Page 8 of Ten Mountain Men

“I’m wearing my good pants,” is what I say to this woman, who somehow managed to fall so that she’s on top of me.

“You’re wearing pants,” she says, amazed.

Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? Oh, maybe because my brothers gave the impression that we’re one big nudist colony up here.

I’m covered in mud, she’s covered in mud. She reaches up, wiggling her body until she’s straddling my hips, and my breath catches in my chest as she attempts to wipe the mud off my cheeks with her even muddier fingers—smearing it into my beard, I’m sure.

I’m on my back and she’s on top of me, this woman, this total stranger, tenderly touching my face. She peers down at me, amazed.

I just wanted a damn sandwich and some damn stew.

“Could you not?” I demand, swatting her tiny little hands away like they’re a hoard of damn mosquitoes.

Then those hands are on my chest.

Well, fuck. I’m not old enough for a heart attack, surely. But I’m not exactly a young buck anymore, either.

“God, your pecs,” she murmurs, raking her fingers through my chest hair, making me wish I was wearing my good shirt with my good pants. Or any shirt, actually.What. The. Fuck.“I can’t believe how close I am…”

Her thumb grazes my left nipple and…oh no, not now. My cock is more than happy to remind me that forty-two isn’t very old, that my body still has a lot of life in it, the way it hardens underneath her perfect, plump, squeezable ass.

The way her eyes fill with more intrigue by the second makes me want to push up against her, return her caresses.

Which really pisses me the fuck off.

“Would you kindly get off of me?”

I do not say it kindly, but I do not fucking care, because this woman needs to fucking go.

Instead of listening, her lips part and she licks them with her pretty pink tongue. So goddamn pink. Fucking glistening to boot. “I…I think I hit my head, or maybe it was the spider’s venom but…are you real? You can’t be.”

Her eyes are so big, so blue. So…lovely, actually. A lot of us have blue eyes, but I’ve never seen blue eyes in a shade quite this bright before. Her pupils are a bit dilated, giving her a slightly dazed look. She has a knot forming on her forehead. From the way my right kneecap is throbbing, I think I can figure out what she knocked that noggin on.

But even though she looks like she’s about to sprout a horn, she’s incredibly attractive, this woman, which makes me like her being here even less.

“Your pecs are so…wow. You’re not as furry as I remember, though. But chiseled. You’re so chiseled.”

She pets my shoulders, my biceps, like I’m a damn dog. Her touch sends heat sparking through my blood.

All of which seems to be filling my cock now. It’s never felt this engorged, this fucking hard.

And my cheeks. I’m blushing like a fucking teenager—what the hell? I’m thankful for my beard, which will at least keep anyone from seeing the pinkened flesh beneath.

“How did I manage to find so many glorious specimens of Bigfoot right away?”

Her voice is like a sexy purr, but her words hit me like someone’s tossed a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.

“But not a full colony,” she continues, quizzically. She sucks her lip in between her teeth for a second. “Just the males. How fascinating. Perhaps there are females back at their…cave? Nest?”

I have no idea who she’s talking to, but she’s so beautiful that I can’t manage to do more than glare at her intrusion, though my mind does catch on the wordBigfoot. Fucking fuck.

I can’t have heard her correctly. I can’t have—

“Unless,” she says, wrinkling her brow, “I’m hallucinating all of this. Maybe I bumped my head too hard.”

“You did crack it pretty good,” I tell her.

“I did?” She touches her forehead, smearing mud across her creamy skin, pushing too hard on the lump. “Ow. Oh.”

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