Page 11 of Mountain Man's Surrender

“More,” she murmurs, her pussy clenching as her legs wrap around my hips.

I start to move, slowly at first, then faster, harder, deeper. She meets me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my back, her moans urging me on. The bed creaks beneath us, but it barely registers. Aspen’s channel constricts around me rhythmically, her body on the brink of another orgasm as I struggle to delay mine.

“Come with me, Aspen,” I command, my voice rough. “Now.”

And she does, her body convulsing as I find my own release, my cock pulsing inside her. We ride out our orgasms together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths mingling.

In the long moments afterward, I hold her close, my body wrapped around hers, my heart pounding. The moonlight catches in her hair. She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, and in this moment, I realize why what I’ve doneis a mistake. Not because I gave her what she wanted and not even because of what Simon would think, but because I’ve lost my heart to this determined, headstrong, fearless young woman. And she’s going to break it.

Aspen

Sunlight,muchtoobrightfor this early in the morning, filters through the curtains, casting glaring golden rays across unfamiliar sheets. I blink slowly, my brow furrowing at the sight of rough-hewn log walls and the heavy patchwork quilt I’m tucked under. Then it hits me. The pine and musk lingering on the pillow, the pleasant ache between my thighs, and the delicious memories of Landry’s huge hands, his sensual mouth, and his generous cock on me and in me last night in the best possible way.

I stretch languidly and yawn. My body is sated but also somehow, still aroused. The bed is empty beside me, though, the sheets cool. How long has Landry been up? I pull over his pillow and wrap my arms around it, snuggling as I remember how perfectly we fit together, how gently he’d held me afterward, his heartbeat strong and steady against my back until I’d drifted off to sleep.

Outside, the storm has subsided. Through the glass panes, it’s a pristine world of glistening white. No car horns interrupt the peaceful quiet. There are no chattering neighbors through paper-thin apartment walls to be frustrated with, only the occasional creak of timber and distant birdsong. A steady drip-drip-drip from the eaves means the sun is already melting yesterday’s snowfall.

How quickly will the roads clear?Surely not fast enough to go anywhere today. The thought of returning to town, to reality, sends an unexpected pang through me. I push aside the thought and slide from the warmth of the bed, shivering as my bare feet meet the wooden floor.

My clothes are scattered across the room, but instead of gathering them, I tug on Landry’s flannel shirt draped over a chair. His scent clings to the soft fabric, and I pull the collar to my nose and drag in a deep breath, filling my lungs. My shoulders drop as I blow it out, long and slow like the grief counselor at hospice taught me. The shirt hangs to mid-thigh, the sleeves extending well past my fingertips. I roll them up and button the front, leaving a few at the top undone.

The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I pad down the hallway, toward the beckoning smell of freshly brewed coffee. I pause at the doorway to the kitchen, drinking in the sight of Landry. He stands with his back to me, a solid wall of muscle beneath a thin white T-shirt. Worn, faded jeans hang low on his hips, and his feet are bare. He’s a sight to behold, especially now that I’ve experienced, up close and personal, the goods hidden underneath the clothes. Landry’s all man and as fit as guys half his age. And boy, does he know how to use his body to please a woman.

The one-eyed cat sits on a bench at the kitchen table, watching as Landry pours steaming coffee into two mismatched earthenware mugs.

“Morning,” I say softly, not wanting to startle him.

He turns, and a series of raw emotions appear in his eyes. Surprise, then desire, and finally, something that’s dangerously close to regret, the last one sending an unwelcome quiver through me. His eyes travel down the length of my body, lingering on my bare legs before snapping back up to my face. His hands tighten on the coffeepot handle, lips pressed together, as he returns it to the machine.

“Morning,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Coffee?”

“Please.” I move into the kitchen, intensely aware of his gaze following me. Light streams through the small window above the sink, bathing the small space in warm rays.

The cat jumps down from the bench with a soft thud, weaving between our legs. When I step around the little guy, I accidentally bump against Landry’s chest. Heat radiates from him like a furnace, and the clean, masculine scent is stronger than the smell of coffee. For a heartbeat, I hold his gaze, his steel-blue eyes locked on mine. His hand lifts, the rough pad of his thumb brushing my hair back behind my ears. I can barely breathe.

“Cream’s in the fridge,” he tells me, dipping his chin toward the ancient appliance.

It’s not what I thought he would say, but then again, I’m unsure what I expected this morning. After all, we barely know each other.

Ignoring the twinge of disappointment, I retrieve the cream, and when I turn, Landry hands me a steaming mug, our fingers brushing in the exchange. That simple touch sends an electric current racing up my arm. His breath catches, and I know he felt it, too. His eyes, darker now, meet mine for a heated moment before he steps back, creating a void that somehow feels like miles but in reality, is only inches.

“About last night,” he begins, his tone firm as his eyes drop to the floor.

“It was incredible,” I interrupt, refusing to let him diminish what happened. “And before you say anything about it being a mistake, I want you to know I don’t regret it.” I take a step toward him, an attempt to eliminate the space he tried to create. “Do you?”

His gaze lifts to meet mine, his bushy brows pulled together. “I can’t help it. You’re Simon’s daughter and—”

“A grown woman who knows what she wants,” I finish for him.

“You don’t want me,” he insists, shaking his head.

“You don't know that.” The confession hangs between us, honest and raw. “I might be young, Landry, but I’m not innocent.”

A muscle works in his jaw, and his gaze lifts to my mouth. For a moment, I think he’ll kiss me. He wants to, I can tell, and I sway toward him. His hand grips my arm, and he leans in, his breath warm against my lips until the dang cat meows loudly. Landry blinks and releases me, stepping back and running a hand through his hair as he lets out a long sigh.

Damn.

“You’ll be pleased to know I fed the cat this morning.”

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