Page 23 of Mountain Protector

The kiss starts gentle, but that lasts only seconds. As soon as I respond, pressing closer and parting my lips, something in him breaks loose. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, exploring, and I meet him with equal fervor.

Clay’s other hand grips my hip, and suddenly I’m being moved, lifted onto his lap so I’m straddling him. The new position brings us flush against each other, and I can feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against me through our clothes. My body responds instinctively, rocking against him.

A deep groan rumbles through his chest.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re so sexy, baby.”

His hands slide under my tank top, calloused palms against the sensitive skin of my back. The contrast between his gentle touch and the roughness of his hands sends shivers racing down my spine. When his thumbs brush the sides of my breasts, I gasp into his mouth, shocked by how sensitive I am to his touch.

“I’ve thought about this since the moment I saw you.” His voice drops to a growl that makes my insides clench. “Standing in your shop, all fire and defiance. Wanted to see if you’d burn just as bright in my arms.”

His words ignite something in me I didn’t know existed—a primal need to be claimed, to be possessed. It should terrify me, this sudden surrender of control, but instead it feels like freedom.

“Show me,” I breathe against his lips, surprising myself with my boldness.

Something changes in his expression—a flash of something primal, possessive. His hands tighten on me, and when he kisses me again, it’s with a hunger that steals my breath. Gone is any pretense of the gentleman. This is pure, raw need.

His mouth leaves mine to trail hot kisses down my neck, finding a sensitive spot that makes me arch against him with a gasp. One of his hands slides up to cup my breast through my tank top, his thumb circling my nipple until it hardens beneath the thin fabric.

“This needs to go,” he says, his voice rough as he tugs at the hem of my top.

I reach down and pull the tank top over my head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. The cool air hits my bare skin, and I fight the urge to cover myself. No one has ever seen me like this before, and the vulnerability of the moment makes my heart race.

Clay’s eyes darken as they take in my bare torso, the colorful tattoos that decorate my skin. “Christ, Ruby,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “You’re a fucking masterpiece.”

His reverence eases my nervousness. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples in a way that makes me whimper. The sensation is so intense, so new, that I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“Don’t hold back,” he commands, his eyes locked on mine. “I want every sound. Every reaction. Everything you’ve been keeping to yourself.”

Then his mouth replaces one hand, hot and wet as he takes my nipple between his lips. The sensation shoots straight through me, a bolt of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I cry out, unable to contain it, my back arching to press myself closer to his mouth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my skin. “Give it to me. All of it.”

I’m lost in the sensations—his mouth on my breast, his hand kneading the other, the hardness of him pressing against me through our clothes. Every touch, every kiss is stoking a fire inside me that threatens to consume us both. My body is responding in ways I never knew it could, each new sensation more overwhelming than the last.

When his hands move to my hips, lifting me slightly so he can lay me down on the couch, I go willingly. He hovers over me, his powerful body caging mine, but I’ve never felt less trapped. His weight settles partially on me, one thigh between mine, creating delicious pressure exactly where I need it.

“Clay,” I gasp as he rocks against me, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

His response is to capture my mouth again, the kiss deep and consuming. His hand slides down my stomach to the waistband of my shorts, fingers teasing just beneath the elastic. When he pulls back to look at me, his eyes are dark with desire but questioning.

I nod, lifting my hips in silent permission, even as my heart hammers with a mixture of desire and nervousness. This is uncharted territory for me, and he seems to sense my hesitation.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, his voice gentler now but no less intense. “Trust me.”

And I do. Despite every wall I’ve built, every defense I’ve constructed, I trust him in this moment.

His fingers dip lower, finding me wet and ready. The first touch draws a gasp from me, my hips jerking involuntarily. No one has ever touched me there before, and the sensation is overwhelming.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his eyes watching my face as his fingers explore. “So perfect.”

His touch is confident, knowing exactly how to circle and press to make me gasp and arch beneath him. I’m shocked by how quickly my body responds, how easily he reads what I need before I even know myself.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says, his voice rough with desire as he watches me writhe beneath his touch. “Mine to pleasure. Mine to claim.”

His possessiveness should offend me—I belong to no one but myself—but in this moment, it only heightens my arousal. There’s something freeing about surrendering to him, about letting go of the control I cling to in every other aspect of my life.

When he slides one finger inside me, then two, curling them to hit a spot that makes me cry out, my body tenses with unfamiliar pleasure. The sensation is so intense, so new, that I clutch at his shoulders, unsure if I’m trying to pull him closer or push him away.

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