Page 25 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

“I’m going to spread you open on that cot,” he continues, his words dark and deliberate, each one striking like a match, “make you beg for it—my fingers, my mouth, my cock—until you can’t think straight. And then I’m going to fill you up so good you won’t remember why this was a mistake.”

Something primal flashes across his features. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, hands gripping my thighs as my legs wrap instinctively around his waist. The raw display of strength sends heat spiraling through me as he carries me the few steps to the narrow cot.

“You’re mine. Every inch. Every sound. Every fucking tremble.”

He lays me down with surprising care, then stands to remove his thermal shirt. The firelight plays across his torso, illuminating a landscape of muscle and scars—evidence of a life lived in constant negotiation with wilderness and risk.

"What happened?" My eyes widen at a particularly dramatic scar tracking across his left ribs.

There’s no way I’m walking out of this unchanged.

“Ice climbing accident. Five years ago.” His voice is steady, unbothered, like he’s recounting the weather. “Rock broke free, caught me on the way down.”

My fingers drift across the scar, the raised line stark against the heat of his skin. “Did it hurt?”

“Not until later.” He catches my hand in his and brings it to his mouth. Lips brush my knuckles, a kiss that feels more like a brand. “Adrenaline’s one hell of a drug.”

The air thickens. Heavy with heat. With want.

He lowers himself onto the cot beside me, our bodies pressed close by necessity and something far more dangerous. His weight, his warmth, the scent of pine and sweat and wood smoke—it coils around me like a drug of its own, making it hard to think.

His hand slips beneath the hem of my thermal top, sliding slowly across bare skin. Warm. Possessive. “May I?”

That simple question—gravel-rough and reverent—sends a bolt of arousal straight through me. The request, so formal amidst such intensity, pulls a smile from me.

"Please."

Clothing disappears in frenzied bursts and fumbling touches. Our movements are hampered by the cot's narrow confines. The cramped space turns every movement into friction, every brush of skin into fire.

Each newly revealed expanse of skin demands exploration—my fingers mapping the contours of his chest, his mouth discovering the sensitive hollow of my collarbone.

He groans when he gets my shirt off, like the sight of my bare chest physically knocks the air from his lungs. His hands span my ribs, thumbs grazing the undersides of my breasts like he’s memorizing the way I curve.

Jackson's restraint grows more evident with each passing moment—his breathing harsh, muscles tense beneath my wandering hands, yet his touch remains measured, controlled.

"You don't have to be so careful." My words emerge breathless as his lips trace the curve of my breast. "I won't break."

"Careful was before,” he growls. “This? This is what I’ve been holding back. I've wanted you since I pulled you up that cliff. I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. Hated myself for it, but fuck, Cloe… I want you so bad I ache."

Something shifts in his expression—a barrier falling, control slipping.

"And you will break," he says. "I can guarantee it."

The confession ignites something primal within me. My nails scrape lightly down his back, drawing a groan that vibrates against my skin.

"Show me."

Chapter7

Until You Break

Jackson’s mouthcovers my breast, hot and wet and unrelenting. One hand palms the other, thumb flicking over the nipple until I gasp and arch into him. His other hand grips my thigh, spreading me, anchoring me.

Jackson's careful restraint transforms into focused intensity. His hands grip my hips, positioning me beneath him with confident authority. His mouth claims mine in a kiss that borders on possessive, tongue demanding entrance I eagerly grant.

The dominant nature he's kept carefully leashed emerges fully now—in the authoritative press of his body against mine, the controlled strength in his hands as they explore every inch of me, the commanding tone when he murmurs directions against my ear.

"Tell me what you want." His voice drops to a growl that sends shivers racing across my skin.

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