Page 60 of Ten Mountain Men

Then memories of the dream I was having creep in.

I was in a bubble bath. Lynx and Nash were with me, at either end of the tub, and I was between Lynx’s legs, my back against his chest. His hard cock was pressed against my ass. Nash massaged my feet while one of Lynx’s massive hands cupped my breast, his thumb teasing the pebbled nipple. His other hand was beneath the water, and his thick, strong fingers were urging my thighs to part…

Brooks was there too, standing in the corner, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and lazily stroking his cock with the other, while he stared at me with a desire in his eyes like nothing I’d ever seen before. He began to sing, softly.

Unbidden, I moan again.

Despite my desperate yearning to finish what I’ve started, I yank my hand out of my underwear. My whole body goes up in flames and I don’t know how all the Björnssons managed to sleep through my sounds, but thank the sweet Lord that they did. How embarrassing to be caught sleep-diddling!

I roll over onto my side, but that puts my butt right up against the front of someone’s bulging boxers. I’m in Buck’s bed, so it must be Buck. I flip onto my other side and scootch back a bit on the mattress only to find another pair of bulging boxers pressed up against my ass.

What on earth?

In an instant, the second bulge goes rock-solid against me. It might just be the biggest bulge that ever bulged. I bite down on my lip so I won’t gasp.

“We pushed the beds together,” a husky voice whispers. “Mine and Buck’s.”

Holy hell, I was sleep-diddling while in the middle of a Björnsson brother sandwich.

“Is that you, Clay?” I guess.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

Okay, so apparently not all of the Björnssons got the memo about the ma’am thing.

“Actually, Bucky pushed my bed and his together ’cause he wanted the two of you to have plenty of room,” Clay elaborates. “But it wasn’t right of him to just take my bed and I told him so. Then we decided there was plenty of room for all three of us. But we’re a bit more squished together than I thought we would be. You can probably feel that my manhood is harder than building a snowman in the middle of July right now, I’m ashamed to say, and I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

My body goes up in flamesagain. I’m two seconds away from total internal spontaneous combustion. It would be appalling if a guy in real life said that sort of thing to me…appalling and…odd. But here, now, with Clay…it’s refreshing. There’s something so endearing about his unabashed honesty. Sexy, even.

“Well, I mean…” I begin, flustered. I pull from the one episode ofGOOD SEX! with Dr. Mara LevineI worked on. As it turns out, the one episode was all there was, because Dr. Mara Levine was boring as hell. I bet she never even had mediocre sex, much lessGOOD SEX!“Morning wood is a normal function of the male reproductive system. It isn’t indicative of arousal. So no need for anyone to be uncomfortable here!”

“Well, yes, ma’am, I do suppose that’s true, but I assure you that this particular hard-on is indeed indicative of arousal. I’m aroused as all get out by you, ma’am. Mighty, mighty turned on.”

Well.

And then he adds, sounding embarrassed, but not really…the way I always coated my words with faux-guilt while apologizing to Mother over something I didn’t feel bad about at all, “Would you like me to go sleep on the couch?”

I know he only sounds embarrassed because he knows he should be, not because he is. I get the feeling there’s not much Clay takes seriously, and I like it. He’s the type who would make fun of his erection, not be embarrassed by it. But even though his embarrassment isn’t real, I can tell that his offer is genuine.

“No, I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed,” I tell him.

Have I mentioned his cock feels freaking huge?

I start silently reciting quotes to take my mind offthat.

Like a river flowing to the sea, let your actions be guided by the pull of your purpose.—Benoit Crane.

That’s the first one that pops into my brain, but the only river currently flowing is the one between my thighs, which I squeeze together.

Then he whispers, “Pardon me if I’m out of line, but if those moans were any indication, then I know you’re as aroused as I certainly am after hearing you…would you be interested in…maybe letting me…um…”

My brows pull together as I wait, wondering if he’ll finish what he has to say when it seems like he’s losing his nerve.

“Would I be interested in letting you…?” I prompt, and I sound breathless, like I imagine a sex phone operator would sound.

And I don’t mean to, but my impatience to hear the rest of what he has to say has me wiggling my butt into him.

Oh my Lord, he’s getting harder. How?

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