Page 18 of Mountain Man's Curvy Girl

“Open it,” he says simply, his hand resting on the small of my back.

I push the door open, my breath catching as I step inside. The space is enormous—warm, inviting, and unmistakably new. The walls are paneled in rich wood, the floor covered in soft, plush rugs, and a wide, open window frames the snow-covered mountain outside. There’s a stone fireplace in the corner, and built-in shelves line the walls, waiting to be filled.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, turning to look at him. “When did you—”

“I started it a few months ago,” he interrupts, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “I wanted you to have more space. For your art, your books, whatever you need. And if we’re going to build a family…” His voice trails off, his gaze softening as he looks at me. “I wanted to make sure we had room for them, too.”

My heart clenches, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. “Ethan…”

“I know it’s a lot,” he says quickly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “But I needed you to know—I’m in this, Chloe. All of it. I’m not just marrying you. I’m building a life with you.”

I can’t stop myself—I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re incredible,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You know that, right?”

He chuckles softly, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Yeah? Guess I’ll take your word for it.”

Chapter 18

Chloe

The rain falls softly outside the window against the backdrop of the mountain. Inside Ethan’s cabin—ourcabin—the air is warm and heavy with the scent of pine, the fire crackling low in the hearth. The small, intimate ceremony we’d planned was perfect, with just a handful of friends and family braving the cold to watch us exchange vows.

Now, the guests are gone, and it’s just the two of us. Husband and wife.

I still can’t believe it. I glance down at the simple gold band on my finger, twisting it gently as I sit on the edge of the bed. The satin of my wedding dress clings to my curves, the delicate lace bodice snug against my skin. I’m still wearing the heels Mia convinced me to buy—though I swore I wouldn’t—and I can’t stop fidgeting as I wait.

“Chloe.”

His voice, deep and rough, cuts through the quiet like a low rumble of thunder. My breath catches as I glance up to find him standing in the doorway. He’s already shed his jacket and tie, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. His hair is slightly mussed, his blue-gray eyes dark and focused as they roam over me.

“You look nervous,” he murmurs, stepping into the room.

“Not nervous,” I say softly, though my voice shakes slightly. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?” he asks, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he moves closer, his hands already reaching for the knot of his cufflinks.

“You,” I admit, my cheeks heating as I glance away.

His low chuckle sends a shiver down my spine. “Yeah? What about me?”

“That I’m your wife now,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, more intense, as he steps in front of me. He crouches down, his broad hands sliding up my thighs, pushing the layers of my dress aside as he kneels between my legs.

“You’re mine now,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive. “Completely. Forever.”

I nod, my breath hitching as his hands move higher, curling around my waist to pull me closer.

“Say it,” he commands, his blue-gray eyes locking onto mine.

“I’m yours,” I whisper, my hands trembling as they settle on his shoulders.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, leaning in to kiss me. It starts slow, soft, but it doesn’t stay that way. His mouth moves against mine with a hunger that leaves me breathless, his hands pulling me closer until I’m practically in his lap.

The satin of my dress slips down my shoulders, and he pulls back just enough to slide it lower, his rough hands skimming over my skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, his lips brushing against the curve of my neck.

My hands tangle in his hair as his mouth moves lower, trailing kisses down my collarbone, across the tops of my breasts. When his teeth graze the edge of the lace, I gasp, my thighs tightening around his hips.

“Ethan,” I whisper, my voice trembling as his fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress, tugging it down with agonizing slowness.

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