Page 13 of How to Wed a Mountain Man

The whole drive home, I can’t stop stealing glances at my wife.My wife.The word fills my chest with a fierce and tender feeling. When we reach the cabin, I sweep Paige into my arms and carry her inside, her delighted laughter echoing through our home.

In our bedroom, I lay Paige on the bed and kiss her deeply, my heart pounding like mad with gratitude for everything this woman has already brought into my life. I’m one lucky bastard, and I’m never going to forget that.

My hands slide over my wife’s incredible curves, savoring every swell and dip of her body. As my fingers find and undo all her clasps and zippers, her fingers work at undressing me, too. Soonwe’re both stripped bare except for Paige’s little veil, the gauzy fabric resting softly against her auburn hair.

Paige wraps her thick thighs around me, her skin flushed all over. I take a moment to soak in how beautiful she is—fuck, I’m so infatuated with her. My cock throbs, and I reach down to fist it and guide it to her warm cunt. As I push into her, she gasps, her thighs clenching around me as I sink deeper. Christ, she’s so sweet.

I roll my hips, giving her a deep, hard stroke. Paige moans and lifts her lips to mine, aching for a kiss. I drop my lips to hers as I drive into her again, barely able to think straight through the pleasure of it all.

Every stroke brings me higher and higher into a heaven I didn’t know existed. Every stroke makes Paige moan louder, makes her fingers dig deeper into my shoulders. I can feel her right there with me, our bliss one and the same.

“Paige—” I choke out. “Paige, I love you.”

She lets out a sob of pleasure, her pussy squeezing desperately around my cock, milking me so hard I almost see stars. I pump roughly into her, a deep groan vibrating from my throat as I join her. A thick stream of cum shoots out of my cock, making a filthy mess of her, filling her up so much that my seed drips out of her.

It’s the first of a countless number of times I fill her up that night.

8

PAIGE

SIX WEEKS LATER

Ican’t stop smiling as I head to Hawk’s workshop, Courtney’s words still ringing in my ears. Inside, I find him exactly where I knew he’d be, hunched over his workbench with total focus. Warmth spreads through my chest at the sight of him—my husband, so perfectly in his element. I take a breath, steadying the excitement in my voice. “Guess who just had their baby.”

Hawk’s hands still on his latest piece, a red fox emerging from maple. The corners of his mouth lift as he sets down his chisel and turns to me. “I’m guessing from your smile that everyone’s doing well?”

“They’re all perfect.” I cross to him, and he pulls me onto his lap sideways so I can see his face, his strong arm settling around my waist. “Seven pounds, eight ounces. Courtney says Jordana did amazing, and Griffin only passed out once.” I grin. “He’s trying to claim it was because he skipped breakfast, but we all know better.”

Hawk’s quiet laugh warms me through. “Good for them. Little boy or girl?”

“A girl. They’re naming her Gwendolyn.” I lean against him, breathing in his familiar scent of sawdust. “Apparently she has Griffin’s eyes but otherwise looks just like Jordana.”

“I look forward to meeting her.”

His words surprise me. He catches my expression and shrugs, saying, “What? I’m not a monster. I can say hello to a baby.”

“Hawk…” I press a kiss to his jaw, his stubble rough against my lips. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Only for you,” he says softly.

“Well, I’m a lucky girl.” I run my fingers along his forearm, tracing a path through the sawdust coating his skin. “Can you break for lunch? I made that potato soup you like.”

“Absolutely.” He helps me up, then follows me out of the workshop. A gentle breeze carries the scent of wildflowers, and I breathe it in deep. Six weeks of marriage have only made me fall more in love with this mountain, with the quiet rhythms of our life here.

Inside our cabin—and it truly feels likeourcabin now—I ladle out two bowls of soup while Hawk washes up. The last six weeks have also continued to transform our cabin. It’s no longer just Hawk’s space softened by my decorative touches, but a true reflection of our life together—our coffee mugs from this morning still sitting side by side on the end table, our boots muddy from forest walks together, throw pillows permanently dented from where we curl up in our favorite spots on the couch each evening. Every corner holds evidence of our shared life, messy and perfect and ours.

“Smells good.” Hawk’s arms circle my waist from behind, and he presses a kiss to my neck that makes me shiver with delight.

I lean back against his chest. “This morning, while you were working, I reorganized the pantry. Found three different open bags of coffee. How do you even do that?”

“Poor organizational skills?” He reaches past me to grab his bowl, and I swat his hand away.

“Sit. I’ll bring it.” I gesture toward the table with the soup ladle. “And yes, your organizational skills are terrible. But I love you anyway.”

Hawk smiles. “Say that again.”

I turn around and meet his eyes. “I love you. Even when you leave your boots in the middle of the floor for me to trip over. Even when you get so caught up in your work that I have to drag you inside to eat.”

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