Page 26 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

Words fail me, replaced by inarticulate sounds as his fingers find sensitive places, drawing reactions my body can't disguise.

"Use your words, Cloe." The command comes gently but firmly. His eyes hold mine, seeking genuine consent amidst the haze of desire.

"You." The word encompasses everything. "All of you. Taking charge. Being…rough."

“Music to my ears.” His smile tilts, all satisfaction and promise—dark, dangerous promise.

It shouldn’t affect me like it does. But the moment those words leave his mouth, heat blooms low in my belly. A slow, molten flood that curls through me, twisting around my spine, stealing my breath.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

His expression shifts—wolfish, predatory. The kind of look that says he’s already undressing my thoughts and peeling back every layer of restraint.

“Interesting.” His fingers continue their torturous exploration, skimming over my ribs, dipping into the curve of my waist, and dragging slowly across the underside of my breast. He watches every reaction, listens for every catch in my breath, every unconscious whimper pulled from my throat. “How adventurous are you, city girl?”

My fingers dig into his shoulders, anchoring myself against the building sensations. “As much as you need me to be.”

That does something to him. I feel the shudder in his body. See the sharp flash of heat in his eyes. The restraint in him thins, cracks.

“Good.” He leans in, mouth brushing my ear, his voice a rasp that sends lightning straight down my spine. “I’m not soft. I’m not slow. And I’m not going to pretend this is anything less than what it is.”

"I know what this is."

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze head-on, blue eyes gone black with hunger. “So… Do you need a safe word?”

The way he asks it isn’t cruel. It’s careful. Intentional.

It’s a test and a gift.

“Should I?” I draw in a shaking breath. My pulse thrums hard against my throat.

His mouth lifts, just slightly. “I plan on pushing you. And you should know—I’ll stop the second you need me to. But if you don’t say it…” His thumb drags slowly across my bottom lip, gaze locked on mine. “I won’t stop.”

Everything tightens.

My body. My breath. The air between us.

I swallow hard, not from fear—but anticipation. And trust.

“Candy cane.” The word comes out quiet, steady. “If I need you to stop… I’ll say candy cane.”

He nods once. Approves. “Say it again. Let me hear it in your voice.”

“Candy cane.”

A pause. The silence electric.

“Noted.” His smile turns wicked. “Now, don’t fucking use it.”

He kisses me again—deep and claiming—and then he’s everywhere. Teeth and tongue, hands gripping, molding, guiding. His body moves over mine with a precision that borders on reverence but never loses that edge of wild intent. When he finally enters me, it’s one slow, brutal stroke that leaves me gasping, stretched, filled, and completely undone.

“God, Jackson?—”

“Feel that?” he growls, his hips grinding into mine. “This is how I’ll take you. All of you. Every time.”

The cot creaks beneath us, protesting the rhythm he sets—hard, deep, relentless. His hand slides under my back, lifting my hips to change the angle, and I nearly sob from the pleasure.

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