Page 12 of Enticed By the Mountain Man

Holy moly. I don’t know if this is balancing the score, but it feels so good, I’m not going to question it.

I spread my legs a little wider, and Justin increases the speed. I reach down and press my fingernails into his scalp, gently scratching to show my appreciation.

I throw my head back and moan softly. Justin grabs my ass, pulling me even closer to his face.

“Oh God,” I whisper.

His tongue brushes over my clit and then into my pussy.

“Oh God,” I say a little louder.

And then a white-hot rush of ecstasy explodes throughout my body. My fingernails dig deeper into Justin’s hair, and my pussy pulses. I can barely stay upright on the barstool, and I hold onto Justin to avoid falling.

Justin stands and sits beside me again. I can’t help looking down at his pants and see his cock straining at the material. I reach over, but Justin stops me. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

I expose his cock with my fingers and slowly rub up and down the shaft.

“Carrie, fuck…”

I look into his eyes as I continue to massage, and he doesn’t look away. I can see three years of longing in his expression, and I know he meant what he said.

“You might want to stop now,” he pants.

I don’t stop and glide faster and faster over his cock.

Justin grips the edge of the kitchen counter and groans as he comes. The warm white fluid flows over my hands, and I slow the movement as he shudders with aftershocks.

When he’s still, I make way to the kitchen sink to rinse off my hands.

He watches, shaking his head.

“God, I love you.”

I look up and back into his eyes.

“I love you too.”

We stand and stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. I think we’re both processing the depth of our emotions and wondering how it all exploded seemingly out of nowhere.

The weight of the situation suddenly hits me, and I need a distraction.

“I’m definitely hungry now.”

Justin chuckles. “It’s lucky I prepared something earlier, then.”

He removes a baking dish from the oven and places it on the counter. “This is my mother’s famous pasta bake. She taught me how to make it when I was ten, and I always cook it when I want to be reminded of her.”

“Is she still around?” I ask tentatively. That’s how little I know about my boss.

“She passed away from cancer when I was fifteen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been hard, losing a parent so young.”

“It was. Especially because I never knew my dad, and my mom’s brother—my uncle—stepped in after she passed away, but he was only after her life insurance money.”

“That’s awful.”

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