Page 8 of Brooding Mountain Man

She removed her hand and returned her attention to her own marshmallow, which had gotten a little too scalded while she’d been helping me. Did that mean our connection had distractedher too? Was she feeling this? I sure as hell hoped so. Otherwise, I was in for a huge letdown.

“Once it’s done, you pull it off the heat,” she said. “Then grab one of the crackers and slide the marshmallow onto it like this.”

She demonstrated, following the marshmallow with the chocolate, then topping it with a graham cracker and smushing it all together. She then began blowing on it to cool it down.

“Oh fuck,” I said, yanking my marshmallow back.

I’d been so busy watching her and fantasizing about what that mouth could do to a certain part of my anatomy, I’d completely forgotten about my own marshmallow. It had definitely gotten too scalded on one side.

I grabbed one of the crackers anyway and slid the marshmallow onto it like she had. It didn’t go nearly as well. Some of the marshmallow dripped onto the blanket, and the chocolate didn’t center right before it started melting. But I topped it with the cracker and squeezed it all together, anyway.

“It was a great first practice round,” she said. “We’ll do another one in a second.”

She punctuated that with a bite out of the chocolate-marshmallow sandwich she’d created, closing her eyes and moaning as she chewed. This woman clearly had no idea what she was doing to me. How was a man supposed to concentrate on campfire cooking with all of this going on next to him?

“It should be cool enough now,” she said.

Her words pulled me out of another fantasy about her. In this one, she had her head thrown back and was lying flat on her back, eyes closed, lips parted as she moaned and whimpered in the throes of an orgasm I’d given her.

I quickly shoved too much of the s’more in my mouth to cover for where my mind had been. That was when I discovered it was indeed too hot for that much marshmallow consumption. My eyes watered as I quickly sucked in air to cool down the fooduntil I finally gave up and chewed and swallowed it as quickly as I could.

“You okay?” she asked. “Did you burn your tongue?”

I moved my tongue around in my mouth, looking upward as I did so. “Nope. Seems fine.”

I probably wouldn’t know until tomorrow, though it did already feel a little numb. This time, I blew on it before taking another bite.

And that was when I really had the chance to see what all the fuss was about. The combination of creaminess and chocolate with the crunch of the cracker made it just about the best thing I’d ever tasted.

Or maybe it was the company that enhanced everything right now. My senses were on full alert.

“Good night,” one of the couples called out to the other couple as they headed toward the door. The man had the blanket over his arm.

I couldn’t help but think, “Two down, two more to go.” I wanted this woman and this campfire all to myself, as selfish as it might seem.

“Ready for another?”

I was once again busted not paying attention. This time, my attention had drifted to the other couple, who were snuggled up under that blanket, eyes closed. Were they sleeping? If so, that didn’t bode well for them getting out of here and leaving me alone with this woman.

“Sure.” I busied myself with getting the marshmallow over the flame, my mouth already watering at the thought of another chocolate-marshmallow sandwich. “I think you’re getting me addicted to s’mores.”

“There are worse things you can get addicted to. Oh, thank God.”

At first, I wasn’t sure what brought on those last three words. But at that very moment, the couple on the other side of the fire breezed past us on the way toward the lodge. They said not a word to us, but that wasn’t really a surprise.

“Thank God?” I asked.

“You didn’t see them making out over there, I assume.”

No, I’d completely missed that. I’d been too busy making sure I didn’t turn my marshmallow into a charred, goopy mess.

But Georgia was relieved they were gone. Was she tired of watching them make out? No, they couldn’t possibly have been at it that long. Did that mean…?

She wanted some alone time with me?

I clung onto that thought—wishful thinking, for sure. But it definitely notched up my already lightning-fast heart rate.

“Want to taste?”

---