Page 31 of Rescued By the Mountain Guide

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We don’t stop.

Not for food. Not for rest. Not even when our limbs tremble from overuse and the room reeks of sweat and sex. The air is heavy—thick with need, raw from breathless moans and the slap of skin on skin.

He takes me again and again, each time rougher. Possessive. Each time, stripping away more of what I was before him.

He grabs me by the throat, dragging my back against the log wall. His hand fists in my hair. Yanks. A growl tears from his throat.

“Up.”

He lifts me in one brutal movement, thighs catching around his hips. His cock slams in—fast, punishing, devastating.

I cry out, fingers clawing at his shoulders, at air, at anything I can find as my back scrapes bark. He fucks me with purpose. With fury. With a promise I feel in my bones:You’re mine.

When I come, it’s with my face buried against his neck, teeth sinking into his shoulder to muffle the scream.

Later—much later—he lays me out on the cot again. The fire throws gold across the walls. My legs are weak. My pulse thunders.

This time, he kisses me slowly. Deep. Fingers threading through my hair as his mouth claims mine with aching tenderness. I moan into it, ready to give him anything.

But he pulls back.

Eyes sharp. Calculating. Dominant.

“Get on your knees.”

The word cracks through the space like thunder. I blink up at him, heart hammering. My body aches in all the right places. My lips are swollen. My thighs bruised. But his voice makes me throb all over again.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t push.

He just waits.

I hesitate.

A beat.

His gaze narrows—slow. Patient. Merciless. “That wasn’t a request,” he says, voice like dark velvet. “On your knees.”

The command pulses through me like heat. But still… I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to obey—but because I do. Too much.

His hand brushes the side of my face. Gentle. Reverent.

“Unless you’re going to say your safe word,” he says, low and firm, “you’ll get on your knees and put your mouth where it belongs.”

The breath leaves me in a shudder. Every inch of me tightens.

I drop.

He groans—low, wrecked, and glorious.

His cock is hard, thick, already waiting. I wrap my lips around the head, tongue swirling, eyes locked on his as I sink down. His hand threads into my hair, not forcing, just holding. Guiding.

I suck him slow at first—long, deep drags designed to undo him.

But he wants more.

And I give it.

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