Page 15 of Curves for the Mountain Man

“No,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. “Please, don’t stop ever.”

“Fuck,” he grimaces. “But I can’t be what you deserve. Everything I touch, I hurt or lose. I can’t risk that with you. I can’t … ruin you.”

I palm his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. Overwhelming lust pulses between us. Thick tension impregnates the air, making it impossible to breathe. I need everything about this man—the strength, warmth, and safety he embodies.

This Ranger chose to run toward pain and ugliness to save me. Unlike my father, who abandoned me in so many ways after my parents’ divorce … and every other man who disappointedme after that. I need Roscoe, my savior and angel, with every ounce of my being—the man who makes me feel everything all at once.

“You can’t ruin or hurt me, Roscoe. I won’t allow it.”What a lie!The words tumble out of my mouth, spurred by soul-deep craving. “Please. Don’t. Stop.”

His right hand slides inside my panties, his fingers gliding through my drenched folds. I moan, my head falling back as my hips strain toward his seeking fingers. The cave quiets, our fast-paced breathing and the crackling of the fire the only sounds. “You need me, Sweetness. You’re fucking drenched.”

Sweetness.He’s never called me this before, and I love it. My breath catches in my throat as his skilled fingers explore my folds, teasing the top of my mound. Dousing his fingers in my slick arousal, he circles my clit with his thumb, robbing the breath from my lungs.

“Yes, Roscoe. Please,” I pant, my eyes rolling back in my head. So much has happened in less than twenty-four hours. So many dramatic emotions have gripped me. I need to feel alive after being so certain I would die. I need to feel loved and cherished and as wild as the forest caching us. I need this man to invade and claim.

“I’m clean,” he growls, gripping my hip with his free hand.

“Me, too,” I gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs. I’ve never wanted a man so much in my entire life. I feel like I’m walking through a dream, unable to process anything apart from passion of the blackest and most powerful stripe.

“Goddamn, I need you so much. Beyond all reason,” he declares, lifting my hips so that I hover over him, straddling him on my knees as he tugs off his boxer briefs and recrosses his legs. My throat thickens, my heart pounding out my demand. I exhale sharply at the sight of his rock-hard erection. Without hesitation, he grabs my hip with one hand, using his thumbto recklessly push my panties to the side as he runs the tip of his cock through my wet folds, lightly penetrating me. I exhale sharply, shocked by the unaccustomed pressure and stretch.

His eyes flash to mine. “Wait. You’ve done this before, right?”

“Shh,” I urge, past words and reason. Biting my bottom lip, I use gravity to sheath his rod in one brash, downward thrust, the slickness of my pussy seating him completely inside me. I’m still semi-numb from the cold, which deadens some of the pain. But an acute sting stutters my inhale, and fat tears spring to my eyes. I bury my head against his neck, trembling and silently screaming out anguish as my fingernails dig into his muscular, scarred back.

He grimaces, a deep growl rumbling through his chest. “Dammit, Ginger,” he curses, shaking his head and pausing as if he’s weighing his options. “Fuck.”

“Please don’t stop,” I gasp, trying not to sob.

He growls again, low and quiet like a warning. Silence fills the cave, and my heart breaks, tears flooding my cheeks. I can’t meet his gaze, certain I’ve lost him with the move meant to keep him. I swallow hard, shivering in his lap.

“Please don’t stop,” I rasp again, regret seizing me.

Snagging his finger under my chin, he forces me to look at him. A battle between anger and tenderness rages in his face. The corners of his mouth point down. “Why did you do that?”

I shake my head, horrified by my impulsive action. “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

He takes a few deep breaths, his whole body taut as fear washes over me.Is he about to reject me? Will he hate me for what I’ve done?

After an interminable silence so tense my chest shudders and struggles to breathe, he runs his hands into my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his fingertips and pressing his forehead to mine with his eyes closed. I immediately relax inhis arms, finding my home in the waves of comforting energy flowing from him.

So many acts of compassion have marked my time with Roscoe, but this one wrecks me in the most beautiful way.

Tears pour over my bottom lashes as he urges my head gently toward his, licking the salt from my cheeks before covering my lips with his. Unlike everything we’ve done so far, animalistic and primal, his lips explore mine tenderly, his tongue sliding gently between my parted lips to kiss me like a lover.

My heart stops in my chest as warm waves of affection wash over me, his mouth moving over mine sensually and slowly like I’m his everything. It cements what I already know in my soul. That I love him, well past logic or moderation, in a reckless, impulsive, hellbent fashion. I don’t know how else to do it with him.

His hands caress my flesh, leaving goose-bump trails as a newfound sweetness transforms his movements. It feels like lovemaking, not fucking, his breath warming my cheek.

He showers my face in kisses, inviting me, “Hold onto my neck, Sweetness, and ride me at your own pace. Use my body to make yourself feel good. Take what you need from me. There’s nothing I won’t give you.” He murmurs the last sentence gruffly, his voice tender but controlled.

“I’m sorry,” I sob, staring into his cerulean eyes.

Anger and shame vanish as he whispers, feathering my face with his impossibly soft, kissable lips, “People do crazy stuff when they’ve been through what we’ve been through … when they feel what we feel.”

Feel what we feel?I part my lips to ask what he means, but before I can, his tongue slides into my mouth again, toppling my ability to communicate or think as he swirls and sweeps me into bliss. I tremble in his arms, heating from the inside out, enveloped in an intimacy so powerful and intense that Roscoe nolonger feels like an entity separate from me. His heart is open in ways I’ve never felt before, his body radiating connection.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice awe-filled and trembling, his eyes peering so deeply into mine that I feel like our souls weave together. He pushes a stray hair off my face, palming my cheeks and gently wiping the tears from my eyes as I move over him tentatively, my body hesitant after the initial penetration. “Put your hand on my heart,” he commands. “I want you to feel my soul.”

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