Page 15 of Chiseled Mountain Man

“You’re so wet, baby,” he said. “Is that for me?”

I nodded, my face brushing against his rough cheek. I heard the scraping noise it made, and it just added to the heat flowing through me. He slid his finger in deep, then withdrew before sliding it in again. Each time, he brushed my clit.

It felt so good, I thought I might come immediately. But an orgasm couldn’t happen that quickly. Not the first orgasm ever, anyway. I was pretty sure of that.

“Touch me,” I said.

It might not make much sense to him. Hewastouching me. I wanted him to do more of that thing that felt so good.

He must have gotten exactly what I meant, though, because he shifted his finger to my clit and began moving rhythmically over it. Slow, steady strokes—movements that were barely perceptible but enough to drive me over the edge.

“Oh, God, that feels so good,” I heard myself say.

It was like someone else was doing the talking. I didn’t even recognize my own voice. It was breathy, but lower-pitched than usual.

“Come for me, baby,” he said.

For a long, scary moment, I worried I wouldn’t be able to do that. Would he think I was flawed somehow if I couldn’t?

But those worries were drowned out by the intense sensations rolling through my body. I reached up to grab his shoulder, but my fingers landed on his chest instead, the soft flannel contrasting with the roughness of everything else about him.

“Ahh,” I cried out as air whooshed from my lungs.

And then my body was rocketing upward. Up, up, up into the sky. All I could do was hold my breath as my pussy began contracting under his touch.

Once the sensations subsided, I waited to go back to normal, but that didn’t happen. Instead, I felt better than any dose of alcohol or even my favorite indulgence—chocolate—had ever made me feel.

This was what sex was all about. And I couldn’t wait for Sean to show me more.

8

SEAN

She’s a virgin. She’s a virgin. She’s a virgin.

I had to keep repeating that to myself as Bronte turned and began unbuttoning my shirt. I couldn’t help but remember the way she’d undone her own buttons earlier. But I didn’t move to help her. No, I enjoyed watching her strip me naked, one button at a time.

As she shoved the shirt off me, her eyes widened. She scanned the length of my upper body, the appreciation in her gaze making me realize that all the hard work I’d done to get these muscles had been worth it.

I’d been paid for that work. It was a perk of the job. Manual labor not only burned a heck of a lot of calories, but it also worked muscles. I’d be naturally toned for the rest of my life, and it would be worth it to stay in shape for my woman.

“You’re the one who needs to be sculpted from wood,” she said, staring at my chest as she ran her hands over it. “I’ve never seen anything as perfect as what I’m looking at right now.”

I felt myself wanting to protest and held my tongue. If she was giving me a compliment, I’d sure as hell take it and savor it, reliving it every day for the rest of my life. Hopefully, I wouldn’thave to relive it, though. Hopefully, she’d be in my life, showing me every day just how hot she thought I was.

“Can I see it?” she asked, going straight for the fastening of my pants.

My upper half was bare, so it made sense, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the question she’d just asked. There was something so innocent about it, but incredibly hot at the same time.

“You can do anything you want, baby,” I said.

Did she mind me calling her baby? This was the third or fourth time I’d done it. The word just slipped out.

I’d never called anyone that before. I wasn’t the type to use terms of endearment. Most of my previous romances had been pretty casual. But if anyone was worth being called something sweet, Bronte was.

She looked up at me as she lowered my zipper and tugged down my pants. She only got them to my thighs before she reached up and pulled down my boxer briefs too.

My cock popped out, harder than I’d ever seen it. I hoped this woman knew what she was doing to me.

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