Page 18 of Curves for the Mountain Man

Running his thumb over my clit again and pulling a deep groan from me, he says, “I like how you’re fully shaven.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s so fucking pretty and pink. Like a flower,” he says, splaying my lips open with his forefinger and thumb as the breath hisses in my throat. “And the way your clit sticks out when I do this … begging for me to suck it swollen. You turn me on so fucking hard.”

He laps my pearl to punctuate his statement, swirling his tongue around it greedily before sucking the nub gently into his mouth. I whimper, my hips straying towards his face, unable to string two words together. I thought what we did moments earlier was delectably carnal. But this move drives me mindless.

He chuckles. “You want that. Don’t you?”

“I want you, Roscoe, more than anything.” My eyes meet his, and I see tears swimming above the rim of his lower lashes. He needs to hear these words, so I repeat their sentiment. “I want you, Roscoe, and I need you.” My voice trembles at the end.

The corners of his mouth turn up, and he nods. “I need you, too. More than you could ever know.”

Before I can say another word, his velvety tongue covers my clit, lapping at me. The pressure is unrepentant and unrelenting as he swirls his tongue, slurping my pearl into his mouth and flicking it between his teeth with his tongue. His unruly beard tickles my inner thighs, the perfect contrast to his riotous tongue.

Stars invade my head, and delectable shivers slide up and down my spine as I relax into his possessive touch. I press my palm against my lips, muffling the primal cries he draws from me.

A deep growl wells up from his chest as he continues stroking and teasing me.

“Yes, baby, that’s what I need,” I pant, trembling at his passionate touch. “Please make me yours.”

He hesitates, and I kick myself for saying it like that. But instead of correcting me, repeating that he’s not good enough, he slides his fingers gently through my dripping folds as his tongue explores and tastes me.

“If this hurts at all, or you don’t like it, let me know,” he murmurs.

Penetrating me, his thick finger finds the rough spot at the front of my pussy that always undoes me when I masturbate. “I will give you everything you need. Everything in my power to give,” he promises. Is he talking about an orgasm or something else? The warm tenderness swimming in his eyes confuses and delights me.

He strokes me slowly and skillfully, his mouth teasing and taking me to ecstatic new heights. He makes me feel like the most desirable woman in the world…and the best tasting.

“God, the way your body responds to me, Sweetness… There are no words. Like it’s already mine. Like it recognizes my touch.”

I stifle a cry of pleasure as his finger and tongue send me soaring higher and higher toward some kind of nirvana. I feel unhinged, torn apart by my need for him, frantic to mate with him again and again. To feel alive and whole and make him mine, but I don’t know how to make him love himself, which must come first.

“I fucking love this pussy,” he says worshipfully, lifting his head to stare at me, his face flooded with warmth and tenderness. Something is happening between us, something so sacred and primitive that it requires few words. But each one is heavy with implication and meaning. It’s as if our souls are somehow already touching and communing with each other.

Desperation grips me. How do I hold onto these emotions? How do I keep this rugged mountain man forever?

Chapter

Eight

GINGER

“Give me your cock,” I command, out of my mind with lust.

“No, Ginger, this is all about you and your pleasure,” he replies, sinking his head into me with increased fervency.

“Please, Roscoe. I need to taste you, too. The thought of it has me so turned on, I feel like I could explode.”

I’ve only ever heard about sixty-nine from my friends. I don’t even know if I’ll be any good at it. But I can’t think of a position that better embodies the savage feelings welling up all at once for this man. And a deep-seated, indefatigable hope persists that if I can blow his mind, he’ll think twice about letting me go.

“Are you sure?” he grumbles in low, anticipatory tones.

“Yes, I need to taste you like you’re tasting me.”

“Fuck.” He hesitates.

I smile seductively. “Please.”

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