Page 43 of Protector of Talon Mountain

His mouth doesn’t leave mine.

Even as his weight settles over me, even as his hand slips beneath the hem of my sweater to find bare skin, he kisses me like he’s claiming something. Like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting and now that he has me, he’s not wasting a single second.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy all day,” he rasps against my throat, lips brushing my jaw as he pushes the sweater up and over my head. “Coming to work with your hair down. Lip gloss. That goddamn sweater.”

I shiver as he drags his mouth down to my collarbone, biting just hard enough to make me gasp. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything.” His voice vibrates against my skin. “And I’m done pretending I can ignore it.”

His hand finds the clasp of my bra, pops it with ease, and I can barely catch my breath before he’s kissing a path down my chest, teeth grazing one tight peak while his thumb teases the other. The sensation punches straight through me, raw and electric.

“Zeke,” I breathe, arching beneath him.

He groans low in his throat, a sound that reverberates through my whole body. “Say it again.”

“Zeke,” I repeat, shakier this time.

He slides lower, kisses the soft curve of my stomach, his hands everywhere at once—stroking, gripping, steadying. He peels my jeans down my legs, his movements rough but reverent, like he’s trying to memorize every inch as he goes.

I reach for his shirt, tug it up, and he lets me. It clears his head in one fluid motion, and suddenly all that hard muscle I’ve imagined in stolen glances is right there, mine to touch.

God.

I drag my palms down his chest, feel the tight flex of his abs, the rise and fall of his breath. He’s hot. Solid. Unshakable. And right now—he’s mine.

“I want all of you,” I whisper.

“You have me,” he answers, voice like gravel. “You’ve always had me.”

Then he lowers his head again and slides my panties down, slow and deliberate. When his mouth replaces the heat of his fingers, I cry out—hips bucking, fingers tangling in the sheets. He holds me down with one hand on my thigh, his other arm braced beside me, tongue teasing in tight, devastating circles that have me writhing within seconds.

“You taste so good,” he growls against me. “Sweet. Addictive.”

My hands find his hair. I’m shaking, legs trembling, and he doesn’t stop. Not when I beg. Not when I moan his name like it’s the only word I know. And when I come, it’s like falling. Like free-falling through something too big to hold.

This is the spark that sets the wildfire ablaze.

11

ZEKE

Ifeel it when she shatters beneath my touch, her entire body seizing with an electrifying intensity—a symphony of sensation crashing through her. Her hips jerk violently, an involuntary dance of raw desire, while her thighs quiver uncontrollably like autumn leaves caught in a hurricane.

Each breath explodes into desperate gasps, spilling into the air with an ethereal resonance, as though something sacred is being unleashed. She screams my name, a sound that reverberates through the charged atmosphere between us, and I hold her firmly, grounding her as relentless waves of ecstasy surge through her.

I refuse to hurry her through this exquisite unraveling; I want her to feel every thundering pulse echoing like a distant storm, every deliberate drag of my tongue tracing pathways of fire, every precise flick of pressure that sends shivers cascading down her spine. I want her to remember this moment forever, as if carving it into stone—to know what it’s like to be utterly dismantled by someone who genuinely cherishes their work, someone who understands devoted artistry and the beauty of surrender.

As her body finally surrenders under my relentless touch, I know I’ve etched an indelible mark on her soul. In the most profound way imaginable.

Sadie arches, her spine a perfect, graceful arc, and cries out my name as if it’s the only word she can recall. I revel in every second of her surrender—memorizing each tremble and gasp, the exact way her fingers grasp the sheets with frantic desperation. That orgasm, a reckless masterpiece of beauty, belongs to me. I forged it for her. And now that I’ve witnessed this, felt this, I crave more. I yearn to claim every part of her, to possess her entirely.

She's still trembling when I finally pull back, my lips glistening with her honey, my jaw tense with the effort of holding back. I plant a lingering kiss on the tender inside of her thigh, then trace another gentle kiss along the soft curve of her hip. Her skin is a tapestry of warmth, flushed and slightly damp, radiating heat that seeps into my palms. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. She looks utterly undone—in the most exquisite way imaginable.

“Zeke…” she whispers with her eyes closed and skin aglow, her breath still catching on the edges of her voice. Her soft limbs collapse beneath her, every muscle sinking into the mattress, wholly undone.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” I murmur back, my voice a low promise as my lips begin their slow pilgrimage up her belly, leaving trails of sensation in their wake, lingering as they discover each of the places where she responds most fully.

I savor the softness of her skin, the warmth beneath it, kissing each rib and curve with the kind of devotion only she can draw out of me. I can feel her heart race then slow, her ragged breath hitch as I tease her with light brushes of my mouth, gently anchoring her back to me with every touch, every whisper.

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