. He doesn’t take me. Heplungesinto me with no further warning, fucking impaling me with his massive cock. His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me against him firmly as he fucks me. He’s pounding into me so hard I think if he wasn’t holding on to me, one thrust’d send me rolling right down the mountain.

I hear myself screaming his name, but it sounds far away, like I’m underwater.

His mouth trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jawline and neck. And one of his hands releases its hold on me—oh, crapshit, I hope the next thrust doesn’t send me rolling right down the mountain. But then that hand he’s freed up snakes over my hip, between my thighs, and I’m trapped between his cock working my cunt and his finger working my clit and oh my God, I’m going to die. Can you die from pleasure? Is that a thing? My body is bucking and he’s grunting—wait, no, that’s me. I’m grunting like a wild and possibly rabid forest creature and I’m going to die from pleasure. I should probably tell him that I’m going to die, but I can’t find words, I can’t catch my breath.

But no, I realize, I’m not dying—I’m coming, coming apart and he’s coming with me. Our bodies are literally convulsing together and I don’t think it’s ever going to end. Like I’m just going to keep orgasming forever, like that girl I heard about that had the hiccups for twenty-eight years or whatever. I’m going to be orgasming for the next twenty-eight years.

And then I swear I must’ve blacked out for a minute, because the next thing I know, I’m empty. He’s not inside me anymore, but he’s got his arms wrapped around me from behind and he’s holding me tight against him and we’re both panting. It takes a few minutes before he says anything.

“Goldie,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, “I don’t want you to be just another notch on my bedpost. You’re…you’re…I want you to be my whole damn bed.”

I can’t speak. I mean, I literally can’t speak because he’s fucked the breath and the words out of me. But I need to utter some sort of protest.

“Make a joke,” I say, finally.

“This is no joke, Goldie. This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

“Clay.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s just friendship and sex. You’re out of here in two weeks. I know.”

I close my eyes, which, for some reason, fill with tears.

Chapter 35

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