Page 23 of The Mountain Man's Runaway Bride

We collapse to the ground.

We lie there on the floor. Panting for breath. Wrapped in each other. Bathing in the aftermath of what we’ve shared.

He pulls me close, cradling me against his chest as he brushes his lips against the top of my head. My heart clenches.

There’s no going back after this.

EIGHT

KNOX

A warm hand wraps around my cock, and my eyelids flutter.

“Mmm.” I sigh and rub my head back into my pillow as the hand strokes me. I’m already painfully hard. “That feels good, baby.”

“You like that?” Quincy asks,

“You know I do.” I open my left eye so I can look at her. She’s propped herself up on one elbow.

Her hair is a mess, still tussled from our activities last night. She isn’t wearing a lick of makeup, but she’s better than any beauty queen to me. The covers are gathered around her waist, giving me a good view of her full breasts while her fist pumps me.

“I like everything you do.”

“Even this?” She gives a little squeeze.

“Yeah.”

“How about this?” She rubs her thumb over the top of cock, spreading the pre-cum around it.

I groan and nod.

“I wonder what you’ll think about this.” She pushes the covers down even more and lowers her head over my groin.

Looking up at my through her thick eyelashes, she wraps her lips around me. Her mouth is warm, moist. Like the waterfall, it’s another oasis that stirs my soul.

And just like everything she does, when Quincy puts her mind to using that mouth, she doesn’t mess around.

Later, after we’ve each come twice, she shoos me outside for my morning walk. Morning in the mountains has its own kind of quiet. No hum of cars. No buzz of city lights winding down. Just the soft rustle of trees, the call of a bird, and the rhythmic crunch of the ground beneath my feet.

As I take in the usual sights and sounds of my little piece of wilderness, it’s impossible to note how different it all feels.

So much has changed in the past few days. Hell, nothing has been the same since Quincy stepped off that plan a week ago.

I don’t know what last night was supposed to mean. Or this morning. I just know it meant something. Something real.

It’s changed my whole damn world forever.

And that scares the hell out of me.

Anxiety masking itself as adrenaline pumps through my veins. I need to do something. Anything to burn off this energy.

Grabbing my axe, I tackle a pile of logs that have been curing and waiting to be chopped into logs.

I’m stacking firewood when Quincy wanders outside wearing another one of my flannels. Like the others, it’s too big and she’s rolled up the sleeves to keep them from falling over her hands.

She’s also pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail. She looks better than anyone should in flannel—my flannel.

She doesn’t say anything at first, but picks up a log and brings it over like she’s done it a hundred times.

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