Page 19 of My Ex-Military Mountain Man

"Jack! What are you—"

"Taking you somewhere private," he says, already striding purposefully toward the main lodge. "Unless you'd prefer to stay in full view of the sanctuary?"

His playfulness is unexpected and charming, revealing yet another layer to this complex man. "Privacy seems advisable," I agree, my arms linking around his neck.

Max trots alongside us, looking up with curious eyes as Jack carries me across the grounds. As we reach the main lodge, I look down at Max.

"Stay," I command firmly.

Max sits obediently at the doorway, his expression almost comically disappointed as Jack carries me inside.

The interior of the lodge feels different now. No longer just a professional space but somewhere intimate, personal. Jack moves through it confidently, carrying me down a hallway I haven't seen before, to a door at the far end.

His bedroom is surprisingly spacious but simply furnished. A large bed dominates the space, with handcrafted bedside tables and a dresser that match the style of the furniture throughout the sanctuary. A large window offers a spectacular view of the mountains and forest beyond.

Jack sets me gently on the edge of the bed, then steps back, his eyes never leaving mine as he grasps the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head.

I draw in a sharp breath at the sight of him. His body is a testament to both discipline and hardship. Perfectly defined muscles across his chest and abdomen, powerful shoulders andarms, all marked by the scattered evidence of his past. Surgical scars create a map of survival across his torso, telling a story of trauma and recovery that only enhances his raw masculinity.

"You're beautiful," I say, the words escaping before I can consider them.

Jack looks genuinely surprised, his hand moving instinctively toward the most prominent scar on his left side before stopping himself. "Not the word most would use."

I stand, closing the distance between us. "Then most people aren't looking properly."

My fingers trace lightly along his collarbone, down to the ridge of scar tissue that extends across his ribs. He remains perfectly still, his breathing measured as if bracing himself.

"These are proof of life, Jack," I whisper. "Of survival. Of strength."

His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing gently across my cheek.

"Nicole," he says, my name sounding different in his voice now.

His kiss this time is deeper, more confident. His hands move to the hem of my sweater, pausing there in a silent question. I nod, raising my arms to help him remove it. My jeans follow, his movements deliberate and patient, treating each newly revealed inch of skin with appreciation.

When I'm down to my bra and panties, Jack steps back slightly, his eyes taking me in with admiration.

"You are," he says, his voice low and intense, "absolutely stunning."

The raw honesty in his voice makes me flush with pleasure. This isn't practiced flattery but genuine appreciation, all the more powerful coming from a man so guarded with his thoughts.

Jack kneels before me, his hands gently guiding me to sit on the edge of the bed again. His touch is light as he runs his palms along my legs, from ankle to thigh, learning the shape of me. When he presses a kiss to my knee, then gradually moves higher, my breath hastens in anticipation.

His mouth traces the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, his hands gripping firmly just above my knees. When he reaches the edge of my panties, he places a deliberate kiss directly over the fabric, his eyes looking up to gauge my reaction.

The heat of his breath through the thin material sends a shiver through me. My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the firm muscle there.

"Jack," I breathe, barely recognizing my own voice.

He responds by hooking his fingers into the waistband of my panties and slowly drawing them down my legs. The cool air against my heated skin makes me shiver again, but then his mouth is there, warm and insistent.

His hands grip my thighs more firmly now, holding me steady as his tongue explores with surprising skill. For a man who seems to avoid human connection, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of pleasure that leaves me gasping. My hands move to his hair, fingers threading through the short strands as tension builds rapidly within me.

When release comes, it's intense and unexpected, washing over me in waves that leave me trembling. Jack stays with me through it, his pace gentling but never stopping until I tug lightly at his hair, overwhelmed by sensation.

He rises then, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and hunger. I reach for him, drawing him down to me on the bed. His jeans and remaining clothing disappear, revealing all of him at last.

"You're sure?" he asks, poised above me, ever conscious of consent despite the obvious desire in his eyes.

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