Page 25 of Running to the Mountain Man

“I feel like I want to do more with you,” I say, blushing and burying my face against his shoulder and neck. “But my hips are a little sore from that position.”

Barrett growls, running his hand over my aching hip, massaging the sore muscles.

“I got you,” he says.

Without another word, Barrett stands, sweeping me up in his arms. Unlike me, he has zero struggles with the stupid recliner.

He carries me to the bedroom. I would never let anyone baby me or physically manipulate me the way he does now. No one should trust a mountain man they just met, but my body is in charge now. I meant what I said when I asked him to do what he wants with me.

The bed is still warm when he sets me down on my side. I sit up and watch him position a fluffy pillow in front of me.

He’s already seen and touched nearly all of me. I’ve never been naked in front of anyone before—not even my friends when we’ve sneaked away to swim in the creek—but I feel no shame when I whip the flannel shirt off over my head.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he says, patting the pillow.

It would all feel very clinical if I couldn’t see the dark need in Barrett’s pale eyes. His lightly fuzzy chest heaves as he watches me.

I do as he says, lying on my stomach, the pillows under my hips. I look back at him. He scrubs his hand over his chest—that hand he used to pleasure me a minute ago. The thought sends a shiver of pleasure and wonder down my spine.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Wearing your pussy scent on me.”

Well, I did ask. Weirdly, it fascinates me more than unsettles me.

“You mean…you like that?”

“Sweetheart, you smell like heaven to me. And I know you’re going to taste like it too.”

My mouth drops open. “Taste?”

“Tell me if you don’t want that.”

I never thought about it before.

“I do if you do.”

“It’s my favorite thing in this whole godforsaken world.”

“Will I enjoy it?”

He lowers himself on the bed, hovering over me on his knees while he massages the backs of my thighs. It feels so good that I’m starting to get deeply aroused all over again.

“Remember what we talked about?”

I nod. “If I don’t like it, then you stop?”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

“What do I…do, though? To make sure you like it?”

He laughs. “Be my pillow princess. Head down, booty up. Let me take care of everything.”

I rest my cheek on a pillow just like he says, with my arms relaxed next to my head. I wasn’t expecting a full-body massage, but the special attention he pays when he reaches my hips is so lovely and thoughtful, my eyes well up.

I dab away the tears on the pillow because I don’t want to have another discussion about my possible non-enjoyment of this. I swear to god, if he says anything about consent again, I’ll mule-kick him.

Maybe I should talk to someone about my violent impulses.

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