Page 15 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

Her mouth finds mine again, hot and insistent. The kiss deepens as her hands slip beneath my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back, exploring with deliberate appreciation that makes my skin burn.

I trail my mouth down her neck, addicted to the small gasps she makes when I find sensitive spots. "Been thinking about this," I murmur against her collarbone. "Been thinking about you in my bed since the moment you walked into the lodge."

"Liar," she laughs breathlessly as my hands push her shirt up. "You couldn't stand me then."

"Wanted you anyway," I admit, revealing a truth I've barely acknowledged to myself. "Wanted you even when I thought I shouldn't."

Her back arches as my mouth captures her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. I take my time with her breasts, learningwhat makes her squirm, what makes her moan, what makes her fingers tighten in my hair.

"Jace," she gasps, my name a plea on her lips as I drag my beard gently across her sensitive skin. "Please."

I work my way down her body, worshipping every inch of her. The softness of her stomach, the flare of her hips, the strength in her thighs as they part for me. When I settle between her legs, she props herself up on her elbows, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," I interrupt, holding her gaze. "Been dreaming about how you taste."

Her head falls back with a moan as I put my mouth on her. The taste of her, the sounds she makes, the way her thighs tremble against my shoulders—it all combines into something overwhelming, something that feels like more than just desire.

I take my time, using my tongue and fingers to drive her higher, memorizing every response. When she comes apart against my mouth, calling my name like a prayer, it feels like a victory more significant than any mountain I've conquered.

Before she's fully recovered, I move up her body, unable to wait any longer. She welcomes me with open arms, wrapping her legs around my waist as I push into her in one long, slow thrust.

"Christ, Elisa," I groan, the sensation of her tight heat around me almost too much to bear. "You feel perfect."

Her hands frame my face, bringing me down for a kiss that's achingly tender. "Move, Jace. I need you."

I set a rhythm that's deep and deliberate, wanting to make this last, wanting to burn every second into my memory. Her body rises to meet each thrust, her arms and legs wrapped around me like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.

"Look at me," I command softly when her eyes flutter closed. I need to see her, need the connection of her gaze locked with mine as our bodies move together.

When she opens her eyes, what I see there steals my breath—vulnerability, trust, and something that looks dangerously like what I'm feeling. Something I'm not ready to name.

"You're incredible," I tell her, meaning more than just the physical sensation. "So beautiful. So perfect."

Her inner muscles clench around me at the praise, drawing a groan from deep in my chest. I slide a hand between us, finding the spot that makes her gasp, determined to feel her come again with me inside her.

"That's it," I encourage as her breathing quickens, as her nails dig into my shoulders. "Let go for me, Elisa. Want to feel you."

It’s all I can do to hold on, watching her eyes roll back as she comes, shuddering. The rhythmic pulse of her body around me pushing me over the edge I've been fighting. I bury my face in her neck as I come, her name a rough whisper against her skin.

In the aftermath, I hold her close, unwilling to break the connection between us. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, her breathing gradually slowing to match mine. This feeling—this contentment, this sense of rightness—is as unfamiliar as it is powerful.

"What are you thinking?" she asks softly, her lips brushing my shoulder.

The truth rises to my lips before I can stop it. "That I don't want this to end."

I feel her still beneath me, and for a moment I regret the admission. But then her arms tighten around me, and she presses a kiss to my throat that feels like understanding.

"Me neither," she whispers.

The simple reply carries more weight than any passionate declaration could. I roll to my side, bringing her with me,keeping our bodies connected as I face the terrifying possibility that what I'm feeling might be reciprocated.

As she curls against me, her head finding its place on my chest as if it belongs there, I realize I've never felt more exposed—or more complete. This woman, with her city ways and her meticulous planning, has worked her way past every defense I've built around myself.

And against all logic, I don't want those defenses back.

seven

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