Page 70 of Ten Mountain Men

For the first time in my life, I want something more than perfection. I want to be fucked. Forget fingers, forget tongues (actually, if I’m being honest, I really want to add some tongues), I want a man on top of me, his cock inside of me, breathlessly pounding his desire into me while I hold on to the headboard for dear life and cry out for more, more, because it doesn’t seem like there could be enough right now.

Maybe that’s even what Ineed.

What if there is no Mr. Perfect out there for me? What if there is no soulmate? What if my relentless pursuit for what I want is keeping me from ever getting what I need?

Buck is what I need. I woke up convinced of it. He’s the perfect choice. I mean, since he’s never actually gone all the way himself, he won’t know if I’m a terribly bad lover the way one of the more experienced guys would. I will actually probably die if I’m bad in bed. I’ve never been bad at anything!

I can’t fold my arms across my chest in resolve, because my arms are pinned down by Buck’s and Clay’s, but I firmly make up my mind.

I am going to ask Mr. Buck Björnsson for his V-card, and offer him mine in return. Yeah, there may be some fumbling since he’s had no practice, but I know without a doubt that man can satisfy me.

I snuggle closer to him. It takes a while, because excitement is shooting through me like fireworks. I no longer have to wonder when and how andifthe perfect time will present itself. I’m going to make my own destiny. Eventually I drift back off to sleep.

When I wake back up, this time, it isn’t to the sound of anyone moaning my name in their sleep—but to raised voices. Of course, the brothers rarely speak at a low volume. Unless they’re putting active effort into whispering, like during our pillow talk last night, their voices boom.

But this doesn’t just sound loud. It sounds…like an argument.

What the—?

I scramble out of bed and find a huge flannel shirt on the floor. Yank it on along with my underwear. Hurry out of the bedroom. Stand just out of sight, listening, because in order to ask the right questions, you need context.

Also…maybe I might hear something important, something they wouldn’t say if they knew I was awake and right around the corner.

“What could she possibly want from us, Luke?” one of them asks, exasperated. It’s Brooks. He has a smoothness to his voice the others don’t, like some of the roughness has been polished off. Like a late-night DJ giving lovelorn callers consoling advice. “That collection of 1970sPlayboysyou keep under your bed in the attic?”

Okay, well, that wasn’t something important I needed to hear.

“Luke thinks she’s a Sasquatch hunter,” Buck says.

Butthatwas absolutely something I needed to hear.

“Goldie? A hunter?” another Björnsson asks. Ash or Nash. They sound a lot alike and it’s hard for me to tell without seeing who’s speaking. He laughs. No, chortles. No, no, guffaws. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Before I can even process that, Grumpy Luke is speaking again. So instead of thinking, I bite my lip, shut off my whirring brain, and listen.

“Even if she’s not…she’s up to no good. I can feel it in my bones. And even if she’s not, even if I didn’t want her out as soon as she’s healed up, do you really think she’s going to want to just move up here on the mountain with you knuckleheads? She’s got a life wherever she’s from. A job. A boyfriend, probably. She’ll get whatever she came for and then she’ll rush off on her merry way. Leaving me with the pieces of nine stupid broken hearts to sweep up, no doubt.”

I continue listening and I feel a tickle of sadness—where did that come from?--in the back of my throat because I don’t really have a life where I’m from, or a job, or a boyfriend, but nonetheless, he’s right. I am not the type of girl who could live off-the-grid.

Am I?

“She told us she’s got no one. No real home. She’s adrift and doesn’t know what’s next for her,” Clay says. “So I don’t think she’s got anything to rush back to.”

The part of me who poured my soul out to Buck and Clay during a very vulnerable and intimate moment wants to feel outraged that he tells all of them that without asking me if it’s alright, but the part of me who built a career in reality television accepts that it’s just human nature and lets it slide. Then all of me realizes that the Björnssons are probably used to telling each other everything and I wouldn’t want them keeping secrets from each other—not even mine.

“She sounded a little bit lost,” Buck agrees. “I think she might stay awhile. If we ask her.”

“Fine. Let me know what she says. If the answer is yes, I’ll be moving out into the big cave ’til she’s gone,” Stupid Alpha-Bigfoot Luke says.

Wait, what?

I hear stomping feet, then someone mumbles something—of course, now’s the time for them to not boom.

“He could do it. He’s done it before,” Lynx said.

Wait…what? Grumpy Luke has left and lived in some cave before?

More stomping feet. More stompy this time.

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